Page 168 of Distress Signal
. . .
FINN
Nothing could preparea person for seeing someone they love getting hurt. The trauma, even though you hadn’t endured it yourself, felt like a hole being ripped in your chest, shattering your heart to pieces.
I’d felt it the day West, Crew, and I were fucking around on the ranch as teenagers, and Crew fell off his horse, fracturing his leg.
Again the day Owen took the hit that fucked up his shoulder and ultimately ended his NFL career.
When I found Aria on the kitchen floor of the guest house a few months ago, surrounded by all that blood.
When Reagan was trapped behind the wheel of her car, the bones of her arm poking through the skin.
And now, as long as I lived, I’d never get the image of that bullet passing through Lane’s chest, his vest doing nothing to stop the large caliber at such a close range. Good luck or poor aim had kept it from going through his head.
Blood sprayed, and Lane fell backward, landing in a heap on the ground while all of the law enforcement present rushed forward, service weapons unloading on the already dead manwho lay on the top step, his arms and legs sprawled awkwardly around and beneath him.
I’d fired the kill shot. He’d been dead before he hit the ground.
“Lane!” a woman screamed, and before any of us could reach our brother, Sutton raced forward, dropped her bag and followed it to her knees, and pressed her hands over the wound in his chest.
Everything happened quickly after that. Crew, who had gone through paramedic training a few years ago, rushed to Sutton’s side. Together, they hooked Lane up to an IV, intubated him, and did what they could to staunch the bleeding from his chest. As a team, my brothers and I carried him the half mile to the chopper and loaded him in. It all seemed to happen in a blur, all of us moving on autopilot.
“Stay with Reagan!” I shouted at West as I fired up the engines, Crew and Sutton getting in back beside Lane to keep working on him. My twin saluted as I lifted off.
“Boise!” Sutton shouted, but I was already on it.
Crew yelled, “We’re losing him!” as a horrible, steadybeeeeeeeeeeepfound its way to my ears over the roar of the engines, rotor, and blades.
“No!” Sutton screamed, her breath labored. “C’mon, Lane. Stay with me.”
Her words were punctuated by sobs, and I had to admit, I was barely holding it together myself.
I’d evacuated wounded soldiers and civilians before, but I’d never flown as fast as I did that day, knowing my big brother was dying. Knowing I was responsible for getting him to the hospital as quickly as possible because his life depended on it.
Thanks to me radioing ahead, when I touched down on the helipad atop the hospital’s singular tower, the trauma team raced out to meet us. There was a lot of shouting of medical terms I didn’t understand as Crew and Sutton helped transfer him to agurney. Crew remained with me while Sutton raced inside with the team.
My baby brother was covered in Lane’s blood, his hands stained, his shirt and pants ruined.
“Come on,” I said, wrapping my arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Ten minutes and a fresh set of clothes for Crew later, we walked into the waiting room, dropping heavily onto chairs side by side.
“One of us should call Mama,” he said quietly, his steady tone belying the fear and worry radiating off him in waves.
My hand shook as I took my phone out of my pocket.
I swallowed hard, emotion clogging my throat, then pressed Mama’s name on the screen, putting it on speaker, its ringing far too loud in the silence around us.
“Finn?” Mama said when she answered. “Everything okay?”
“Hi, Mama.”
The relief in Mama’s voice was evident when she said, “Oh, Finn. It’s so good to hear your voice. You’re okay? What about Reagan and Lainey? Did you get them back?”
“I’m fine, and so are they. We got them,” I assured her. “But Lane was shot.”
“Where?” Mama asked.
