Wes yanks the ropes, removing the slack, and then, hand over hand, the two men begin to pull us in. I help as much as I can, but there isn't a lot I can do without risking Colt, and he is the reason for all this.
A fresh torrent of water rips through. Wes and Beau, two strong, healthy, capable men, struggle to pull us across the pressure and force of the running water. Behind them, I see what they don't.
The tree they've tied us to bends, yielding to the weight it's been forced to hold. Gramps's eyes meet mine. He sees it too.
"Hurry," I yell, as if it will help. It won't. It is simply a matter of strength and weight, force and energy.
Gramps stares into my eyes. I cannot read what he's thinking, because the expression doesn't make sense for the circumstance.
He looks at Wes and Beau, struggling despite their combined strength. The water stretches out, encircling the tree, swirling around Wes and Beau's boots. How long before they are swept away too?
Something has to give. If I hand Colt to Gramps, they will be more likely to make it to safety. If I untie myself, I might be able to get myself out of this situation somewhere along the way. But also… I might not.
Gramps reaches underwater, shoulder moving as his arm works at something. His hand clears the surface, and the appearance of the knife confuses me at first. He presses a button, the blade pops up, and it all makes sense.
"No," I yell, but it's too late. Gramps has cut himself away.
Until this moment, everything had been so loud. The water, the yelling, my pulse in my ears. Suddenly, it's silent. I hear nothing. I can see nothing but what may be Gramps’s final words. And they don't make sense.
I'm sorry.
The screaming reaches into me. Beau and Wes, theirno’sa piercing howl. Wes shoves his dad's shoulder, shakes his head, points at me and Colt with two fingers. Wes, ever the leader, is directing his dad to act despite their suffering.
We begin to move. Colt, gathered in my arms with his face pressed to my chest, is still silent. I fear that by now, he is in shock.
Without the weight of a second man, Beau and Wes bring us closer and closer to them. I get to a point where I am able to use my own body weight against the current, and I press my feet to the bottom. I am exhausted, my muscles near fatigue, but I walk out of the water.
Wes rips Colt from my arms, and I drop to my knees.
"Son? Son?" Beau says urgently.
My hands are on my thighs, my head bent as relief and agony rip through me in equal measure. Jessie’s heart will break once more when she learns about her grandpa.
An arm wraps around my shoulders, hauling me to my feet. "Son, come on." Beau leads me to his truck. I'd thought he was talking to Wes, but he'd been referring to me.Son.
Beau is on his phone, telling Sheriff Monroe about his father.
"Beau," Sheriff says, his voice audible in the truck cab. "It's unlikely he'll survive."
"I know." Beau palms his forehead, fingers digging in.
"Get those boys to the hospital. I'll take it from here."
I sit up front. Wes lies down in the back seat with his shirt off. He has removed Colt's wet clothes and they are skin to skin. The heat transfer is helping to ease Colt's trembling. That, and being with his father.
"Sit back, Sawyer," Beau instructs. Tears fall silently down his face. "Try and rest before we get there."
"I can't sit back," I tell him, hinging forward at the hips to show him my back. My skin is as torn through as my shirt.
"Christ," Beau mutters. He reaches across the console, touching the back of my head gently. "I don't deserve what you did for me today."
Maybe he doesn't.
Maybe he does.
I don't care anymore. I can't spend my life allowing other people's past mistakes to dictate my future. I don’t want to think about him with my mother. I don’t want to hate him.
"I love your daughter, Beau. All I want is to move forward with her."
