We’re still sitting together when a doctor comes in, his hair messy and his glasses askew on his face.
I can tell it’s bad news before he even talks, and I can barely hear his words over the sound of Mom’s screams.
“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could, but despite our efforts, we weren’t able to get a pulse.”
Chapter 12
Jasper
“We’vegotapulse.”
For a second, the words don’t register. I’m too lost in memories. Too lost in pain. Then there’s a sound. A low, steady beeping.
A noise rips from me. Half gasp, half sob, and I lurch forward, catching Arlo’s hand in my own.
“It’s thready, but it’s there,” the medic says. “Keep venting.”
Arlo is alive.
My baby boy is alive.
I blink hard, staring at the monitor like it might flatline again if I look away.
“Post-ROSC. Intubated. Smoke inhalation, partial-thickness burns. ETA two minutes.”
Return of spontaneous circulation.
I’ve heard it hundreds of times. Said it myself.
I’ve never, not one time in nineteen years, felt the weight of it in my chest quite like this.
He’s warm. His hand is warm. Not cold like Sarah’s. Not cold at all.
My hands are still shaking.
Arlo is still here.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to the back of his hand. “I’m here, baby boy. You’re going to be okay.”
Ican’tlookawayfrom Arlo’s chest.
He’s in the ICU now. The ventilator is hissing beside him, the thick tube between his lips held in place with white tape. It looks stark against the soot still clinging to his skin.
They weren’t able to get it all off.
He’s asleep. Sedated, really. But it makes me feel better to think he’s just sleeping. I want to touch him. I want to feel his soft skin under my fingers, but I’m afraid of that too.
I know he’s not in any pain. Not right now anyway, but I still don’t want to risk it.
His chest rises.
Falls.
Rises again.
I know he’s not doing it on his own, but it still soothes me to see.
My throat convulses as I swallow hard, my eyes taking the same path they’ve taken over and over since they let me come in here twenty minutes ago.
