This chapter is pretty long. And kinda sad. And Clay gets shot so there's some violent bits in the middle.
they say it's better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all
but if you sit down and count the cost of all those losses
there's no profit at all
Del Amitri, "You're Gone"
It had been one fucking day and everything had exploded. She winced at her mental word choice: terrible timing, fucking awful pun. When Chibs had told her what happened to Kozik she couldn't believe it. It was ridiculous and awful and random. Almost absurd, in the truest since of the word.
A fucking land mine? she'd said. This is California, not Afghanistan! What the actual and ever-loving fuck?
The screwdriver she'd thrown was still embedded in the wall, and she had no intention of pulling it out. Let it stand, she thought, as a monument for Kozik after she was gone.
Chibs hadn't had answers for her. They all knew the cartel was too hot. They had to get out before anyone else died, and they were hoping it would happen soon. Jax said he had a plan. Olivia was skeptical, as she often was of Jax' plans, but it wasn't her business—especially not now.
She was tense and edgy as she waited for them to tell her Romeo's decision. Potter kept calling, and every time she held him off. She told him Juice had been her main source of information, and while he was locked up she had to be more subtle. She couldn't just ask straight out about such hush-hush club business; it would arouse suspicion.
That seemed to satisfy him—mostly—but he warned her if they missed their chance because of her "subtlety," it would be Juice who paid for it. She hung up on him.
On top of all that she'd seen Gemma's face. She wouldn't tell her who had beaten her, but Olivia knew. Later that evening she'd overheard a conversation between Clay and Wayne that only confirmed it: Clay had pummeled his wife all to hell and back because she'd found out he was the one who hired those guys to kidnap Tara. That last bit of news was like a blow, and she still reeled from it twenty-four hours later.
She had hung around the shop much later than normal in the hopes that she'd hear something about Romeo. She was exhausted and just wanted to go home. She needed a cup of tea and a long bath, probably the last of either she'd enjoy in the home she'd worked so hard to create. The idea gave her a pang, hot and deep, but it was an easier thing to deal with than what happened when she thought about Juice.
The worst part was she wouldn't even have the chance to explain things to him. Potter refused to release him until he had the information about the meet, and the minute she gave him that she'd be the one taken into custody. They would miss each other, like those metaphorical two ships.
She muttered a curse under her breath and grabbed her bag. If they wanted her they could call her at home. If they needed her to come back she would.
She was almost to her car when a bike roared into the lot. She recognized Opie; no one else was quite that big, except maybe Piney, and he rode the trike; and she called out to him as he dismounted. He ignored her and barreled toward the clubhouse. Her brow furrowed. What was that about?
She dismissed it with a shake of her head and fished her keys out. She stuck them in the door and stood there with her hand poised to twist the lock open. Opie had looked wild, even from a distance. He'd been unstable lately. Had trashed Lyla's dressing room over the birth control pills and then moved into the clubhouse. He'd fucked that girl, Ima, for no other reason than to drive Lyla away.
"Mother fuck," she said. Part of her, she thought, looked forward to the peace and quiet of federal protective custody.
She tossed the keys back in her bag and went after him. The clubhouse door hung open and she could hear raised voices from the chapel. She was two steps away when the shots rang out. She froze, shocked, and Jax rocketed past her. She followed him, and the sight that met her eyes when he shoved through the doors stopped her heart.
Opie had a gun on Clay, and the older man was bleeding heavily. Opie looked crazed. He was screaming something about Piney, about how Clay had killed his father (Piney's dead too? she thought, inanely.) and he had to pay the price. Jax begged him to put down the gun, but Opie lunged toward Clay with a roar. Jax shot him in the hand and he collapsed.
That seemed to release her from the paralysis she'd been under. She rushed toward Jax and Opie, but he waved her away. "Ope's fine. Check on Clay."
She spun around. He slumped against the wall with a dazed, agonized expression. His hand was pressed against his chest, and blood poured over his fingers. She cast around for something to staunch the flow, and in desperation ripped off her work smock.
"Move," she said. "Move your fucking hand." She shoved it away and pressed the shirt hard against him. "Jackson, call 911! It's bad."
Just then Wayne and Rat burst in. They stared at the carnage in shock, and Wayne started yelling about Roosevelt and the trouble he would cause.
Olivia ignored him. "We've gotta get him flat. He's having trouble breathing."
