Muscle

by Lexi Whitlow

  The EMT nods. “Climb in.”

  I turn to Tyler. “Go to Amanda and Jacob,” I say. “Check on your house. I’ll call you from the hospital as soon as I know anything.”

  He nods. “Okay. I’ll see if I can find our horses.”

  If our horses got out of the stable, then I know they’re fine. We’ll find them.

  “Hug your wife and kid first,” I say. “You never know when—”

  My throat seizes tight, tears threaten to flood my eyes. If I say anymore I’ll tune up and cry like a child, so I hold my words. Tyler knows what I mean. He watches me climb in to the back of the ambulance, his expression grim. I pull the door shut, and from then on focus on Grace laying silent in front of me.

  I slip my hand into hers, squeezing harder than I probably should. I smooth dirty hair away from her face.

  “I love you baby,” I whisper. “Please come back to me. I know what you did. You did good.”

  I’ve never been more exhausted in my life. The combination of anxiety and lack of sleep has me in a haze, so it doesn’t register with me right away when Grace’s head rolls to one side, then the next.

  I blink, trying to think.

  “She’s moving,” I say to the EMT sitting across from me.

  He sees it too. He reaches down to the soft inner flesh of her upper arm and pinches it. Grace winces, her face screwing up.

  “Outstanding,” he says, smiling. “She’s coming up.”

  He checks his monitors. “Heart rate has come down a bit. It’s all good.”

  He peers up at me, an odd smile turning his lip. “We’re about ten minutes out from the hospital. They’re going to need her insurance information when they admit her. Other than emergency care, they can’t treat her without consent of next of kin. They’ll need contact info.”

  I have no idea how to get in touch with Grace’s mother. Everything I had that might have included that info went up in the fire. I don’t even know if she has insurance, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for her care. She’s here because of me and trying to save my stock.

  “I’m next of kin,” I hear myself saying without reservation. “She’s my wife.”

  The EMT nods. “That makes it easier.”

  Once we’re at the hospital everything goes into overdrive. They rush her away, telling me to wait and they’ll update me as soon as they have any information.

  I pull my phone from my hip pocket and call my Mom.

  “I need a favor,” I say, after telling her where I am and why I’m here. “I need you to come here, and bring you and dad’s wedding rings. I need to convince some people here that Grace and I are married.”

  I explain why, and while she doesn’t think it’s an altogether wise idea, she agrees to play along.

  “She came back?” Mom asks. “For the horses? She turned the horses out?”

  “I think so,” I say. “Tyler say’s there was no sign of them in the wreckage of the stables. I didn’t see any signs of ‘em. She managed to save Emma’s baby pictures and the photo albums and some other stuff. She dragged it all down into the cellar with her. That’s where I found her.”

  I swallow hard, feeling a hot lump in my throat.

  “Mom, everything else is gone. There’s nothing left. It’s a total loss.”

  There’s a long pause, then she speaks, her tone low and soothing.

  “Well son, you’re safe. Grace is safe. The rest of it was just buildings and things. Your father always said that either a fire or flood was going to take out the whole spread one day, so we always maintained good insurance. You haven’t dropped the coverage, have you?”

  I smile. “No ma’am. We’re insured to the hilt.”

  “Well then, we’ll rebuild. Bigger and better than ever.”

  That’s my mom, always seeing the upside.

  “I’ll see you in an hour or so,” she says. “I’m going to call Amanda and see if she can watch Emma.”

  I end the call just in time to see a young woman in colorful scrubs approaching, a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other.

  “Sir, I need you to complete this information for the young woman you came in with. Can you tell me how you know her?”

  “She’s my wife,” I say, looking down at the paperwork.

  She nods. “Complete this and bring it back to me at the desk at the end of the hall.”

  I decide not to go overboard with my lie. I don’t take the liberty of giving Grace my last name. I do list myself as her next of kin, with ‘husband’ scrawled illegibly above the ‘relationship’ description. I remember her birthday is in October. She just had it a week or so before coming out to stay after the interview. I think it was October twenty-first. I write that, hoping I’m close.

  Ten minutes after I’m finished with the paperwork, another woman in scrubs appears, her expression tinged with apprehension.

  “Are you Mr. Davis?” she asks, regarding me cautiously. “Grace Bradley’s husband?”

  I nod, feeling my heart race, anxiety peaking. “How is she? Is she alright?”

  The woman nods, “I’m Dr. Walsh, the ER attending. We think she’s going to be just fine. She’s stabilized. She’s in and out, a little confused, which is normal with hypoxia. It should pass. She’s asking for you.”

  That surprises me. The doctor motions for me to follow her.

  “And she keeps asking about horses. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We ranch. Breed horses. She was there during the wildfire, trying to turn the horses out.”

