by T. K. Leigh
Once I reach the old stable-turned-workshop, I open the door, ushering Zeus inside ahead of me. I flick on the lights, peace enveloping me as I take in the unfinished projects scattered around the vast space, everything exactly as I left it the last time I was here a few days before New Year’s Eve.
A part of me doesn’t want to touch anything. Wants to keep it like it is, if only to have one place I can go where I can pretend things are the way they once were. Then again, Gampy and Meemaw’s house offers me that. Once Julia and Imogene left earlier, I hadn’t thought much about my troubles, thanks to Wes. It wasn’t until we ran into Grady at the diner that I was reminded of my current predicament. That’s the healing power this place possesses. It truly is magic.
“What do you think, boy? Work on the wine bar or the dresser?” I glance at Zeus, who gives me a disinterested look before finding his doggie bed in the corner, curling up in it.
I chuckle. “You’re a horrible assistant, bud. I may have to give some serious consideration to replacing you. But I think the wine bar.”
I look at the battered secretary desk, something that’s a dime a dozen at flea markets. Most people find them useless due to their tall frame and the drop-down leaf that serves as an unstable writing surface. But despite its uselessness as a desk, it’s the perfect piece to turn into a wine bar. Over the years, it’s become one of my top-selling items, people often special ordering one even when I’m out of stock.
Popping in my earbuds, I navigate to one of my favorite playlists on my phone and blast the music. It only takes a matter of seconds for me to lose myself in my project. To quiet my mind as I focus solely on the task at hand, tuning out the rest of the world.
It’s not until Zeus tugs on my pant leg that I take a break from sanding. “What is it, pal?” I ask, removing my earbuds, expecting him to answer me.
He darts away, growling and barking as he runs in a circle.
“What are you doing? You rarely even bark when someone rings the doorbell. Why now?” I remove my gloves and protective glasses, dropping them onto a nearby workbench before grabbing my phone and following Zeus toward the door. “Do you need to go out?”
Bringing up the flashlight on my phone, I open the door for him. The second the door is cracked enough, he bolts out and along the path toward the house. I attempt to keep up, coming to a dead stop when I see what has Zeus on high alert.
Actually, I’m not sure that’s entirely true.
I feel what has set Zeus off before I see it, the scorching heat warming my skin, even from several hundred feet away.
“No,” I breathe, a chill trickling through me, despite the heat. “No. No. No. No!”
I take off running. Not thinking, not feeling. Just reacting to the sight in front of me, not wanting to believe what my eyes tell me is happening. This can’t be real. It must just be a horrible nightmare, brought forward because of Clara’s story earlier. That has to be it. I must be dreaming. I’ll soon wake up enclosed in Wes’ embrace as he chases the nightmares away.
But as I break into a fit of coughing from the smoke the wind has kicked up, I know it’s not simply a nightmare.
Gampy and Meemaw’s house is fully engulfed in flames, red and orange stark against the night sky.
“Wes!” I bellow, praying he somehow got out before the flames overtook the house.
Panicked, I do the only thing I can think of. Fingers trembling, I somehow manage to dial 9-1-1 as I frantically run around the property, coughing and fighting against the smoke, searching for any sign of Wes.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” a voice answers instantly.
“Our house is on fire!” I yell, my throat tightening when some of the wood planks of the front porch cave in, sending sparks and embers flying, Zeus scrambling away. “Oh god. I think he’s inside.”
“What’s the location?”
I press my hand to my forehead as I rattle off the address, my pulse racing faster than it ever has.
“Fire personnel are on their way. I need you to remain where you are and not enter the building. Do you want me to stay on the line with you until they get there?”
I stare into space, helplessness washing over me as I watch flames consume more and more of the house. I want to tell her no, that I need to get into the house to do everything I can to help Wes. But if I do, fire personnel will have two people trapped inside. If by some miracle Wes is still alive, that may just cost him his life.
“It’ll be okay,” the woman assures me. “According to my computer, their ETA is just under four minutes.”
“Four minutes…” I blink slowly.
I doubt it’s been more than two minutes since I stepped out of the workshop. Yet in those two minutes, I’ve watched the flames destroy more and more of the house.
“There may not be much left,” I choke out.
I sink to the ground, understanding how Wes must have felt when he learned I’d been arrested. At least he could do something to help me. He bailed me out. Was there for me when my life had been turned upside down. But me? I can’t do anything to help. Other than pray.
So, for the first time in years, that’s what I do. I close my eyes and pray, hoping with everything I have that some higher power will intervene and save the man I love. That we didn’t come this far, didn’t overcome obstacle after obstacle, to lose now.
When a blaring siren cuts through the roar of the fire, I snap my eyes open as a pair of fire engines round the dirt path and pull up in front of Meemaw and Gampy’s house.
“I’ll let you go,” the dispatcher says as I jump to my feet.
I don’t even acknowledge her, all my attention focused on the firefighters in full gear scrambling out of the trucks.
“You’re the one who called?” one of them shouts at me, jogging up to me.
“Yes.”
“Dispatch said there’s someone inside?”
Nodding, I draw in a breath, trying to stop my chin from quivering. “Master bedroom.”
