“I love you, Beckett. You are so strong. You saved my life. You saved Enzo’s life. You saved my future. I can never repay you.”
He calms a little as I speak. But tears run down his face in floods. And I know every time Enzo goes to work again, because Beckett's screams return.
“Do you hear me, Beckett? You are so loved. I owe you everything. And I’ll spend my life trying to pay you back. You are so loved,” I say, but Beckett’s screaming gets worse.
“Kiss him,” Enzo says suddenly.
“What?” I ask, so confused.
“Kiss him,” Enzo growls.
The situation is so intense. But I grab Beckett’s lips and kiss him hard on the lips. Beckett doesn’t know how to respond. His lips don’t part. He doesn’t welcome me in with his tongue like Enzo would. Our lips are just pressed together. But Beckett is no longer screaming in pain. I don’t know if it’s the shock of the kiss that halted the screaming or if he can’t get enough oxygen to scream. Or maybe the endorphins from the kiss are helping with the pain. Whatever it is, it seems to help. So I keep my lips pressed against his.
“You can stop, stingray,” I hear Enzo’s weak voice.
I lift my lips and realize that Beckett has passed out.
I look up at Enzo. Both of us have tear-stained eyes.
“You wanted me to kiss him so he would pass out?” I ask.
Enzo’s eyes water more. “Yes, I thought if you made it harder for him to breathe, he would pass out on his own. The drugs were taking too long to kick in, and if I gave him more, I could kill him. But I thought depriving him of oxygen for a few minutes would calm his system down enough to go unconscious.”
“But I could have just covered his mouth and nose for a few seconds; I didn’t have to kiss him.”
Enzo tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “That seemed too cruel. This seemed kinder.”
I smile through my tears. “You are a good brother.”
“Don’t say that. It killed me watching you kiss him even though I knew it meant nothing.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I need to finish.”
I nod, and we fall silent as Enzo finishes sawing through tendon and bones.
When the arm is separated, he applies pressure, flushes out the wound, then stitches him up, stopping the bleeding.
But when I look on the floor under the table and see the amount of blood, I’m not sure Beckett is going to make.
“He’s going to make it, he just needs my blood,” Enzo says.
I nod. I race over and grab the needle and tubbing, happy to help in some way. Then I place the needle into Beckett’s vein carefully before going over to Enzo. I don’t like hurting him, even with a needle.
Enzo smiles. “I can handle a needle poke.”
I nod. “Right, sorry.” I wipe my face and then insert the needle into his arm as I’d watch the doctor do before when I was giving blood to Enzo.
I watch carefully, not able to breathe until I see the blood flowing from Enzo to Beckett.
Now, all we can do is wait, and pray that Beckett wakes up. We’ve done everything we can for him. He just has to find a way back—a way to wake up. Beckett has to choose to live.
19
Enzo
Waiting sucks.