Once we reach the ER room, he pauses at the door and looks at me. “Yes. He administered the drug to himself.”
My heart knocks hard against my chest. The double bah-dah-bump steals the air from my lungs, and I’m able to gain an antiseptic-laced breath before the room door opens.
An officer stands guard outside the door, another inside the room stationed near Grayson. His ankles are cuffed to the gurney. A pair of handcuffs secures his left arm to the bedrail.
He’s awake. And watching me with hazy eyes as I enter.
“How medicated is he?” I ask Dr. Roseland.
The doctor stands in the doorway. “Very,” he says. “A few minutes longer, and Mr. Sullivan may not have made it. The EMT said you performed CPR until they were able to transport him.” He gives me a tight smile. “He has you to thank for his life.”
My eyes close briefly. The hollow pang burrows deeper.
“I’ll give you a moment,” the doctors says as he shuts the door.
I step forward, and the officer extends his hand. “You have to stay five feet away from him at all times.”
I set my purse down, giving myself something to do other than look at the man I betrayed.
“Thank you,” Grayson says, “for saving my life, doc.”
I suck in a breath and face him. “Did you attempt to take your own life?”
“Did it hurt you?”
“What?”
“Did saving my life hurt you?” He nods at me. “You’re back. You’re limping.”
I hadn’t even noticed that I’d been coddling the pain. “No,” I answer. “I’m not hurt. Now tell me the truth. Did you—?”
“No, I didn’t try to take my own life.” His accent is thicker with the sedative.
I lift my chin. “The ER doctor said you dosed yourself with over a thousand milligrams of penicillin. One might consider that a suicide attempt. Especially when you’re well aware half that dosage is enough to kill you.”
He bats sleepy eyes and shrugs against the prop of pillows. “Maybe I did it just to see you one more time.”
I press my lips together. “Cut the shit, Grayson. You wanted to be the one to end your life. I understand that reasoning. If you were going to die, it was going to be on your own terms.” Not mine. “Am I correct?” I step closer.
“Sorry, doc. On this one, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
It happens fast. The guard reaches out to halt me. Grayson’s free hand grabs ahold of the guard’s wrist and yanks him over the gurney. He nails the guard in the back of the neck with his elbow. The gun appears in the commotion.
Grayson has the gun aimed at the officer’s temple. “Uncuff me,” he demands. But he’s not ordering the guard. He’s looking at me.
“No.”
His gaze hardens. “In five seconds, I’m going to pull the trigger. Do you want yet another life on your conscience?”
I wet my lips. Grayson has never directly killed a person. That I know of. My gut screams that he won’t do it now—that it goes against his compulsions, his beliefs…but then he’s never been in a position like this before.
I’ve taken his life, and he will make sure he has mine before it’s over.
I choose to save the man.
I unclip the keys from the officer’s belt and begin unshackling Grayson’s ankles from the gurney. “Let him go.”
Grayson waits until I’ve freed his wrist, then carefully stands, maneuvering the guard with him. The guard slings threats, attempting to alert the officer outside the room about the convict with the gun. Grayson clubs him over the back of the head. The cop doesn’t go down with the first strike, or the second, and I have to look away as Grayson beats him until he finally drops to the floor.