Sitting beside the bed, my eyes never left Marshall’s still form. His chest rose and fell steadily, though the tension in his face spoke of the pain he was in. Chad was hunched over him, his hands steady as he worked to get the bullet out of Marshall’s shoulder. I watched with a strange detachment, like I was floating outside of my own body. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was something else. But I was here—right next to him—and I couldn’t seem to move.
“Hold him still,” Chad muttered, his voice low and focused. His hands were slick with blood, but his expression never wavered as he made an incision to widen the wound. I leaned forward, not sure if I was supposed to help or just be there. “Damn bullet’s lodged deeper than I thought.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Will he… will he be