“And where is that?”
“Upstairs. End of the hall.”
“Which windows?”
I lift my arm and point. “Last three in the front here, and the three opposite them on the back. The window on the side of the house leads to the ensuite bathroom.”
He nods curtly, then waves over a man from the ambulance that had just arrived. “Get her checked out.”
Before I can protest, he darts off, issuing more orders to the rest of the firefighters on the scene, everyone seeming to know precisely what their job is.
“Come with me, ma’am,” the paramedic says, touching my elbow and leading me toward the idling ambulance.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I wasn’t inside.”
“It’s just a precaution. Now, any shortness of breath?” he asks, going through a series of questions I answer absentmindedly, my eyes focused on the house, every second that passes without seeing the firefighters appear with Wes making my hope dwindle more and more.
This is all my fault. Grady all but threatened he’d do something like this. We should have taken him more seriously. Shouldn’t have brushed off his threats as just meaningless words, as all his other threats have been. This time, he followed through.
And now Wes will pay the price.
“Oh, my god, Londyn,” I hear a familiar voice call out as the paramedic checks my breathing, a stethoscope pressed against my back. I look up to see Miss Clara rushing toward me from her car parked several yards away. She takes my hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “When George’s radio went off and I heard about the fire, I didn’t want to believe it. Wanted to think they got the wrong address.”
“George’s radio?” I furrow my brow. “What are you talking about?”
“My son is a volunteer firefighter. Normally, his radio only goes off every now and then, and usually with false alarms. But this…” She shifts her gaze back to the house, her lower lip trembling. “I really didn’t want it to be true.” She takes a minut
e to get her emotions under control, then looks at me again. “Where’s Wes?”
I pull my lips between my teeth, not saying a word. I don’t have to.
Her eyes widen as she looks at the burning house again. “Oh Lord, no.”
My chin trembles as a new wave of tears threatens to spill forward. “I was out in the old stables that Wes had turned into a workshop when Zeus alerted me to the fire.” I inhale a sharp breath. “Oh god. Zeus.”
I step away from the paramedic and Clara, ignoring his protests that he wasn’t done checking me out.
“Zeus!” I shout, darting along the property for any sign of the dog, Miss Clara joining me in the search. I’ll never forgive myself if he ran into the house. I wouldn’t put it past him. That dog would do anything to protect Wes. “Zeus, where are you?!” I scream, tears streaming down my face as my world falls apart around me.
I’m on the brink of collapsing to the ground and willing it to swallow me up when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I whirl around, staring into Clara’s eyes.
She nods toward the front of the ladder truck. “Is that who you’re looking for?”
I look in that direction, relief filling me when I notice Zeus sitting by the front wheels, as if supervising. The second he spies me, he trots over, rubbing his nose against my leg and whimpering.
“I know, boy. I know.” I scratch his head between his ears, offering him the same comfort he offers me. “He’ll be okay. I know it. He has to be.”
Clara rubs my back reassuringly, then grabs my hand in hers once more. She closes her eyes and mutters the words to a prayer.
I tighten my hold on Clara’s hands, allowing her words to lift me up and give me hope in one of the most hopeless moments I’ve ever experienced.
“I need a medic!” a booming voice calls out.
I rip my gaze back to the house as several firefighters emerge, two carrying a limp body between them.
Not hesitating, I rush toward them. “Is he okay? Is he alive?” I’m in hysterics, desperate for some sort of reassurance that I’m not responsible for his death.
“Give him some space,” one man answers gruffly.
I stumble back, my lungs struggling to take in air as I watch them carry Wes’ unconscious body toward the ambulance, a stretcher meeting them halfway. I don’t even know how I find the strength to put one foot in front of the other and follow them, my legs weak and brain fuzzy, but I do.
As I get close enough to take a good look at Wes, his left leg and foot a mangled mess of red and pink flesh, some of it charred black, I release a strangled sob, shoving a fist against my mouth.
“Oh god,” Miss Clara exhales as she joins me. “Please, Lord.” She wraps her arm around my waist to help support me when it feels like the world’s about to give out beneath me. “Show mercy.”
“I’ve got a pulse,” the paramedic shouts, then places an oxygen mask over Wes’ face before glancing at me. “We’re taking him to Trinity Hospital, then he’ll most likely need to be airlifted to Atlanta. You can ride up front.”
I look at Clara, then Zeus. I can’t just leave the dog, but I can’t leave Wes, either.
“You go, sweetie.” She squeezes my bicep. “I’ll take Zeus to our place. We have a fenced-in yard. He can stay with us as long as you need.”
“Thank you.” I hug her tightly, then rush to jump into the front seat of the ambulance.
The second the paramedic treating Wes knocks on the wall separating the front cab from the back, the driver pulls away, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
I glance in the side-view mirror, watching as the firefighters struggle to get the flames under control.
All I can do is pray that the house isn’t the only thing I’ll lose tonight.
Chapter Thirty
Londyn
I should be exhausted.
In a way, I suppose I am. Since I stepped off the medevac helicopter and they rushed Wes into the burn unit at the hospital here in Atlanta twelve hours ago, I’ve been running on fumes.
