“I’ve been thinking about going back to school.” He swallows. “I was hoping you’d write a recommendation letter.”
I smile. “That’s awesome.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Of course, I will.”
“I wouldn’t have realized I could if not for you, mister.”
“Send me the details,” I say. “Now I have to go talk to your boss, yeah?”
He nods and jogs away.
I glance at Derek in his hard hat. As a foreman, he shouldn’t be chilling in the back, standing there with his hands on his hips watching the parade he’s made of this work site. He should be watching everyone like a hawk, pitching in when needed. Like now, nobody’s working with urgency.
“Derek,” I call out. “Did you sign off on the lift schedule this morning?”
He turns defensive before I even finish the sentence. “I was just?—”
The crane groans, and the second I see it, I know exactly why. The angle’s off—mast tilted too far back, weight stacked high without enough counterbalance. The pallet isn’t properly secured or loaded. It should be squared, and it isn’t. It’s tilting hard to one side.
“Hold it!” I shout. “Everyone clear the west side. Now!”
Too late.
The load sways, and it doesn’t snap or explode, just drifts—wrong.The straps are intact, but they’re pulling unevenly, so tension and gravity in the two by fours biting harder on one corner than the others. The pallet starts sliding from its highest setting, right above a group of four workers.
“Move!” I yell sharper, waving people back as I run toward them.
A board slides loose. Then another. It’s raining wood as I shove people out of the way. Someone shouts my name.
I move without thinking, boots skidding in the mud as I lunge toward the edge to get clear—and my foot sinks deeper than it should.I don’t get out in time.
I feel the impact more than I hear it. A violent crack against the side of my head that jars straight through my skull, knocking my hard hat loose. Something clips the other side of my head hard enough to jerk my neck sideways. I stagger at the second hit, falling to my knees, then knocking my shoulderagainst the ground as I fall forward. Luckily, I manage to roll in time to see the rest of the pallet drop a few feet away. It’s almost as if the pallet crushing detonates floodlights behind my eyes—white and blinding. Sound drains out, replaced by a high, thin ringing that won’t settle.
Hands grab my arms, my shoulders, hauling me back before I can try to stand. I taste copper immediately, thick and unmistakable. Something warm is sliding down the side of my face, dripping into my ear.
“Imm fffnne.”
Derek’s voice cuts through, sharp and frantic, barking orders he should’ve given ten minutes ago. Someone presses a hand against my head, and I hiss, the pain finally blooming on my left side—deep, pulsing, nauseating.
The scaffolding above me starts to warp, and the straight lines of the property bend. I try to focus on one thing on the gravel, but my vision doubles then smears. The last thing I register is someone saying my name again, closer this time. Then everything blacks out.
I blinkagainst the harsh hospital lights, my head pounding in slow pulses. Everything tastes faintly metallic. My vision blurs at the edges, as if I’m looking at everything around me hovering over a fire. There’s something warm and solid beside me, but I can’t quite tell which hand to lift to reach for it.
“Hey.” Robyn’s voice cuts cleanly through the fog. Calm. Controlled. “You’re awake.” She gazes down at me. “Good.”
She’s leaning close, adjusting the sheet over my chest. Her hands are steady, but her eyes wrinkle at the corners when she realizes I’m really looking at her.
When I speak, the words come out thick. “What… happened?”
Her hands smooth the fabric once more, ritualistically. “You’ve got a mild concussion and a scalp laceration. They stitched you up. Your CT is clean—no skull fracture, no bleeding.” A pause. “And yes, there was definitely a brain in there.”
I want to laugh, but everything moves like it’s underwater.
“I’ve asked them to keep you for observation. With head injuries, there’s always a risk of delayed swelling or bleeding. I want eyes on you for a few hours.”
I swallow. “I’m… glad to see you, but—why are you here?”
Her fingers hesitate for a fraction of a second before she answers. “I’m still your emergency contact.”
“Oh.” Guilt floods in, slow and heavy. “I didn’t… update the insurance. Forgot to change?—”
