Page 145 of For Better or Hearse

“Really?”

“Yes. Bigger than Bigfoot.” Nathaniel extends the bottle. “Now be quiet and take a drink.”

Silence.

“Ash?”

He ducks his chin, takes her in. Her pale cheek rests in the palm of his hand. Her eyes are closed.

Panic twists in his throat like a blade. He sits up straighter, his heart racing. Brings the Coke bottle to her unmoving lips. “Ashabelle, don’t go to sleep.Ash.”

No response. She’s slumped against his chest, eyes closed.

His heart plummets.

No. Please, God, no. He can’t lose her. Not now.

“Just one more sip, Ash,” he murmurs, adjusting her in his grasp. “Do you hear me, beauty? One more sip.”

She sags in his arms. Nathaniel swears. She can’t drink if she’s unconscious.

Heart pounding in his ears, he lays her on the sand, rubs her sternum with his knuckles in a desperate attempt to wake her. Panic, fear, a primal raging beast inside him.

A horn startles him.

Nathaniel whips his head to the ocean.

Oh, thank fuck.

A ship.

Strike that.

A fucking pleasure yacht. The wordsMARGE THE BARGEstenciled on the side in bright, brash, glittery letters.

And it’s already docking.

Nathaniel scoops Ash up. With her clutched tight to his chest, he rushes to the boat. His lungs burn. His heart thunders. He doesn’t stop.

He won’t.

Off the ship come his mother and Augustus. They’re wearing matching looks of shock. He charges past them, hustling down the dock and up into the boat.

“I got her,” he tells the medic when the man tries to take Ash from him. Over his dead body is she leaving his side.

He lays her on the bar of the sun deck. Her eyes are closed. She’s still and unresponsive. There’s no time to waste.

“She needs glucagon,” he barks at a second medic, who is waiting with a first-aid kit. “Sugar. Tell me you fucking have it.”

At his side, his mother’s face is pale. “Oh no, Ash.” She looks near tears.

The second the medic opens the kit, Nathaniel snatches the pre-filled syringe from it. He doesn’t trust anyone else to touch her. Quickly, he pops off the cap and jams the needle into Ash’s upper thigh.

He stands at her side, unmoving, barely breathing, as the glucose is injected into Ash’s system. Soon, much-needed sugar will flood her veins.

“Open your eyes, Ash. You have to get up. Please. Come back to me.” The only plea he hears. In his head. His heart. His lungs. The backs of his eyes burn.

Augustus leans forward, face ashen and etched with concern. “Is she—”