Blyssfully Undone (The Blyss Trilogy 3)

I’m not sure what’s happened other than Travis could have possibly tripped, but from the looks of how he went down, he didn’t try to break his fall the way I did. He didn’t even utter a word as he hit the ground. Oh, God, please don’t let him be shot.

The pine straw pokes into my arms and the leaves rustle underneath my movements as I scramble up on my knees to hover over his body. I frantically begin checking for any wounds as I run my hands all over his upper body, but all I feel is his thick, heavy body armor. For a second, I think he got lucky, and exhale a breath of relief, but the relief quickly dissipates as I realize he’s not conscious.

“Travis!” I scream, pulling on his shoulders, trying to turn his heavy body over onto his back so I can assess him. I have tunnel vision as I can only seem to focus on one thing, and that’s seeing to Travis’ wellbeing. I grunt and pull back on his shoulders with all my might, but his body is all dead weight and he won’t budge. Not knowing what to do at this point, I start to panic.

An adrenaline boost must be rushing through me as I try in one last-ditch effort to roll him over, and succeed. Once I get him on his back, I cradle his cheeks with my palms and search for breaths of life. “Travis!” I scream again while tapping his cheeks, trying to rouse him.

A glistening sheen of perspiration across the top of his forehead glistens in the light, and I wipe it away with my hand. I don’t know what I think that will solve, but I’m so frazzled I don’t know what else to do. I lean down and kiss his damp forehead, choking back tears. I feel stupidly helpless as I softly begin pleading with a feeble, croaky voice, “Travis, please wake up. I don’t know what to do.” There is no way in hell I can leave his side. I know he’s told me to, but I just can’t leave him like this; it’s just…wrong. Anxiety grips me around the neck with a painful squeeze, and I close my eyes as the impending breakdown of tears takes over.

“Oh, fuck,” he wails out. Startled from the outburst, my hand covers my mouth and my eyes bolt open wide. A deep, guttural sound leaves his lungs as he makes a huge effort to catch his breath. His eyes look distressed and in pain. Waves of relief roll through me. He’s alive!

“It feels like someone punched the holy shit out of my back.” Lifting his head, he drops his chin to his chest, looking down to investigate himself. He feels with both his hands all over his upper body, looking for a bullet wound. “Shit, even though I’m not seeing it, I’m not sure there isn’t a gaping hole going through me.” His voice is so intertwined with pain that his agony then becomes mine. My stomach twists in a knot, as I feel so helpless for him.

When he wails out in a distressed groan again, the sound grips at my gut. It’s almost as if I can feel his pain, and I die a little on the inside. “Are you shot anywhere?” I ask as I run my fingers through his thick, tousled, and sweaty hair. He jerks his body away from mine, pulling is head away from my hands, looking startled to find me, of all people, kneeling beside him.

He shakes his head and blinks his eyes rapidly in a confused state, just now realizing I’m here. “Jules, are you okay?” he asks as he huffs and pants through his pain.

“I’m fine. Are you shot?” I worriedly ask again.

“No, but it sure as fuck feels like it. Thank God for bulletproof vests.” Then his eyes narrow on me as if he’s thinking about something. “Dammit!” he bellows, his angry voice taking me off guard. My eyes flinch, and I jolt backward. “What the hell are you still doing here then?” He flops his head back down in the pine straw in defeat, and then he squeezes his eyes shut while visibly fighting against the pain wracking his body. “You promised me,” he adds through gritted teeth.

My heart sinks at the sound of his disappointment in me, but I didn’t have it in me to leave his side. I couldn’t. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t leave you like this.” I watch as both his hands clench into fists, and then he makes painful grunts as he pulls himself up into a half-sitting position, coming to rest on his elbows. He looks rather pissed off at this point, but I don’t care. I ask him again, “Travis, can you get up?”