Page 27 of Beneath the Indigo Sky

I’m in awe as I stand frozen in place at the bottom of the stairs, watching the way he cares for Ken. While it takes less than fifteen minutes for the ambulance to reach us and for the EMTs to get Ken strapped onto a board and carry him upstairs to a wheeled gurney, it feels like a lifetime.

Namid

“I'm fine.”

Ken hisses as his shoulder jostles when the gurney hits another dip in the gravel driveway.

“I'm fine. It's an arm, not a neck.”

I squeeze his hand tighter as a laugh that's barely more than a sob shakes itself from my throat. I can feel how much he hurts. He’s being brave, but I can feel that he’s scared. If he’s ever been hurt this badly, it hasn’t been during the decade I’ve known him.

We’re at the ambulance, and they're trying to load him, but I won't let go of his hand. I can’t let go of his hand. I need to help him; I need to do something. Anything.

I’m no good to anyone in situations like this.

“You need to let us get him into the ambulance. He’s going to be okay, but we need to get him to the hospital.” The EMT’s voice sounds like it’s echoing through a long tunnel, and they're trying to pry his hand away from mine.

“It's okay. Just let us get him loaded and you can ride with us.”

Panic.

Pure, ice-cold, blood-curdling panic.

I shake my head, and my hand is trembling and gripping his so tightly.

“No. He'll be staying here.” Ken’s voice seems so far away.

I try to fight the burn in my lungs and the sting in my eyes.

“It's okay. I know you need to stay here. I'll make sure the doctors know to call you as soon as they can.” He’s the one who’s hurt, but he’s trying to take care of me. He knows I can’t go with him.

The medic finally wins. He pries my hand away, and I can only stare, frozen in place by panic. Ken needs me, and I can't go with him. I can't and he knows I can’t, and he says it's okay, but it's not. It's not okay that I can’t.

“Hey.”

Ken nearly yells to get my attention, and his gaze is soft and loving when my eyes snap to his.

“It's okay, kiddo.”

I fall to my knees as they close the doors, and Jayce's hand that has been on my shoulder blade this whole time shifts down my arm as he sinks to a squat in front of me.

“Hey, it’s okay. It's okay.”

His arms are around me, and I'm shaking so hard I might break. He’s so strong and warm, and all I want to do is disappear into his embrace.

“Let's get in the truck, and we'll head to the hospital and…”

“I can't.” My sob cuts him off.

Pain.

Pain and fear and desperation and anguish.

So much of it.

I can't be at the hospital.

“I can’t.” All I can do is repeat myself as I curl against his chest on my knees in the long gravel driveway.

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