Page 3 of Donovan's Men

“Caressa.” Cole’s whisper of his lover’s name was weak. “Michael. Take care of Caressa.”

Was he asking me to take care of both his lovers? Of both Caressa and Michael? Or was he asking me to ensure Michael took care of Caressa? That was a given.

“Let’s just focus on you. We can deal with your lovers later.”

His eyes were wide with what I assumed was panic.

“We’ll take care of them.” Julie stroked Cole’s face. “You’re going to be fine, and you’re all going to come out as a throuple, and life is going to be perfect.”

Cole’s eyes drifted shut.

“Hey, stay with me.” I pressed the gauze harder into his chest.

He didn’t stir.

Panic engulfed me.

Then suddenly, two paramedics appeared by my side.

The woman, with a short, dark-brown buzz cut and the most compassionate brown eyes I’d ever seen, nudged me aside. “You’ve done a great job. Now let us do ours.”

Julie’d risen. She grabbed my coat collar and pulled me up. Well, I agreed to be dragged up since she never could’ve done it herself. Then she pulled me over to…firefighters?

My attention was still on Cole. The paramedics were working away furiously. Clearly trying to stabilize him before racing him to the hospital.

“Donovan? My name is Ford. I’m a firefighter, but I also have medical training. Do you mind if I take a look?” He gestured to my arm.

Fucking hell, I don’t have time for this shit.“But Cole—”

“Your friend is being taken care of. You’re my responsibility now.”

Finally, I looked the man in the eyes. Stunning blue eyes. That swam.Is that him, or is that me?

“And up!” The paramedics were raising the gurney and pushing it over the bumpy asphalt to the rig.

“Donovan.” Ford, sounding rather insistent.

“Give me a minute.” My breath came in short pants, even as my arm stung.

“Sure.” A soft and gentle voice.

The ambulance pulled away, siren blaring.

Please, let him be okay.

He’s got to be okay.

Chapter One

Tyson

Monday was truly the least favorite day of my week. Which was kind of ridiculous since, as a police constable first class—better known as a detective—with the Vancouver Police Department, I worked all kinds of shifts and did my fair share of weekends.

I sat at my desk and blearily stared at my computer while my partner, Mariah Gleason, drank her coffee and scrolled her phone. I wanted to believe she was reading the latest crime statistics report for the city, but I knew better.

Mariah was fine, but she did the minimum required. That irritated the shit out of me. At thirty-five, I had ambitions. They didn’t include sitting at this desk across from Mariah for the next twenty years.

My sergeant stepped out of her office. “Gleason, McGillvary, I’ve got one for you.”