Series: Torn and Bound Duet Series by K. Webster
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Ashton—”
I mash the end button and then push inside my apartment. “Drew!” I yell, slamming the door closed behind me and dropping my bag to the floor. “I know you’re here and Brayden told me the shit you’re trying to pull.”
I stride into his bedroom and find him at the counter in his bathroom, a bag in one hand and his phone in the other.
Pale.
So fucking pale.
“Sorry, man, but we’re not letting you…” I trail off when his knees buckle, alarm surging through me. “Drew. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“My…” He stumbles, his phone slipping to the tile with a loud clatter. “I can’t…” He gasps. “My heart.”
I rush him as he clutches his chest, his body seizing. I grab onto him as he falls, landing hard on my ass, the big guy crushing me beneath him. Rolling him over to his back, I quickly realize something’s wrong. Really fucking wrong.
His lips are bluish in color.
I don’t think he’s breathing.
“Drew, babe, you can’t do this. What the fuck is happening?” I choke out, panicking. “Wake up, man. Wake the fuck up.” I dial 911 and put it on speaker when they answer. “My b-boyfriend isn’t b-breathing. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”
“Calm down,” the operator says. “What is the address of your location?”
I rattle it off, my eyes never leaving Drew.
“Do you know how to perform CPR?” the operator asks next.
“Y-Yes,” I stammer, my training kicking in from all the years of swimming.
“Good, we have a responder on the way. They’re only a couple of minutes out. Stay calm and listen to what I need for you to do.”
As the woman walks me through the steps I’m rusty on, I begin chest compressions. My heart is in my chest as tears blur my eyes.
Check pulse.
Tilt his head back.
Pinch his nose.
Breathe air into his lungs.
Chest compressions.
Repeat.
I go through the steps over and over, growing sicker and sicker to my stomach the bluer his skin turns. I’m choking on a sob when the operator tells me they’re entering the apartment. Two EMTs rush into the bathroom, ushering me out of the way and taking over.
“He’s in cardiac arrest,” one of the EMTs says.
They pull out the defibrillator and cut his shirt open. All I can do is watch as they press the paddles to his chest, ready to try and jump-start his heart.
“Clear.”
His body jolts as they shoot the voltage into him. The machine doesn’t beep and continues to show no heart activity.
No.
This can’t fucking happen.
I’m frozen in fear, unable to do anything but pray like fuck he’ll start breathing again.
“Clear.”
He jolts again as they hit him with the defibrillator once more.
Nothing.
“Come on, Drew,” I beg. “Please.”
“Clear.”
Beep.
The professionals are moving with trained ease, working their hardest to get Drew’s heart to pump again. All I can do is watch, fucking useless to help.
“Clear.”
Beep. Beep.
My heart is galloping enough for the both of us. If only it were that easy.
“Clear.”
“We’ve got a pulse,” one of the men says, reading the machine. Then, to confirm, the other EMT checks his carotid.
“Low, but there,” the other guy confirms.
I sob in relief, finally allowing myself to breathe.
“He’s stable,” one of them says. “Let’s get him into the ambulance.”
While they strap him down to the gurney, I gape at how horrible he looks. The mask they’ve attached to his face pumps air into his chest. His skin is still tinged blue and he’s not moving or speaking, but he’s getting oxygen and his heart is beating, even if only barely.
I rush after them, my entire body trembling. People peek their heads out of their doors in the hallway, checking to see what the commotion is about. I realize I don’t have my phone or anything. I’m certainly not turning back for it. We make it outside, and as they load him into the ambulance, Dad shows up.
“What’s going on?” he asks, clutching my shoulder. “I came to talk to you and… is that Drew?”
Nodding, I swipe at the tears that won’t quit fucking falling. “I lost my phone. Mia… Brayden.”
He hugs me. “Go with him. I’ll find them.”
The EMT allows me to climb inside with Drew while the other one drives. I clutch onto Drew’s cool hand, silently begging for him to be okay.
He has to be okay.
We can’t lose him.
We just can’t.
My hands won’t quit fucking shaking. I don’t know what time it is or how much time has passed since we arrived at the hospital. Not long since no one has gotten here yet. Dad is the first to show, a worried frown on his face. I hate how much I need him right now. He walks right up to me and pulls me to his chest.
I’m so pissed at him.
And yet… I sob against his shoulder.
“He can’t die, Dad. He can’t.”
“He’s not going to die,” he promises, though he doesn’t sound certain. “He’ll pull through.”