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Sweat drips down my brow, into my eyes. The crack of her rib doesn’t register, neither does Ford screaming into the phone, the rain soaking my shirt or the ache in my arms, the burn in my chest.
All I see is Ruby. Her pale face tipped toward the sky, rose-gold hair spread out across the grass. Blue moonlight on her face.
Ruby at my kitchen island, barefoot, laughing. Her sweet, smiling face burned bright in my memory. My sunflower. My heart and soul.
The woman I love.
The woman I need.
Stopping compressions, I check her wrist for a pulse.
Nothing.
“No,” I choke out.
Grief capsizes me. I collapse on top of her, cradling her tiny frame in my arms. My beating heart, my precious girl. “Take it,” I tell her hoarsely. “My breath, my soul. Take it.” A sob rips through me. “Breathe, baby. Just fucking breathe.”
Lifting my face, I wait for her chest to rise. For her lips to draw air.
Instead—nothing.
“Sunflower.” My voice breaks.
I bury my face in her neck and cry. “I am begging you, come back to me. I need you. I need you so goddamn much.”
I sob and plead. Anything. Anything to bring her back to me.
“Charlie.” Davis’s voice is tight. “Stop.”
Sounds distort. The heavy hands of my brothers clamp down on my shoulders, wrestling me away from Ruby.
“No!” I shout desperately, swinging a fist as I’m pulled backward, punching nothing but air. No one’s taking me from her. “Don’t fucking touch her!”
Wyatt locks his arms around my chest, holds tight. “Calm your ass down,” he hisses.
“It’s been ten minutes,” comes Davis’s grim reply. His eyes intense, he positions himself over Ruby and tips her head back. “You have to rest, man. Let me take a turn.”
It takes me a second to realize Davis isn’t trying to take her from me. He’s trying to help.
Panting, I nod.
Davis locks his fierce gaze on mine. “We’ll switch off until she’s breathing.”
Numb, I watch as my brother begins CPR.
Breathe.
Breathe, Ruby. Come back to me.
My worst fucking nightmare—staring at a closed hospital room door. Behind it, the woman I love fights for her life.
Making a fist, I look down at my hands, torn apart, covered in soot. I can still feel Ruby’s pulse beneath my fingertips. We got her heart beating minutes before the ambulance showed up. I told them all I could about her condition, then they took her away from me.
I screamed out everything I had left to the sky.
Numbness gives way to grief, to rage, as I pace the carpeted waiting room of Bozeman’s cardiac ICU, twisting a hand through my hair. I wonder if my eyes look as deranged as my brothers.
We’ve been here for six hours. My soul feels like it’s been through a shredder.