"Not here," Clay rasped. "The garage. It happened in the garage." They had to keep the cops out of the clubhouse.
She started to prop him up with her shoulder, but Jax pushed her out of the way and motioned Rat over. "Follow us," he said. "Grab what you need on the way." His eyes were intense on hers, two burning cobalt lights. "Hurry, Ollie. We're not gonna let him die."
She jerked her head in a nod and ran for the kitchen. She needed plastic wrap. Tape, maybe, but the blood might be enough to—she shook her head to clear it and found what she needed. A quick stop by the bathroom for rubbing alcohol and the office for the first aid kit and she was in the garage.
Rat and Jax had gotten there seconds ahead of her, and they were lowering Clay to the ground. "Lay him out," she said. "Flat on the floor. Hold his feet up, though; we don't want him going into shock."
"Not sure that's an option," Jax said.
She acknowledged that with a brief quirk of her brows as she knelt next to him. "Clay," she said, "can you hear me? Clay, I need you to stay awake. Keep your eyes on me."
She glanced up at Rat. "Talk to him. Keep him conscious. Jax, where the fuck's that ambulance?"
"On its way."
"And Opie? Where is he?"
"Still in the clubhouse, I guess. I need to take him to the hospital."
She looked up at him. Understanding flashed between them. "Go," she said. "Take care of him. We've got this." Her smile was more like a grimace. "Right, Rat? We can handle it."
He gave a short, staccato nod and tried to smile back. Jax squeezed her shoulder and bolted away to collect his best friend.
Olivia didn't bother with gloves; she already had Clay's blood all over her hands. She moved the sopping shirt and lowered her ear toward his chest. Sucking chest wound. The bullets had punctured a lung.
She jerked her chin toward the plastic wrap she'd dropped next to them. "Rat, tear me off a piece of that. Big enough to cover his chest."
He gave her a funny look but didn't take the time to ask questions, for which she was grateful. She used the scissors in the first aid kit to cut Clay's shirt open. "Fuck," she whispered. "Fuck fuck fuckity fuck."
"Your bedside manner," he croaked between gasps, "could use some work."
Rat elbowed her and held out the plastic. "Hold onto it," she said. She opened the bottle of alcohol and poured it over the side that would be against Clay's skin.
"You gonna wrap me up like leftovers?"
"Shut up, Clay. Save your breath." She spread the plastic over his chest and pressed down the edges. The wounds immediately sucked the plastic in to create a seal. Clay's breath eased and his head fell back.
"Watch him," she said to Rat. "If his breathing gets weird again, lift one of the edges. We've gotta keep the air in while letting the air out, and sometimes the plastic seals too well."
"Yeah, Ollie," he said. "Okay."
"I'll be right back." She jumped up and ran for the door, but Wayne burst through it before she could get there.
"I still don't hear the sirens," he said. "No clue what's taking so long. How's Clay?"
"Great. Just dandy. Take Rat and go meet the paramedics. Tell them he has a sucking chest wound that I've sealed with plastic wrap."
"Ollie!" It was Rat, and he sounded scared. "Ollie, his lips are turning blue."
"Goddammit," she said. She spun away and dug through one of the drawers in a nearby tool chest.
Wayne gaped at her. "What the hell are you doing?"
She found what she was looking for—a short length of metal, like a steel straw—and dropped down next to Clay again. "Disinfect this," she said and shoved the tube at Rat. "Be thorough. Wayne, come here."
He knelt across from her and shook his head. "I'm not sure what you're planning, but I don't think it's a great idea. We should wait—"
"He can't breathe because his lung is collapsed. The air is building up in his chest cavity and pressing on the other one. We need to reinflate it or he might suffocate before the paramedics get here. We can wait, if you want. He's already smurfing."
They stared at each other. She could tell Wayne was tempted, and frankly she was, too, but she couldn't do it. She grabbed the tube from Rat and leaned down. "Clay, listen to me. This is really going to fucking hurt, okay?"
She paused and cut her eyes toward Wayne. He hung on every word. "I'm saving your life right now, Clay. Do you understand that? I stop what I'm doing and you'll probably die before the professionals get here. I want to make this very clear: when someone saves your life, it means you owe them. You will be indebted to me, Clay."
His eyes rolled in his head but he didn't have enough breath to speak.
