The helicopter lands, and a team of medics rushes out. Their movements are swift and efficient. They take over immediately, assessing Caleb’s condition and preparing him for transport. One of them nods approvingly at the splint.
“You did good,” he says, his voice muffled by the noise.
I step back, letting them work, my hands trembling now that the adrenaline is wearing off. Wade’s hand finds mine, his grip firm and grounding. I glance up at him, his face still unreadable, but his presence is a steady anchor in the chaos.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say, more to convince myself than him. “You need to get in the helicopter with him.”
“Not enough room, sir,” one of the medevac team says. “You’ll have to meet us. We’ll be taking him to the children’s hospital.”
Wade wants to argue; it’s written all over his face, but he doesn’t. He nods. He leans down and kisses Caleb’s forehead before he takes a step back.
Wade’s hand tightens around mine, a silent acknowledgment of the fear we’re both feeling. Together, we watch as the medics lift Caleb into the helicopter, the blades spinning faster as it prepares to take off.
As the helicopter rises into the sky, I let out a shaky breath, the weight of the situation finally settling over me. Caleb is alive, but the fight isn’t over. Not yet. I look at Wade, his stoic mask cracking just enough to show the pain beneath, I know we’ll face whatever comes next together.
“Let’s get back on the horses and get to my truck,” I tell Wade.
“I’ll stay here and get his stuff,” Benny says. “Then we’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll go get your mom, and we’ll meet you there, too,” Mr. C says as he takes off on the four-wheeler.
My dad is already up on his horse. Wade and I are up on ours, and the three of us sprint toward Dad’s house as fast as the horses will take us.
It’s a surreal feeling to watch a helicopter take to the sky and fly away, knowing that someone you love is in it.
It feels like we’re moving as slow as molasses by the time we get to the house. We hop off.
“I’ll take care of the horses. I’ll catch a ride with Benny or the sheriff to the hospital,” Dad says.
I sprint to my truck with Wade, but he goes to the driver’s side first.
“You’re not driving.”
“Sutton,” he starts to argue.
“Nope. We’re not going to argue. You’re in no shape to drive.”
He lets out a groan and then goes to the passenger side of my truck. We’re gone in a matter of seconds. The truck cab is eerily silent as I speed toward the interstate and the hospital.
The closest children’s hospital is over an hour away by car. Caleb will already be there and be getting the help that he needs by the time any of us get to the hospital. In the meantime, we can only hope that he gets there on time.
Chapter Forty-Three
Wade
Ipace the length of the waiting room, my boots scuffing against the sterile tiles. The hum of fluorescent lights and the distant murmur of hospital staff only add to the suffocating tension. Sutton sits on a stiff plastic chair, her gaze following me like a lifeline. Every few minutes, she reaches out to squeeze my hand or brush her fingers against my arm, grounding me just enough to keep me from unraveling completely.
Benny and Jared arrive first, their faces pale and drawn. Benny claps me on the shoulder, his grip firm but silent. Jared just nods, his usual jokes conspicuously absent. Frank, Tommy, and my parents follow soon after, each carrying the same mix of worry and exhaustion. My dad looks like he’s aged ten years in the last hour, and my mom keeps wringing her hands, her lips moving in silent prayer.
“Any news?” Frank asks, his voice low and gravelly.
I shake my head, unable to find the words. Sutton answers for me, her voice steady despite the weight in her eyes. “He’sin surgery. They’re working on his spleen and stitching up the worst of it. They said his leg should heal fine, but it’s going to take time.”
Frank nods, his jaw tightening. He glances at Sutton, and for a brief moment, there’s an unspoken understanding between them.
The waiting stretches on, each minute feeling like an eternity. I’ve walked the same path across the room so many times, I’m sure there’s a groove forming in the floor. Sutton lets me pace, her patience endless, but she’s always there, pulling me back when I stray too far into my head.
Finally, the door swings open, and a doctor steps inside. He’s a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes, his scrubs stained with what I’d rather not think about. Everyone stands as he approaches.
