"I'm going to get him into the back. You climb in with him."
I nod, readying myself to move quickly.
"On the count of three.” Connor breathes in deeply. “One. Two. Three."
Those three seconds feel like an eternity when I know each one is one more Liam’s life hangs in the balance. Every one is wasted time we could be using to get him to someone who can help him. It’s time the wound continues to bleed without any way to stop it.
But then we move with hurried footsteps to the truck.
I shift the shotgun to my left hand to open the back door for Connor.
The interior lights remain off—probably because Connor was smart enough to hit that little button that ensures they won’t come on when the doors open. Something that would give away our position as much as the sound of the engine does.
Connor struggles to get Liam in. He’s nothing but dead weight—and a lot of it. His bulky muscle, well-earned through hard manual labor around the mountain his entire life isn’t doing any good right now.
And Liam doesn't react at all to the movement, to Connor jostling him to try to get him arranged, spread across the crew cab seat.
I try not to think about the fact that no reaction means he’s so far gone that he doesn’t feel it.
A blessing and a bad sign…
But I have to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing.
I scan the darkness around us. My gaze flicks toward the faint light, barely visible, further down on the homestead, coming from the single bulb that hangs above the porch on Killian's cabin. "What about Killian and Willow, the baby?"
Connor takes the shotgun from me and motions for me to climb in the backseat with Liam. "Don't worry about them. Killian can handle it."
That man can handle just about anything.
There isn’t a doubt in my mind about that.
It doesn’t stop the worry though, the feeling like I might never see any of them again.
I bite my lip to keep another sob from slipping out, then slide in and settle Liam's head on my lap. Connor shuts the door and races around to the front. He scoops up Giz and sets him on the passenger seat as he closes his door.
Giz immediately turns and looks over the center console at us, his eyes darting between me and Liam.
He knows what's happening.
Somehow he does.
I can see the intelligence in his eyes.
He’s always been my protector, my constant companion, and now he loves Liam as much as I do. He leaped on Lorell like a damn military attack dog instead of the tiny, pudgy couch potato he usually is. He went full Gizmo to protect his friend. And now he feels Liam’s pain and my own.
I don’t think it’s possible to love this dog any more than I do in this moment…
As Connor throws the truck into drive and tears down the narrow gravel road, I glance on the floor and find a duffel bag. Leaning down, I rummage through it and grab a stack of clean clothes Liam must keep back here. Pressing the fabric over Liam’s wound, I pray it will slow the blood loss enough to keep him alive.
Please, God…
I can’t lose him.
It isn’t the first time in my life that I’ve prayed.
I did it so many times as a child, begging to be adopted, begging to be placed with one of the incredible foster families I knew were out there, but my prayers just seemed to float off into the ether.
Unanswered.
