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Boyd lay there wheezing, blood bubbling up in his throat.
“You did it. You really did it.”
Looking at Boyd on the floor, blood pooling around him, Raylan couldn’t believe that he had either. As Boyd began to gasp for breath, it hit him. Raylan dropped to the floor, knees slamming into the tiles, and pressed his hands desperately to the gushing wound in Boyd’s chest. The one he had put there. Flashes of Boyd in youth passed across Raylan’s memory – Boyd couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let him. With a soft sob he pressed his lips to Boyd’s damp cheek.