“Max,” I groaned. “C’mere.”
Panting, his tongue hanging halfway to his chest, Max trotted across the yard to me. He nuzzled my face, whining, urging me up, to take charge as I’m supposed to. I managed to gain my knees when Declan’s screams pierced my hearing.
Fuck!
With Max at my side, I limped into the house, not caring that the broken door let in the deep winter chill. I saw nothing save my screaming, crying son in Jacy’s arms, blood streaming from a gunshot wound. I didn’t know what part of him had been hit. Blood staining her face, Jacy looked up at me with a mixture of rage and panic.
“Wrap it, his arm,” Jacy yelled. “Slow the bleeding.”
I ran past them to the kitchen and grabbed towels from the drawer. While Jacy tried to soothe Declan, rocking him gently, I bound his upper arm with several towels.
“Ambulance,” I muttered, staggering to me feet.
“No.” Jacy stood with Declan in her arms. “No time. You drive.”
After shutting the door and blocking it with the chair, I, my hands shaking, led the way to the garage. Fortunately, the SUV started with the push of a button, or I may not have gotten it started. I opened the garage door and backed the car up so fast I nearly took the door with us.
“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” Jacy muttered. “I know it hurts, just calm down, okay? I’ve got you. Daddy’s gonna get you to the hospital. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”
Declan’s screams gradually quieted as I drove from town to the highway, then accelerated to over the speed limit. Weaving in and out of the few cars I overtook, I also kept an eye on Declan in Jacy’s arms.
“How bad?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“Can’t tell.”
I grit my teeth, forcing my panic in submission. “Is he still bleeding?”
“I think it’s stopped.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I glanced into Declan’s frightened eyes. “You’re gonna be okay, little man. You’re my brave boy. Aren’t you?”
For answer, he turned his face into Jacy’s bosom. Grim, my balls feeling as though they’d swelled ten times their normal size, I drove into the city traffic toward the hospital. Inwardly, I promised Carter a very nasty and painful death as I parked at the Emergency Department’s entrance.
“He’s been shot,” I yelled, leading Jacy, carrying Declan, inside. “Please, my son’s been shot.”
Trauma nurses swarmed around us.
They took Declan from Jacy and settled him on a gurney. By then, Declan’s skin had paled to a ghostly shade that scaredme far more than the blood did. Helpless, I tried to follow my son into the trauma room but was pushed back.
“You can’t come in here.”
Jacy slid her arms around me, silent tears tracking through the blood on her face. “He’ll be all right,” she muttered into my chest. “Please tell me he’ll be all right.”
I tightened my grip on her, my face buried in her hair. “He’ll be all right. He has to be.”
***
Without much surprise, Jacy and I, holding hands, eyed Detective Jenkins as he ambled across the waiting room to us. Without speaking, he sat beside Jacy and patted her hand. As though a member of the family, he sat with us, waiting, watching the slow activity as other families awaited news of their loved ones.
“He’s a tough little bugger,” Jenkins said at last. “He’ll be okay. Right as rain.”
Struggling against tears, Jacy murmured, “Right as rain. Yeah.”
He patted her hand again. “The docs here, they’re great. They know what they’re doing, that’s for damn sure. They took care of you, right? Good job they did, yessir.”
For the next thirty minutes or so, Jenkins sat with us, not talking much. Not asking questions a cop should be asking the victims of a violent home invasion. I appreciated that more than I could ever tell him. In a sweet sort of companionship, we three waited for word of Declan’s condition.
At last, a surgeon in scrubs strode toward us. Instantly, I stood, bracing myself for bad news as I gripped Jacy’s hand tightly enough to hurt her. The doctor introduced himself and shook our hands. Even Jenkins’s.
