I don’t let myself go there
Not for the sake of him or my friend.
Sweat beads on his pale face, and ash and blood streak his chest and shoulder where his shirt was cut away. I’ve cleaned up what I can, but there’s more work to be done.
His labored breathing points to broken ribs, but nothing suggests a punctured lung. He’ll need imaging once we land, but my priority is keeping him stable. The red light of the pulse oximeter blinks rhythmically, showing a fast but steady heartbeat.
It’s a start.
“You’re okay,” I say, more for him than me. “I’ve got you.”
His knuckles brush my forearm, and I look down to find his eyes open and pinned on me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
Not wild or panicked.
But filled with a trust I haven’t earned. Like he’s decided I’m the one who’s going to help him get through one of the worst days of his life.
His collar holds him in place, but his gaze is fixed on me anyway and full of pain that seems deeper than his injuries.
I lift his oxygen mask and lean closer so I can hear him over the rotor blades.
“Didn’tmeanforittohappen. . .” His words run together, almost incoherent between his shallow breaths and the sound of the chopper. What doesn’t get lost, though, is the pleading behind each syllable he struggles to push out.
I duck my head.
“Did—did Rory and my grandpa make it out?”
Emmett tests his restraints, eyes darting around, looking for something that’s not here. He winces, his face twisting in pain.
It’s hard to watch.
I lay a hand on his good shoulder to ease his agitation. It takes a second, but he relaxes a fraction under my palm.
Most don’t.
After a trauma like this, they either fight me or shut down.
“Easy now. Slow breaths,” I say, unsure what he needs to hear or how much he recalls after losing consciousness andsuffering a head injury. “I know it hurts, but you’re safe. You saved everyone.” My own emotions kick violently, battering my sternum. I force down the thought of what would have happened ifhehadn’t been there, focusing only on him. “You did good.” It’s the only truth I can offer.
His jaw hardens, the veins in his forearms flaring. “You’ve gotta let me back in. I can save her.” There’s a crack of anguish in his voice. “Can’t lose her.” His glassy eyes peer straight through me and then, in a blink, pull back to my eyes. His focus is so sharp I almost forget where we are. “I can’t lose her.”
I’m cut in half by the fear in his voice.
I lean closer, needing him to hear me over the thump of the blades. “You got everyone out.” It’s all I can give him without making false promises.
Lines crease the corners of his eyes when he squeezes them shut, one tear rolling down the side of his face and over the clenched muscle of his jaw. My heart squeezes in my chest for him.
Head injury or not, his pain is real.
“It should’ve been me.”
Then he fades away, giving into the adrenaline crash and the fentanyl. His eyes drift closed and the tension in his jaw eases, but his fingers stay curled tight into my flight suit.
I stare at them for a beat.
I can’t fix whatever is eating away at him.
But I can’t bring myself to pull away either.
