Love, Eventually

Chapter 9 - Bleeding Promises

Earlier...

Finnigan had been trying to wrestle the gun from the suspect after he released Brielle—but before he could act, the man snapped. "You lied!" he shouted, his voice breaking, and in a split second, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Finnigan in the left side of his abdomen.

Brielle screamed. Her mind went blank with terror as the man ran out of the room, and another gunshot echoed somewhere in the hallway. The fear that someone else had been hurt paralyzed her for a moment. Then a low groan snapped her back.

"Finnigan—!" She scrambled to his side, hands trembling as she pressed down on the bleeding wound. "Stay with me, please! Just stay awake!"

He tried to speak but winced in agony, his voice barely a rasp. They couldn't risk moving him with a shooter still on the loose in the hospital. They were trapped—and running out of time.

"I'll get the surgical kit. We can do it here," she said urgently.

"Don't go," he whispered, gripping her hand. "Please... stay."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was terrified. And even though she hadn't returned his love fully, she couldn't lose him. Not like this. "I'm so sorry, Fin. I never meant to bring this much pain into your life."

His hand brushed her cheek gently. "You've brought me someone to love. That's enough."

"You don't have to love me back," he added, his voice strained. "Loving you... has been more than I ever deserved."

A sob caught in her throat. "Don't say that. You deserve the world."

She looked around in desperation and spotted her coat. She tore it apart and wrapped the pieces tightly around his wound, creating a crude bandage. Then she lowered his head onto her lap, trying to keep him comfortable.

When she noticed his eyes beginning to flutter shut, panic surged again. "Finnigan! No, no—you have to stay awake!"

"I'm... still here," he murmured weakly.

"Help's coming. Just hold on," she whispered, wiping blood and tears from his face. "Is the operating room far?"

He nodded faintly. "Too far. But... Michael's sending help."

She gave a soft, broken laugh. "Of course he is."

"I've loved you since we were thirteen," Finnigan said, his words slurring slightly. "You don't remember, do you? You moved to London... but before that, you nearly drowned in your pool. I saved you."

Her heart ached as the memory flickered faintly—distant, hazy, almost like a dream. "You... were that boy?"

He coughed again, blood at the corner of his lips. "That was me."

"Save the story," she whispered. "Tell me the rest when this is over. I'll wait for it—I promise."

He gave her the smallest smile. "What if I don't make it?"

"Don't say that," she choked out, clinging to him. "You will. You have to."

"Maybe this is... how I let you go."

"No," she sobbed. "Don't let me go. I know I've made mistakes. But if we get out of this alive, I'll be the wife you deserve. I swear."

Footsteps echoed outside.

Her breath caught in her throat. Please don't be him.

"I'll check," she whispered, kissing his forehead and carefully lowering his head to the ground. She tiptoed to the door, heart pounding, and peeked through the crack. Relief flooded her—police.

She darted into the hall. "In here! He's bleeding—please help him!"

Officers and medics rushed in. As they lifted Finnigan onto the stretcher, Brielle turned to one of the officers. "The shooter...?"

"He's been taken down," the officer said. "It's over."

But it didn't feel over.

The hospital was in chaos—blood smeared across the floor, medical carts overturned. As Brielle followed Finnigan's stretcher, she realized just how close she had come to losing him.

And the man who took a bullet for her—he had always loved her, even before she knew his name.

Now, it was her turn to love him the way he deserved.