Page 40 of Lulu

I nodded to myself. Doc was right. I could do this. We hung up and I wiped the tears off my cheeks, and then rushed to my bathroom. I had some soft, old t-shirts under the sink that I’d kept for cleaning rags. I grabbed up a handful, along with the first aid kit, and brought them out to where Brody lay. He was out, and I stopped to stare at his chest long enough to make sure that he was still alive. Once I was sure that he was, I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed up the biggest bowl I had and filled it with warm water.

“Brody—,” I needed to get his jacket and shirt off, but he would have to help me. He was too big for me to move on my own. “Brody, I need your help.” A low groan was his response. “I can’t get your clothes off without your help.” I started to tug on his arm, but his face twisted with pain and I let him go. “Fuck!” I whisper shouted.

I stood back and stared down at him. Tears welled in my eyes again. He was such a big, strong man that seeing him this way was tearing me apart. Who had done this to him? Why had he come to me? What if he died? I shook my head and went to the kitchen for some scissors, and then rushed back to him. Buttercup had sat herself down right at the end of the couch where Brody’s head lay, her watchful eyes following my every movement.

Knowing what I needed to do, I cut away at Brody’s leather jacket and shirt until I could peel the bloody garments back enough to see his wounds. What I’d thought was a shoulder shot actually turned out to be a wound to his upper arm, close to the outside. It appeared that the bullet had gone straight through, but I wasn’t an expert. The wound on his side worried me the most, and both were still seeping blood, the skin surrounding the wounds appearing slightly puckered and burnt.

I cleaned up the wounds as much as I could with the water, and then switched to a saline solution. I doused a new rag and winced every time I had to wipe at the wounds because I felt Brody’s body tense up in reaction. His low moans revealed that he was in a lot of pain, but I knew it needed to be done. Once I was satisfied, I pushed two clean rags against the wounds and applied pressure, hoping to stem the flow of blood.

“You…’bout done…torturing me?” came his hoarse voice after a while.

His eyes were closed, so I’d thought he was unconscious. “Shut up, you big baby,” I responded, relieved that he was talking. “I thought you were unconscious.”

“I…was.”

“Doc is on his way.”

“Good call.” He tried to move and flinched. “How bad?”

“Don’t move!” I scolded, and pushed him back gently. “Bad enough, Brody. What the hell happened?”

I recognized that the slightest twitch on his mouth was his attempt at a grin. “Got…shot.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I need… something… to drink, babe.”

“I’ll get you some water.” I turned to go to the kitchen.

“Whiskey.”

I huffed. There was no way I was going to give him whiskey when I was pretty certain that Doc would be giving him drugs for infection and pain. Smiling, I took down a shot glass and filled it with water. When I returned to him, I gently lifted his head and put the glass to his lips. He drank it down, and then I lowered his head again.

“Weakest whiskey I’ve…ever had.”

I could hear Doc approaching on his bike. I waited until he was at the door before I opened it, worried about who else might be out there. It was a good sign that Buttercup wasn’t barking though.

“How is he, sweetheart?” He rushed past me into the house.

“Bad,” I said. “He’s on the couch.”

“Didn’t know you knew Savage well enough for him to show up at your door,” he commented, and I didn’t bother responding.

He reached the couch and looked down at Brody. I watched as he pulled the rag off his shoulder and scrutinized the wound. He nodded as if he were pleased with what he saw, and opened up his bag to remove some forceps and a packaged wipe, which he used on the forceps. He began to examine the wound thoroughly causing Brody to grunt and wince in pain.

“Good. The bullet went clear through.” He flushed the wound out with some kind of solution that he’d removed from his bag. Brody sucked in his breath, but other than that remained silent. “I’ll stitch that up in a minute.” He peered up at me from where he was crouched. “This couch isn’t going to cut it, sweetheart. You got a spare bed we can move him to?”

I shook my head, thinking that I wanted Brody in my bed. He would be more comfortable there. “We’ll put him in my bed,” I stated.

“I’m gonna need your help.”

Together Doc and I managed to move Brody into a sitting position.

“Fuck,” he swore.

“Come on, brother, need you to help us get you on your feet. We’re gonna move you to a bed.”

As weak as Brody was, he dredged up enough strength to help us get him to his feet. With his arms over our shoulders and our arms around his middle, we half-walked, half-dragged him to my bed. We lowered him carefully to the bed and before we laid him back, I removed the remnants of his jacket and shirt and tossed them to the floor.