Page 93 of Pumped

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

OWEN

“Move!” I shoulder my way around Everest, who’s now just standing there, frozen. Grabbing some parent’s arm, I yank them back then drop to my knees in their place.

Ivy. It’s Ivy. I knew it was her the second I heard her scream. When the whole party came screeching to a halt and parents started throwing worried and sympathetic looks in our direction.

She’s lying face down on the ground, her beautiful pink dress all rucked up, torn, and stained with grass and dirt. Her sparkling tiara is broken in half, though still stuck in the tangles of her hair. She’s not moving.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, raw terror is circling, prowling, waiting to pounce. It’s bigger, darker, more menacing than the fear I had when I got the call from the hospital that night. If I let it, it could sink its claws into me and rip me apart, it could devour me and consume me whole.

I can’t let that happen.Keep it together, Lambert.

A switch flips inside my brain, kicking me into high gear. The rest of the world evaporates as I zero in on the task before me. Evaluate the situation, create an action plan, then execute.

Mom, Dad, Nell, and Graham are around me now and they all reach out to help Ivy up.

“Don’t touch her!” I yell and they all snatch their hands away. “I need to check for injuries first.”

I hear myself. My voice is steady, sharp, decisive, and in command. It sounds like the voice I use when an animal is brought in for emergency care, or when there’s a complication in the middle of a surgery. It’s detached and cold, which is completely at odds with the panic winding its way through me. But I need to sound that way, I need to compartmentalize and separate my feelings from my logical, rational mind.

“Uncle O?” The word comes out small, unsteady, and frightened.

“I’m here, sweetie. I’m right here. Shh. Don’t move yet. Hold still.” Quickly, I run my hands over Ivy’s skull, looking for any patches of wetness, or any bumps that shouldn’t be there. Nothing—thank god. I move down her neck and find no obvious injuries there either. Okay. Good. “Did you hit your head, Ivy-bear?”

“I— I— don’t know?”

“I don’t think she did,” a parent says from over my shoulder. “At least, she didn’t land on her head. Someone jostled her from behind when she was at the top of the slide and she lost her balance. She came down the slide head first, but I’m pretty sure she caught herself with her hands.”

The description makes my throat close as my imagination paints the scene for me. Everything plays in slow motion: Ivy at the top of the slide, a shadow behind her, the look of surprise on her face as she tips forward, her hands outstretched in front of her as a scream rips from her throat.

I shake my head to wipe the image from my mind.Focus on the now, Lambert, don’t get distracted by things you can’t change.

“Okay, Ivy-bear, let’s try to sit up.” I slide my hands under her armpits and hold my breath as I slowly ease her into a seated position.

Her face is scrunched up, silent tears spilling down her cheeks. I can tell she wants to cry out, but she’s being so brave. My Ivy, beautiful even when she’s all banged up and dirty, injured and in pain. It’s all I can do not to scoop her up and wrap myself around her so nothing can ever hurt her again.

“Oh my god, Ivy,” Everest comes barging in, finally snapping out of his state of shock. He jostles me in his haste to get to Ivy and does what I wanted to do, lifting her into his lap and holding her close.

“Ow!” Ivy yelps, pulling her arm to her chest.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Everest’s face pales as all the blood drains from his face.

I grip the back of his neck and squeeze. The last thing I need right now is for him to pass out on me. “Breathe, babe. Stay calm.” Then I tug his arm out of the way so I can get a better look at Ivy. “What is it, sweetie? Where does it hurt?”

She slowly holds out her arm, her opposite hand wrapped gingerly around her wrist. As carefully as I can, I run my fingers from her elbow down her forearms. When I get to her wrist, she hisses, shoulders shooting up to her ears, and lets out a pained whine.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. It hurts here?”

She nods as fresh tears spill from her eyes.

It’s only been a few minutes since her fall, but I can already see her wrist starting to swell. Best case scenario, she sprained it. Worst case, it’s broken. Broken wrists can be difficult to treat if Iremember correctly. They can also lead to a lot of complications. Either way, we’ll need x-rays to know for sure.

I scan the rest of her. There’s a big, ugly scrape across her chin and her lip is split open and bleeding. I’ll need to clean it up to know if she’ll need stitches. Dirt and grass stains cover the front of her dress. Her hands bore the brunt of it, though, with more scrapes and cuts along the heels of her palms and some on her elbows.

“Anyone have a scarf, or a necktie, or something?” I stick my hand out without looking up and when nothing lands in my hand, I finally glance around. The backyard is almost empty with the last of the guests filtering out. The bartenders are packing up, and so are the band. The only people left standing near us are Mom and Nell.

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