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I grip the helm and drive us as far away from land as I can.
I don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes? Twenty? Thirty?
We aren’t safe. I know that. But it’s the best I can do at the moment. I can no longer see land. And it will take Felix and his men a while to find us. I turn off the engine but decide not to put the anchor down. I hope we continue to float away from the shore, making it harder for Felix to find us.
And then I run back to the men who saved me and my babies’ lives.
They are both sitting up, which I take as a good sign.
Enzo looks at me like I’m his whole world, and he couldn’t function with me gone. Now that I’ve returned, he’s whole again. I smile lightly; I feel the exact same way.
And then I look at Beckett. He looks like he just went through a meat grinder. I don’t see a spot of skin that isn’t burned or marked. His left eye is bulging out of his eye socket swollen and red. And his right arm looks the worst. It must have taken the brunt of the damage from the explosion. It’s bleeding badly as he cradles it against his chest. I can see the muscles and tendons exposed where skin should be. Blood is shooting rapidly from his veins. If we don’t do something, he’s going to bleed to death.
“I should have driven us to a hospital instead of getting lost,” I say, realizing my mistake as I look at Beckett.
“No,” Enzo and Beckett both say at the same time.
“I don’t need a doctor,” Beckett says.
“Well, you can’t keep walking around like that,” I say, but inside I’m thrilled Beckett is at least conscious enough to talk again, although he must be in incredible pain.
“H
e needs surgery,” Enzo says.
My eyes widen, looking at Beckett’s arm. I don’t disagree. But neither Enzo or I can perform a surgery.
“Did you call a doctor to meet us here?” I ask.
Enzo looks at Beckett. “Do you trust me?”
Beckett stares back. “With my life.”
Enzo stands, his energy seeming to return. Then he walks over to Beckett. He kneels down so Beckett can put his better arm around Enzo’s shoulder, and Enzo helps Beckett stand.
“Kai, there should be a medical room on the yacht. Most often it's the first room on the right down the first flight of stairs.”
I nod and disappear down the stairs.
Sure enough, Enzo is right. There is a room set up to handle a medical crisis on board. It looks similar to the room Enzo had set up in his house. I prop the door open so Enzo and Beckett can easily get through, and then I dig through cabinets trying to find all the supplies we will need to help Beckett.
I find gauze, bandages, morphine, needles, and then I see a saw. I hold it in my hand a second, considering, but we can’t do that. I move to put it back in the cabinet.
“We are going to need that,” Beckett says before I can put the saw away.
I swallow hard, not able to imagine using it to remove Beckett’s arm. Even if we were successful in numbing his arm and knocking him unconscious, I don’t think we can amputate it. But I also don’t think we can repair the damage.
So I set the saw on the tray next to the surgery table.
Enzo helps Beckett to the table and remove his shirt. Beckett hisses as he has to lift his mangled arm.
I stare at Beckett’s body, broken and marred. All of my own scars flare at the sight, bringing back all the pain I’ve experienced before. But I’ve never felt anything like his arm.
I know staring at it isn’t helping, but I don’t know what to do.
“We need to deal with your arm first. We don’t want you to bleed out on us,” Enzo says.
Beckett nods.
