Chapter 8: The Bleed

The bleeding started on the fourth night.

I woke with the quilt wet under me and knew what it was before I looked.

"Roz," I said. My own voice sounded far off. "Roz, wake up."

She was out of her side of the bed before her eyes were open.

She pulled the quilt back and saw it.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. That's too much."

"Call the ambulance."

"It's forty minutes down the pass. You'd be dead at the first switchback."

"Then take me."

"No."

Roz wrapped a towel around me and pressed it hard against me with both hands.

I heard her swallow.

"Stay awake. I'm going to the gate."

"Roz..."

"He's out there. He's been out there since Tuesday. I've watched his truck from the window every night, and I didn't say."

I tried to lift my head.

She was gone, and the door banged open on the cold.

I lay there counting my own breaths.

I heard her yelling across the yard, then a second voice, and boots on gravel, fast.

The bar of the gate clanged.

He did not hesitate at it. I want to say that, because I thought about it later.

Conall came through the door with his medical bag in one hand and his coat already off.

"Don't say my name," I said, because it was the only thing I could think.

"I'm not saying anything," he said.

He knelt on the floor beside the bed.

His hands were on my stomach before I could argue, one flat and one under, and he pressed, deep and low.

I screamed.

"I know. I know. I have to."

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