"You can repay me in one way: never raise a hand to Gemma again. Stay the fuck away from Tara. I'm leaving soon; we both know that. You're a liar and a coward who beats his wife and hires hit men to murder the mother of his grandchildren. I don't expect you to have any honor. But remember this moment, Clay. Remember it, and the next time you think about hurting one of the women in your life, ask yourself if that's the man you really want to be. Ask yourself if that man deserves the second chance I'm about to give you."
"Ollie," Rat said. He couldn't hear her, and he was alarmed by Clay's color. "Ollie, what are you doing? He can't breathe."
She straightened and pulled her knife out of her pocket. "Anybody have a smaller blade than this?"
Unser held out his Swiss Army knife. "Got a corkscrew, too. Just in case."
Her mouth twisted in sardonic amusement. She unfolded one of the blades and dumped alcohol over it. Slowly peeled back the plastic and pressed her fingers against Clay's chest. She felt for his ribs and measured the space between them with her index and middle fingers pressed together. She'd never seen this done, not for real. She'd read about it. In her old life she'd been prepared for nearly anything, injury-wise.
"Rat, Wayne, hold him. This's gonna hurt like a motherfucker."
The two men grabbed his shoulders and pressed him to the concrete. "Okay. On three. One, two—" She thrust the knife into him, deep but not too deep. He roared and bucked, and Rat and Wayne threw their weight into it. "Be still!" she cried. "Try, Clay. Try so I don't fucking kill you!"
She jabbed the tube into the hole she'd created and twisted it in deeper. Clay's head was thrown back and he clenched his teeth so tight she thought they might crack. Finally she got the bit of metal where she needed it to go, and the air whooshed out as the pressure was relieved. She secured it with tape and watched as Clay slowly relaxed. The blue began to fade and his skin took on a slightly more normal tone—if pale, sickly green could be considered "normal."
She sat back with a long sigh. "Holy shit," she said.
"Seconded," Wayne said.
Clay had passed out from the pain. She tore off a new sheet of plastic and Rat helped her disinfect it before she pressed it to his chest.
"We still need to seal these or the tube won't do much good," she said. "More air'll just pump in as fast as the tube can release it." She wasn't sure who she was talking to; neither Wayne nor Rat had asked her about it. Maybe she just wanted to hear the sound of her own voice.
"Sirens," Rat said and lifted his head.
"Thank God," Wayne said. "It's about time."
She pointed Rat toward the door and repeated everything she'd said to Wayne earlier, plus the new information about the crude chest tube. He seemed relieved to be given a task, and he fled the garage without a backwards glance.
Silence fell. The only sound was Clay's raspy, labored breathing and the wail of approaching sirens. She checked the tube to make sure it hadn't slipped. Wayne watched her through shrewd eyes.
"Someone tip you off about Tara?" he said.
"Not exactly," she said without looking up. "I overheard the two of you talking yesterday. I heard what you said."
"Everything I said?"
She raised her head and met his gaze. "Everything."
"Then you know I'll be watching out for both of them."
"I know."
"We're gonna miss you, Ollie," he said, apropos of nothing.
"Hum. I'm sure I'll miss all of this." She lifted her bloody hands. Flexed her fingers to feel the stretch and snap as it dried sticky. "The glamorous life of an MC mechanic-cum-medic."
"No one ever said it'd be easy, sweetheart."
"No, Wayne, they sure as fuck didn't. You're right about that." She shook her head and let out a small, rueful laugh. "But I will miss it, all the same. I must be nuts."
"No more so than the rest of us. This life is like an addiction. Sucks you in and won't let go."
"Yeah," she said, shortly. "That's what I hear."
Olivia looked up from the computer at the sound of the office door, and when she saw his face hers fell. Her time was up. Once she made the call they would take her into custody (for her own protection, natch) and that would be it. Her life in Charming—over. After last night, Clay's shooting and her frantic efforts to keep him alive, there was a part of her that felt relieved.
"Chibs," she said, quietly.
He stood watching her for a moment before he moved to the desk and slid a slip of paper across it. "Romeo said—"
She held up a hand. "Probably better if I don't know."
"Aye," he said, grimly. Then, "Tell me one more time, lass. You sure about this?"
"It's too late now, isn't it?"
"Maybe not. Trade him this for RICO, and tell him you won't testify on the Doyle shite."
"Then he'll go after Juice again. Use him to threaten me," she said with a slow shake of her head. "Clay has a hair trigger lately. What do you think he'd do if Potter told him about Miles and the coke?"