  “I see,” she says, her face drawing with concern. “Did she succeed?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I say as we turn a corner into a busy open room with lots of patients in beds separated only by thin curtains. “I think so, but, I don’t know.”

  “Well, tell her they’re okay,” the doctor says. “She needs to stay calm. She’s been through a serious event that’s put substantial strain on her heart and lungs, as well as her psyche. Her recovery isn’t going to happen overnight, but it’ll be improved by keeping her stress level low.”

  She shows me to Grace’s bed. She looks like shit. She’s in a hospital gown with wires attached everywhere and a full mask over her mouth and nose, with an IV drip in her arm.

  She’s still covered in grime from the fire, particularly at her hands and neck, as well as matted into her hair.

  “We’ve given her a mild sedative just to calm her anxiety and help her rest. It shouldn’t make her too drowsy. She nods in and out. She should start to become more lucid over the next few hours and days. Right now, she’s not coherent. We’re admitting her to the ICU shortly.”

  I step up to her bed, slipping my hand into Grace’s hand. She looks so helpless, but at least her color is better. She’s no longer gray. Her cheeks are pink, and her lips have lost the blueish tint they had two hours ago.

  “Can I stay with her?” I ask.

  “Of course. I’ll be back around in a bit.”

  I thank her, then add, “My mom is on her way here from Ronan. When she gets here, can someone bring her back?”

  “Sure,” she says, half-smiling, looking me up and down.

  I pull a chair up close and lean forward, lifting Grace’s small hand to my lips, gently squeezing.

  “Wake up, baby. I’m here.”

  Her eyelids flutter and she stirs, but it takes her a few minutes to open her eyes. When she does, her brow furrows. She glances about, obviously confused about her surroundings.

  “The horses,” she whispers, her voice cracking, stifled by the poison in her lungs.

  “They’re good,” I say. “Out grazing beside the river. We’ll round ‘em up in a few days.”

  She smiles a little, then coughs hard into her mask, wincing.

  “Don’t worry about them, or anything,” I say. “Just rest. Get better.”

  Her eyes close briefly, then open again, this time regarding me with wild-eyed concern.

  “The horses!�
�� she croaks. “Where are the horses?!”

  The doctor was right. She’s confused and incoherent.

  “They’re okay. You got there in time,” I assure her. “You’re okay too. I’m here now. Settle down. Get some rest.”

  I kiss her fingers, one by one, stroking her arm with my hand.

  “I love you baby. I love you so much.”

  Grace settles into an uneasy sleep, her breathing deep but labored. I sit with her, and in a few minutes, am joined by my mom. She hugs me tight, then slips her hand into mine, passing me the rings in a secret handshake. I slip the smaller band onto Grace’s ring finger on her left hand, then place the larger one on my own hand.

  Mom shakes her head at me.

  “You’re a handful sometimes,” she says, a proud smirk turning her lip. “But I like your style. And by the way, if you haven’t looked in a mirror recently, you really should. You look like you just walked through the gates of hell.”

  What? I look down at my hands. They’re black with soot. Ash and black streaks mar my clothes. I wipe my face and grime comes off on my hand.

  I was so worried about Grace I didn’t even notice. No wonder everyone is looking at me so oddly.

  I smile at Mom, “I’ll go clean up in a bit, as soon as she gets moved upstairs.”

  Two hours later we’re in a glassed in, private room in the ICU. I’m sipping coffee, watching Grace sleep, while Mom reads quietly from a book she bought in the giftshop. My phone rings. It’s Tyler. I answer quietly, not wanting to wake Grace, who’s been drifting in and out of wakefulness since leaving the ER.

  “The stock is found and accounted for,” he says, his tone ebullient. “We haven’t caught ‘em all yet, but we’ll have them by dark.”

  Oh, thank God.

  “How?” I ask. “Who’s with you?”

  “Everybody I could find,” he laughs. “The cell towers are either down or overloaded, so calling locally is hit or miss. I went house to house. And I got my dad’s hands to come out as soon as we found the herd. He’s putting them up at Heartland ‘til we can figure things out.”

  “You tell your father how grateful I am,” I say. “I’ll tell him myself soon.”

  “How’s Grace?”

  I give Tyler the highlights. “They say she’ll be fine. It’s just going to take a while.”

  “Well, she’s my new hero,” Tyler says. “I can’t imagine the guts it took to drive into that fire to do what she did. She saved us. She really did it. The horses look good. A little nervous, but they’re fine. She did a good thing out there last night.”

  “I know.”

  Buildings can be rebuilt, but those horses could never be replaced. They’re more than property. They’re like family. Losing them would have broken my heart.

  Saving them and losing Grace would have killed me.

