Page 57 of Almost Ours
Connor’s jacket.
Then, his body.
His small, lifeless body breaking through the black water.
His lips were blue. His face was blue. His blond hair was slicked to his forehead, frozen in thick, wet clumps. His eyelashes–heavy with ice. His skin–God, his skin–was pale, too pale, like wax paper stretched too thin over his small frame.
Was his chest moving?
Was he breathing?!
“No,” I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. Then the scream ripped from me, raw and desperate. “No, no, no!”
Shane was running to the edge of the pond. Connor in his arms. Limp. Lifeless. His head lolled back, his arms dangling at unnatural angles as Shane tore across the ice.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Shane hit the frozen ground on his knees, ripped off his jacket, then laid Connor on top of it. His big hands shook as he tilted Connor’s chin back and started compressions.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“No,” I whimpered, shaking my head. “No, no, no, he has to be okay. He has to be okay.”
Ryan dropped beside Shane–soaking wet.
His lips–just as blue as Connor’s. His dark hair plastered to his forehead. Water dripping down his nose, his cheeks, his chin. His shoulders heaved, his breath coming in sharp, gasping bursts, and his eyes–his eyes were wild. Desperate. Locked onto Connor.
Ryan shoved Shane aside, nearly knocking him over.
“Go,” Ryan snapped, his voice hoarse, jerking his chin toward the house.
Shane didn’t hesitate. He took off. Sprinting.
Ryan turned back to Connor, pressing his hands to his chest. Pounding. Harder than Shane had. His hands trembled, but his movements were strong. Unrelenting.
“Come on,” Ryan muttered under his breath. “Come on, buddy, breathe.”
I dropped to my knees beside them, my hands clasped together, my lips moving in frantic, soundless prayers.
Please. Please.
I had never believed in God. Not really.
But I would now.
I would believe in anything, everything, if it meant my son would take another breath.
Tears blurred my vision as I rocked back and forth, my fingernails digging into my palms so hard I thought they might break skin.
“You can’t take him!” I sobbed, my voice ragged, broken. “You can’t have him! Do you hear me?! You can’t have him!”
And then–
A cough.
A sputtering, choking cough.
Water spilled from Connor’s lips. His chest heaved. His belly rose.
