Page 4 of Aviator
“It’s your grandfather,” he says, his voice low and serious. “Margaret just called. There’s been some sort of emergency. You need to get to the emergency room as soon as possible.”
My heart hammers in my chest as if it’s trying to break free, and I struggle to breathe. My grandfather has always been a rock, a father figure who’s guided me through the darkest moments. The thought of losing him now gut-punches me, leaving me reeling.
“Is he okay? How bad is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Lawrence admits. “Margaret didn’t say much, just that he’s unconscious.”
I nod dumbly, trying to process what he’s telling me. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt for not being able to be there for my grandpa when he needed me most. Margaret often stops by the house to check on him for this exact reason if I’m gone overnight.
“Take all the time you need, Dean,” Lawrence says, briefly placing a hand on my shoulder before stepping away. It’s an unusual show of support from him but one I appreciate, nonetheless.
“Thank you,” I reply hastily, already moving towards my truck. My only focus now is getting home to Gramps as quickly as possible. Thoughts of my last deployment in Afghanistan and losing my friend, Ryan Tate, who was killed in action, flicker through my mind like ghosts. A stark reminder that life can change in an instant.
The wind from the open window rips through my hair as I speed along the winding road, and the roar of my truck’s engine drowns out all other sounds. Trees blur past me in a green haze, and the sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the asphalt. My heart pounds in my chest, fueled by adrenaline and fear for my grandfather.
“Almost there,” I tell myself, trying to hold on
to the hope that I’m not too late.
As I pull into the hospital parking lot, a familiar dread rises in my chest, a stark reminder of the countless hours spent visiting wounded friends and loved ones in military hospitals. I shake my head, momentarily pushing aside the painful memories and focusing on the task at hand.
“Please let him be okay,” I murmur, leaping from the truck and striding into the hospital.
“Excuse me,” I say, interrupting a nurse bustling down the hallway. “I’m looking for my grandfather, Lucas Pascal.”
“Are you Dean Tyler?” she asks, her brow furrowing with concern. “Next of kin?”
“That’s right,” I confirm, a knot forming in my stomach as I take in her expression. She nods, directing me to the waiting room where a doctor will meet me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, my breath catching as I go to the sterile room. The walls close in around me, and suddenly, it feels like I’m back in Afghanistan, surrounded by the smell of blood and the sound of screaming. I close my eyes tightly, willing the memory away.
“Mr. Tyler?” A voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. I open my eyes to find a doctor standing in front of me, his face lined with fatigue but his eyes kind.
“Yeah,” I tell him, rising to my feet. “Tell me about my grandfather.”
“I’m so sorry to tell you that Mr. Pascal suffered a major stroke.” The doctor’s voice is steady and calm. “We’re doing everything we can to treat him, but it’s too early to determine the extent of any possible damage.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course,” he replies, leading me down a maze of hallways until we arrive at my grandfather’s room. The sight of him lying there, so still and vulnerable, sends a wave of sorrow crashing over me. My vision blurs with emotion as I take his hand, gripping it tightly.
“Hey, Gramps,” I whisper, trying to sound strong despite the tremor in my voice. “You’ve got to fight, okay? I need you here, you old bastard. You’re the only thing keeping me together.”
I sit by his bedside and watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. I can’t help but feel guilty. I should have been there. I should have been taking better care of him. But I was too busy taking every possible job, so I didn’t have to think about. . .anything. Because if I had a spare minute to let my ghosts catch up with me. . .No. Not the time.
I make a silent promise to be there for him every step of the way and make sure he gets the care he needs and deserves. I won’t let him down again like I have so many others in my life. Sleep doesn’t take me quickly, but when it does, it’s haunted by ghosts.
* * *
The gunfire was loud and constant, like a never-ending drumbeat in my ears. I could feel the vibrations of each shot in my chest, making my heart pound. Ryan was up ahead of me, shouting orders to the rest of his team, trying to keep us all together and focused. And then, out of nowhere, he went flying. He didn’t even have time to scream. I almost didn’t realize what had happened until our combat medic, Ford Collier, started shouting over the radio.
I remember the way his body fell to the ground, lifeless. The way the blood began to pool around him, staining the dirt in a dark red-black shadow. It all happened so fast, but in that moment, it felt like time had slowed down. The gunfire and explosions continued around us, but everything felt distant and muffled. All I could focus on was Ryan’s body and Collier frantically trying to stop blood flow.
But there was no way to stop it.
Once blood loss reached a certain point. . . there was no coming back.
Especially not in a hell like this.