"Clay's barely hangin' on, lass."
"Bobby, then. How would he react? Or what about Happy?"
Chibs let out a heavy sigh and looked away. There were about a dozen things he wanted to say, but probably ninety percent of them would embarrass them both. He cleared the lump in his throat and settled on, "It's been good havin' you here, Ollie girl."
She folded the paper, tucked it into her pocket, and came around the desk. "You've done so much for me, Chibs," she said. She lifted her hands in a helpless shrug. "I've got no way to repay you."
His mouth quirked. "I think savin' the entire club's a start."
"When you say it like that it sounds really fucking pretentious," she said and made a face.
He laughed and she couldn't help but smile at the sound. They stared at each other for a moment and then he gathered her against him. She pressed her forehead to the center of his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He lowered his head to brush against her hair. They stood like that for a long time, still and silent, as the full impact of what she was doing hit them both.
"Juicy's really worth all this?" he said, his voice thick.
She sniffed and pulled away. "I don't know. Maybe not. All I know is he deserves a shot. He deserves a chance to make up for what he did, and he doesn't deserve to be bullied by that motherfuckin' Lincoln Potter."
He considered her for a long moment, his head tilted and his eyes steady on hers. "Aye, Ollie girl," he said at last. "You'll do as you please anyway, and not a damn one of us can talk you out of it."
"You're learning, my friend."
He pulled her to him again and planted a brusque kiss on the crown of her head, like a sort of blessing. "Go on, then. Make the call. And if I don't see you again—"
She shook her head. "No goodbyes, Chibs. They're bullshit."
"Aye," he said. "Fuck 'em."
Her smile was at odds with her red nose and damp eyes, but he was glad to see it all the same. He patted her shoulder and walked to the door. She didn't turn around, and he took a minute to appreciate the fine red-gold of her hair in its complicated twists and braids. He remembered the first time he'd seen her, stepping out of that car of hers all bluster and strut. He wondered if she realized how important she'd become to everyone here, and how they would miss her. Probably not. It would probably shock the hell out of her if she knew. With a shake of his head he stepped outside and let the door close behind him.
Juice was puzzled. It wasn't that he was unhappy that Sheriff Roosevelt had let him go, but he had no idea why. He also didn't know why the sheriff had given him the information about his dad. He'd said he didn't like to play dirty, and as far as he was concerned he and Juice were square—but Juice seriously doubted Lincoln Potter felt the same.
He hadn't signed the deal. Olivia had asked that he trust her, and so while he couldn't see any possible way she could get either him or the club out of the whole mess, he'd gritted his teeth and bowed his head and let Potter hammer away.
At this point the original leverage was useless. Juice's dad could be Osama Bin Laden and no one in the club would give two fucks once they learned about Miles. Eli had told him not to worry about it, but he couldn't help it. Even if Otto had rolled, that didn't give Potter the True IRA and the cartel, and he wanted them both so bad he was practically drooling.
And so. Juice pulled into the TM lot, but Olivia's car wasn't there. He'd already tried her cell and hadn't gotten an answer. He stood beside his bike and scowled at the empty place where the Cougar usually sat. Maybe she'd gone to visit Tara again and had turned her phone off for some reason. Or maybe she was somewhere like the gun range and couldn't hear it ring.
Neither of those explanations rang quite true to him, though. She knew Potter had been after him hard and he'd spent the last few nights in custody. Surely she'd be wondering where he was. Surely she'd want to make sure she was reachable.
"Juicy boy!"
Juice turned reluctantly away from the empty parking spot and smoothed his expression. "Hey, Chibs. What's up?"
Chibs clapped him hard on the back. "We missed you, brother. Where you been?"
"Ahh…I had to get away for a day or two. Clear my head after—after everything." He stumbled a bit over the lie because Chibs' look seemed especially keen and penetrating.
"Hey, have you seen Olivia? I wanted to, um…" He trailed off and realized he didn't have an excuse for looking for her, specifically, but Chibs filled the lull before it became awkward.
"Aye," he said and rubbed his chin. "I think maybe you should step into the office with me, laddie. Jackie and me, we got a few things to say to you."
Juice's stomach dropped and he felt dizzy. He gave a short, jerky nod and fell in line behind him. There was only one thing they would need to say in private. They knew. Either Potter had sold him out or they'd somehow figured it out, but they knew. Had they hurt Olivia? No. He couldn't believe that. Jax might have a hard time trusting her—even now, after all this time—but Chibs loved her like a daughter.