  Chapter 26

  Grace

  Hospital. The smell of chemicals and disinfectant, cold-blown air, humming machines. Every hospital is the same, and I hate them all. I know I’m in one, but my head won’t clear enough for me to seize on why, just now. I’m so sleepy, but I want to wake up.

  I want to wake up and go pee. I want something to drink.

  I want… the horses? Are the horses okay?

  I open my eyes in a panic, sitting up straight, heaving, coughing. My lungs feel like shards of broken glass have shredded them. My chest aches.

  “Hey, hey… sit back… easy,” Cam says, leaning in close, urging me back down onto the bed.

  Cam. His lovely face etched with worry, but his eyes bright, smiling.

  The horses are fine. He told me that. I remember now. I remember the fire, the wind. I remember how fast it came and how it took everything.

  “You’re okay,” Cam says, stroking my hair, holding my hand.

  Outside the big picture window, the sky is loaming, filled with the colors of a vivid sunset, streaked with deep reds and shades of purple. A few stars glow bright, high in the sky.

  I have no sense of time. I was in the fire. Now I’m here. Only a few moments feel accounted for, yet I feel like ages have passed.

  “How long have I been here?” I ask, the sound of my own voice, croaking and hoarse, jars me. I blink back my confusion, the shroud of restless sleep slipping away.

  Camden squeezes my hand. “The better part of three days,” he says. “In and out. Mostly out.”

  I nod. “I remember some things.”

  I remember leaving. I remember thinking that was the thing to do. I remember realizing that was the wrong thing after it was too late. I remember believing I was going to die, and wishing I’d done everything differently.

  “Your friend filed a missing person’s report on you,” Cam says, a sheepish smile turning the corner of his mouth. “When you didn’t show up in Portland, I think they thought I’d kidnapped you, or worse. That was fun sorting out. The sheriff had a good laugh about it.”

  Poor Tracey. She must have been beside herself with worry.

  “Anyway, we had a nice conversation after she realized I wasn’t an axe murderer. She wants you to call her as soon as you’re up to it.”

  I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “I don’t think I can talk on the phone just yet.”

  “Probably not,” he replies, a bemused expression turning his brow.

  I beg Cam to help me get to the bathroom and to get something to drink. When I’m back in bed, sucking down sweet soda as fast as I can, he regards me with caution before picking up the thread of our conversation.

  “So, I had to do something that I need to tell you about. And I don’t want you to get upset. It was necessary in the moment, and I can walk it back now that you’re awake. But I just want you to know, so maybe—”

  “What?” I ask. What did he do? God, I hope he didn’t call my mother.

  He squeezes my hand again, then lifts it, showing me. There’s a ring on my finger. He holds his own hand beside it. There’s a ring on his finger too. They match nicely.

  “I told the hospital we were married so they would let me make decisions, and be with you. I had no idea how to get hold of your mom, and it just felt necessary. You needed somebody—”

  I laugh, and it hurts like knives piercing my chest. But still, I laugh.

  “That’s fine,” I say when I can speak. I manage a wry smile. “Better married to you than having my mother here.”

  That would be suffocating.

  Cams eyes soften. He relaxes.

  “You’re not mad?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not mad. You did what you had to do. I appreciate it.”

  “Are you going to Portland when you get better?” he asks me, a tight catch clipping his voice.

  “Do you want me to?” I reply, feeling a knot in my throat, tears threatening. My heart seizes in my chest. The pain is very real.

  “No baby,” Cam says, his tone dropping. “I don’t want you to go to Portland, or anywhere. I want you right here beside me every single day. I want you where I can keep you safe. And I want you to know just how much I adore and love you.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this. But… I love you. And it hurts to love you and think it won’t work out. That it won’t last.”

  Cam shakes his head at me. “It’ll last if we want it to last. It only takes one to fuck things up. It takes two to make it work.”

  He’s right. I know that.

  And I know I almost fucked it up permanently.

  Cam slips out of his chair, closer to my bedside, kneeling.

  “This isn’t how I thought this would go,” he says. “I should have done it the right way, months ago. But I’m not stupid enough to risk losing you again.”

  He pulls a tiny box from his jeans pocket, lifts the lid and shows me its contents. My heart nearly stops in my chest. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The ring is beautiful. It sparkles like ice crystals on snow in the winter sunshine.

  “Grace Bradley, will you
marry me?”

  I try to catch my breath before my heart shatters into a million small pieces.

  “Yeah,” I say, speaking the word quickly before my brain can seize on more reasons to fuck up this opportunity. I nod, tears welling up in my eyes, streaming down my cheeks.

  “Outstanding!” Cam pronounces, beaming, his lovely blue eyes flashing. He doesn’t hesitate to slip the ring on my finger, pocketing the band that was there before. He gets to his feet, then leans over, giving me a kiss. His lips taste like coffee and cherries. He smells of aftershave and… just himself.