Page 78 of Finding Home
He looks over his shoulder and evaluates the situation behind him before nodding.
He goes to hand me the radio before pulling it back quickly.
“If he asks, you stole this, I didn’t give it to you. I’m not getting in shit with him. He’s gonna be in a sour mood when he gets out as it is.”
“Don’t worry, he’s in enough shit with me, you’ll be fine.”
I take the radio and press the button, saying his name into it.
“North!” Everett’s voice comes through, strong but confused.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making sure your ass makes it out of this. I’m reminding you to come home.”
“I’m working on it,” he says, a slight element of levity to his voice that I know only I get, especially when Ryder raises a brow at me.
“I love you,” I say, my voice cracking. Ryder’s still watching me and his eyes soften, but I close mine, unable to see that look. I push past the pain and worry and say, “Lila is expecting a movie marathon in a fort with her daddy.”
I bite my lip, my tears fighting to break free, to consume me, and look around. There’s people gathered all along the barrier, and anyone near a firefighter who has a radio is looking at me, hearing everything in our conversation.
Shuffling and crackling comes through the radio before I finally hear Everett’s voice again.
“I love you, North.” The radio cuts off. My heart stops, and a sob tears from me.
“You are not saying goodbye, you grumpy ass,” I yell through my tears before someone says, “We’re in!” through the radio.
My chest tightens as nothing else comes through. I clutch the radio to my chest as though it’s my sole lifeline. The metal cuts into my hand, but I ignore the sting, my eyes focused on the house. A few minutes later, two men round the corner of the house with a thirdhanging on between them. When he lifts his head, I see his eyes, eyes I’ll never forget until the day I die, and my legs finally give as I collapse onto the concrete. Rocks dig into my knees as I fall forward and sob into my hands. My chest heaves as I try to pull as much air into my lungs as I can, as if that alone with make me feel better. The cold air burns with each inhale, but it’s the shock to my system that I need.
Ryder rubs my back as he whispers, “They’re taking him to the ambo. You should join them.”
He helps me up and points me in the right direction. I start at a fast walk that morphs into a jog before I’m sprinting in the direction of the ambulance. When I get there, Everett is holding an oxygen mask to his face and the image tears at me. He opens his free arm and wraps it around me as I cry into his chest. When he kisses the top of my head, I cry harder.
“We’re going to need to take you into West Bridgejaw to get properly checked out at the hospital,” I hear one of the paramedics say and feel Everett nod against my head.
His hand rubs up and down my back. “North, I’ve got to get in.”
I pull my head back just enough to make eye contact. “I’m going with. I’ll call Brin and see if she can spend the night with Lila, or I’ll call Mom and see if she can grab her.”
He goes to pull the oxygen mask away again, and I shake my head. “Keep it on. I’ll make sure Lila’s okay, we’ve got an army here that will take care of her. You need someone who’s going to worry about you.”
His eyes soften, and he nods again. The paramedics load him into the ambulance, and I hop in with him. The ride to the hospital is quick, and once we arrive, they whisk him inside, forcing me to stay behind in the waiting room while the doctors check on him.
FORTY-FOUR
CHLOE
Ihave spent far too much time over the last six months in this hospital with loved ones. Between my dad and his heart attack this summer, visiting Mrs. Simpson, and now Everett, it’s all too much. The thought that I could spend even more time in this hospital worried about people I love is not something I’m sure I can handle.
I text Brinley, and she says she’ll stay with Lila, she’s got it all under control and not to worry about it. The next thing I know, I’m on the phone with my brother, the one person who can probably explain things to me and maybe calm my nerves about Everett’s condition.
“Hey, Chlo,” Grayson answers, and I crumple into a chair, unable to stand anymore, my tears falling as I barely get the word hey out.
“What’s wrong, Chlo?” Worry fills his voice, and I wipe at my tears and gather myself enough to tamper his worry.
“I’m okay.” I sit back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling as I force my next words out. “It’s Everett.”