"What's, uh—what's going on?" he managed as they walked.
Chibs shrugged and didn't look back. "You'll find out."
Jax waited for them in the clubhouse office, and Chibs paused to let Juice go in ahead of him. He shut the door. Juice stood between them and tried to smile. Their expressions were blank and stony, and his chin dropped to his chest.
"You voted already?" he said in a dull voice.
"About what, brother?" Jax said, his tone tight and restrained.
Brother. The word stung like acid. "You know what. Fucking Mayhem."
"Now why would we need to vote on Mayhem, Juicy?" Chibs said. "You didn't take the RICO deal, did you?"
His head jerked up and he stared back and forth between them. "How did you know—?" His mouth hardened. "Where the fuck is Olivia?"
"We'll get to that," Jax said. "Just explain one thing to us first: how the fuck did you think you could get away with stealing from the club and killing a brother? Did you think we wouldn't find out?"
His mouth fell open. Tears stood out in his eyes and his hands, buried in the pockets of his cut, clenched into fists. "I don't know, Jax. I guess maybe a part of me hoped you would. I know I'm trash. I'm nothing. This club is my life, my family, and I shit all over that."
"You sure as fuck did, laddie," Chibs said.
He came around to stand with Jax, and they both faced Juice with crossed arms and thunderous expressions. They shared a look. Tense seconds ticked by. They pulled their guns and chambered a round. Pointed the weapons at him.
His mind blanked. They were going to kill him here, in the clubhouse? And just the two of them? It didn't make any sense, but he supposed these were a different set of circumstances.
He raised his head and squared his jaw. If it was going to happen he might as well face it like a Son—even if he didn't deserve to call himself that anymore.
"Do it," he said. "I deserve it."
"You're goddamn right you do," Jax said.
The gun barrels were huge, dark yawning holes that stared straight into him like probing eyes. He didn't look away, and the moment stretched on and on.
Finally Jax lowered his gun, and with a frustrated breath Chibs did the same.
"You're the luckiest motherfucker alive, Juicy boy."
"I don't understand," he said, nonplussed. Why was he alive? What had just happened?
Jax holstered his weapon and crossed his arms again. "We're gonna give you another chance, Juice. You betrayed our trust, but we're gonna let you earn it back."
"The club voted no?"
"We didn't take it to the table," Chibs said. "Only we know what happened, and we're hopin' to keep it that way."
His gaze flicked back and forth between them and his face was contorted with confusion. "What the fuck is going on? How did you know about any of this? Why did Roosevelt just let me go without the deal? Where is Olivia?"
Chibs surged at him and seized two handfuls of shirt and cut. Hauled Juice in so that they were nose to nose and shook him hard. "You listen to me, brother. If I had my way you'd be a stain on the pavement right now. We'd be hosing bits of you off the floor. But apparently that woman thinks you're worth somethin', and while her taste in music is questionable and her tendency to fly off the handle a severe liability, I do trust her judgement about people. She fucked up once and learned her lesson, and I've not known her to make the same mistake twice."
Juice was so stunned he could only stare. It took him a minute to decipher Chibs' accent—it thickened when he got angry, and right now he was furious-skirting-homicidal—but once he did he shook loose and shoved him away. "What the hell are you talking about? What did she do?"
"She told us everything, Juice," Jax said. His tone was deceptively calm. "About Miles and the coke and RICO. Even about your old man." He paused and his face twisted. "You really thought we'd give a fuck about that?"
"It's in the bylaws," he muttered. He felt numb, bludgeoned and spun around and sick with it. He could barely process what Jax was saying, but one thing rang through: Olivia had betrayed his trust. She'd gone to Jax with everything. Everything he'd told her in confidence. Why would she do that? And was she ignoring his phone calls because of it? Hiding out somewhere to avoid him?
"We're changing those bylaws, Juice. We don't need that antiquated racist bullshit in our club," Jax said.
His eyes snapped up. He started to speak, but Chibs forestalled him with a gesture.
"Ollie made the deal, Juicy."
He repeated the words three or four times in his head, but still they made no sense. "I don't—she—no. Olivia's not a rat. She would never—"
"She didn't rat," Jax said. He let out a long sigh and rested against the desk. Propped his foot in the chair and leaned across his knee. "Ollie came to us and explained what happened with Eli and Miles and that US Attorney. We were ready to come after you with fuckin' pitchforks, but she stopped us."