The nurses told me it would be a while before I could see him. That it would take the doctor several hours to clean the burn area, then even longer to perform the skin graft. But I refused to leave. I abandoned him in the house earlier and look what happened. I can’t abandon him again.
Not when I should be the one undergoing surgery instead of Wes.
A hand squeezes mine and I glance at my dad. When I called him in the middle of the night to tell him what happened, he didn’t hesitate. He hurried out of bed to be here for me. So did Hazel and Diego, the three of them taking turns to sit with me.
“He’ll be okay, lollipop,” he assures me.
I’d like to believe he’s right. According to the nurses, this surgery is fairly typical for burn victims. He was lucky his severe burns were limited to only fifteen percent of his body, isolated to his left lower leg and foot. As I was informed, the major concern right now is preventing any possible bacteria from getting into the wound, causing an infection that could turn deadly if it enters the bloodstream.
Which is why my anxiety is through the roof. Every minute that passes makes my worry increase. I haven’t had the best of luck lately. Why should the tides turn now?
“I hope so,” I mutter as I check the clock on the wall of the waiting room to see it’s nearly four in the afternoon. My eyelids droop, the only thing keeping me going the ridiculous amount of caffeine that’s been my diet the past twelve hours.
“Why don’t you go get some rest, sweetie?” Dad suggests. “I’ll stay here and call you the second I hear anything.”
I vehemently shake my head. “I can’t leave until I see him. Until I know he’s okay.”
He nods in understanding. After all, he was once in my shoes. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the outcome he’d hoped for when the paramedics wheeled my mother into the trauma unit for emergency surgery.
I pray I do.
“Another coffee then?” He stands. “Maybe some food? There’s a barbecue place around the corner.”
At the suggestion, my stomach rumbles, alerting me to the fact that I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. “That actually sounds really good.”
“I’ll be right back.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. Just as he’s about to walk away, a nurse enters the waiting room.
“Ms. Bennett?”
“Yes?” I shoot to my feet, heart hammering in my chest, praying she’s not about to deliver bad news. Sensing my nerves, Dad grabs my hand, linking his fingers with mine.
“Mr. Bradford’s surgery is complete and he’s in one of the recovery rooms.”
I close my eyes, my muscles relaxing for the first time since I saw the house engulfed in flames.
“That’s wonderful news,” Dad says, pulling me in for a hug. “Thank the Lord.”
I remain in his embrace for a beat, sending up a prayer myself. Although, over the past several hours, my father’s done enough praying for the two of us, having spent quite a bit of time in the hospital’s chapel.
Once he releases me, I return my eager eyes to the petite nurse. “Can I see him?”
“He is heavily sedated.”
“I’d still like to see him, if that’s okay. Please.”
“Of course. Right this way.” She gestures toward a pair of automatic doors.
I glance back at my dad, who gives me an encouraging smile. “I’ll be here when you’re done. Then maybe you’ll be ready for a nap.”
“Thanks, Dad. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being here.”
“It’s the least I can do for you, lollipop.”
I nod, then hurry to join the nurse, following her as she leads me through a maze of corridors. I try to take note of my surroundings, worried I’ll never find my way out afterward.
“When do you think he’ll wake up?” I ask.
“It’s hard to say. Our goal is to make it so our patients can’t remember their first few days here all that much. It’s too pai
nful otherwise.”
A vice squeezes my heart at the idea of Wes experiencing any pain. “And how long will he be here?”
“It all depends on how well he recovers and responds to the skin graft. Once we’re able to step down his meds and bring him out of his sedation, he’ll begin physical therapy.”
“For a burn?”
“Burn victims are left with a great deal of scar tissue. With Mr. Bradford’s being on his foot and lower leg, he’ll have to retrain his muscles how to walk. The new skin over the area will make it difficult until he gets accustomed to the sensation. That’s why we start physical therapy as soon as possible.”
She leads me to a pair of double doors, Recovery written over the top, and gestures to a bin holding green protective gowns, yellow latex gloves, and blue surgical masks.
“Every time you visit him, you need to put on a gown, gloves, and mask before entering this area,” she explains as she dons her own. “As I’m sure the nurses have advised you, bacterial infections are our biggest concern at this stage.”
I nod, grabbing a gown and putting one on, then sliding on a pair of latex gloves before covering my nose and mouth with a mask. “They did.”
“This protects everyone in the ward from being exposed to any outside bacteria or germs.” She steps up to the door, which automatically opens.
As I follow her down more hallways, I peek into a few rooms, spying some patients with most of their bodies bandaged, including faces.
“Like I said, Mr. Bradford was extremely lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”
“Yes, it could have,” I admit through the thickness in my throat, not wanting to think what could have happened if Zeus hadn’t alerted me to something wrong. I may have happily stayed in my workshop for hours. Zeus certainly earned a hero badge last night. Or at the very least, the steak dinner I told Diego to feed him after he picked him up from Miss Clara’s.
Finally, the nurse comes to a stop outside a room and opens the door, holding it for me to walk in ahead of her. My attention immediately shifts to the bed, swallowing down a sob that threatens to escape.