“Jena!” he screamed. “Wake up!” He shook her a little. “Ow.” She groaned. “Cut it out.” “You’re bleeding so much. Too much.” He tore off his shirt and pressed it to her belly. Owww. She winced and pressed her face into his chest. He smelled right. He was perfect for her. How had she been so lucky to find another good one? After Lowell had died, she’d figured that her luck had just run out. After all, you could only expect to meet one man that perfect for you in your lifetime, right? How odd to realize that you were in love with someone when your insides had just been ripped out. “Spilled my guts,” she mumbled. “Literally. But you’re just right. And you feel right and you smell right. But you gotta work on the language, buddy. It’s not good for the boys.” What was hurting so bad? Something hurt in deep, thick waves that seemed to come and go. And the black stuff around the edge of her vision… “Jena…” He lifted her up, choking back what sounded like a sob.