"How?" he croaked.
Between them, Chibs and Jax gave him a recap of the whole arrangement. They explained about her father-in-law and the dirt she had on him. How she'd offered to give him up in exchange for an end to the RICO bullshit, and the only thing she asked from them is that they give Juice another chance and not tell the rest of the club what he'd done. They told him that Potter still insisted on a shot at the Irish and the cartel, so she'd fed him what the club wanted him to know, and Romeo was going to handle things from there.
When they were finished Juice stumbled backwards and collapsed onto the couch. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "She's so goddamn much smarter than me."
Chibs snorted. "Truest thing you've said all year, laddie."
"Where is she now?" he said, his face clouding.
They exchanged wary looks and Jax straightened. "She made the call about the meet this morning, and Eli took her into custody right after."
Juice nodded slowly. "That's why he let me go. They were holding me in case she changed her mind, but now that they have her they didn't need me anymore."
"Bingo."
"What's Romeo gonna do?" he said and raised his head to look at them.
"He didn't say," Jax said. "We didn't ask."
"But once it's over, once the meet happens and Romeo does whatever he's planning—they're gonna let her go, right? She won't need protection anymore."
Chibs let out a ragged sigh. "Juicy—" He broke off and his face momentarily twisted with emotion. He gathered himself and tried again. "She's not comin' back, laddie," he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
"What are you talking about? Are they arresting her? For her husband? She didn't get immunity for herself?"
"WITSEC, Juice," Jax said, "and protective custody until she testifies. Mick Doyle is the heaviest of heavies and they won't take any chances of him getting to her before they make their case."
"This doesn't make any sense," he said. "She wouldn't just leave. She wouldn't—she wouldn't do that." He slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and his head clutched in his hands. "She'd at least say goodbye first," he said to the floor.
Chibs rubbed a hand down his face and stepped closer to press it against Juice's back. "She didn't have a choice, brother. They weren't gonna release you until they had her, and now that they do she's cut off. We can't get to her, and they sure as fuck aren't gonna let her contact us."
He fell back against the sofa and stared out at the room with dull, unseeing eyes. "So that's it, then," he said, quietly. "She's just gone."
A silence fell. Juice was still, his hands limp at his sides, his expression lost.
"Juicy, listen to me," Chibs said. "She made this choice for you. You get that? She didn't want to go, but she thought you were worth it."
"I'm not," he said. "I don't deserve it."
"No you fucking well don't," Jax said. "But you've got it anyway, along with a second chance from us. Ollie's gone, but you're still here. Nut up and earn this."
His head lurched toward Jax. "What would you do if it were Tara?"
He flinched and looked away. "That's different," he said in a rough voice.
"No, brother," Juice said, "it's not."
"You love her that much, laddie?" Chibs said after a moment.
He pushed himself to his feet and wandered toward the door. "She's it for me," he said, simply. "She's endgame. Always has been, even when I was too fucking stupid to see it."
He shook his head like a stunned animal and shuffled out into the hall. The door drifted shut behind him, and Chibs and Jax stared after him with matching expressions of vexation.
"He's gonna need watching," Jax said at last.
"Aye," Chibs said, his voice grim. Then, thoughtfully: "You think she knew?"
"Who, Olivia?"
"No, lad, the fuckin' tooth fairy." He rolled his eyes. "Of course Olivia. You think she knew about—?" He waved toward the door.
He considered for a time, brows drawn together over troubled blue eyes. "Nah, Chibs. I don't think she had any idea." He huffed out a breath. "I don't think it'd even occur to her."
"It's a sad thing," Chibs said with all the gravity and poetry of a true Scot, "when a beautiful woman doesn't believe she's worth loving."
"Amen to that, brother," he said and shook his head. "Amen."
Um. Here's the thing: Clay was shot really badly, and if I remember correctly Wayne basically just sat there and waited for the ambulance. I think irl he would've needed a little more first aid than that, considering he was on oxygen for however long afterwords due to lung damage. So p. much I just have Olivia doing what I think SHOULD have been done on the show. But, I mean, it's been a long time since my first aid certification lapsed, so maybe I'm wrong; and maybe way off base with what she did, but, I dunno. I googled it?