“He’s a paramedic.”
Graham gave me an eye roll. “I know. It was just weird to see him in action. He didn’t hesitate. But then he couldn’t stay for lunch. Said he didn’t feel well. Have you heard from him? He didn’t exactly look well either.”
“No … I haven’t.” I plucked my phone from the opposite counter. No missed calls. No texts from Ronin.
“I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just the effects of the adrenaline. I just thought I’d mention it before heading back to Denver. And in spite of what you think, I also just wanted to say hi to my best friend.”
My head inched side to side. “I’m not your best friend. Heath, Eric, Wade … they’re your best buds. I’m just your cupid.”
“Heath, Eric, and Wade are functional idiots. You are my best friend. And it has nothing to do with Lila. We were friends before Lila would even look at me, and we will be friends when both Lila and Ronin leave us for better human beings.”
“Fuck you.” I chuckled as he pulled me in for one last hug.
“I’m nearly married. Our fucking days are over, Evie. Sorry.”
I giggled. Somehow, we made it. After the epic mistake of thinking we could be more than friends, we managed to persevere. The fact that we immediately joked about it, like the “oops” that it was, was what held our friendship together. And maybe … just maybe our drunken intimacy actually cemented our friendship forever. We knew every detail about each other. No secrets. All had been bared.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After several failed attempts at contacting Ronin, I skipped out early and left Sophie to close up shop. When I arrived home, Ronin’s Outback wasn’t parked in the drive, so I headed straight to his place.
“Roe?” I whispered, tiptoeing into his bedroom. He rarely slept at his place. Yet, there he was in the dark, curled into a fetal position on the mattress, still on the floor.
“Go home, babe. I don’t want you to get sick,” he said in a strained voice.
“I want to help.” I sat on the edge of the mattress, the light from the hallway giving me a slight glimpse of his twisted face.
“You can’t.” His hand, pressed flat to his chest, curled into a fist as he swallowed hard. Sweat beaded along his brow while his shallow breaths chased one another. “Please … please go, Evie. AHHH!”
I jumped as his hands clawed at his scalp and his back arched. My heart pummeled my ribcage, and tears burned my eyes. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t a normal pain, even for some virus or other bug he might have picked up.
“Roe …” The tears fell fast and hard as my hand hovered over his arm, too afraid to touch him and cause him anymore pain as his body thrashed. “Roe, you’re scaring me. I … I don’t know what to do. What hurts? T-tell me w-what to do!”
He didn’t.
All he could do was flail in pain. I didn’t know that side to Ronin. He was my rock—more than a rock. He was an unmovable mountain. But … my mountain crumbled right in front of me.
“Ronin, stop! Tell me what to do!”
“Fuck!” He rolled away from me.
I grabbed my phone and called 9-1-1.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“Send an ambulance! M-my boyfriend is in terrible p-pain, and I don’t know what to do.”
I knew she was asking me questions, but I couldn’t hear her past the pounding of my heart screaming at me, telling me to help him.
I muttered a few barely coherent replies as the room spun.
Yes, he was breathing.
No, he wasn’t responding to me.
Evie.
Evie.
Evie …
Each drumming beat said my name. Do something! But what?
They were on their way. The door was unlocked. I dropped my phone and kneeled on the bed, stroking his hair as he moaned like a tortured animal.
“Shh … they’re coming. Just hold on … they’re coming.” I didn’t think he heard me, but I said the words anyway. I repeated myself again and again, trying so hard to convince my heart to calm down. He would be fine. He had to be fine. I arrived that day in Vancouver.
A destiny.
Fate in perfect form.
We were meant to meet that day, and not for him to leave me. He couldn’t leave me. I think I’d known for months just how vulnerable my heart was to my feelings for Ronin. Sometimes we knew things that we never acknowledge until it was pulled—ripped—from inside of us. If I lost him, there would never be enough stitches to put me back together.
The door creaked open. Voices sounded. Footsteps pounded closer.
I held my breath. The slightest movement threatened to shatter my existence.
My tears dried while I unblinkingly stared at Ronin. They tried to ask him questions. Someone said something to me. I attempted a nod, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move until they fixed him—fixed him and gave him back to me. That was their job, right?