Suddenly he heard his name. “Brodie! Catch!” and the slap of a lasso again against the surface.
He felt it rather than saw it, but it was gone before he could scrabble for the rope.
Brodie went under. Zoey clung tighter.
He was up again, gasping. Noah threw the rope again. This time Brodie reached up his arm and felt the rough lasso loop over his hand.
Keep her head above water.
He grabbed on, winding his arm around the rope, felt the tug and drag of his brothers’ combined strength against the vicious force of the river.
He couldn’t see, but he could hear Zoey crying. If he could hear her crying then it meant she was breathing—and if the river didn’t kill him, if anything happened to Zoey, then Maeve surely would. He felt the heave of his brothers on the rope. His head was struggling to keep above the surface. Water was in his mouth.
“I am your dad,” he managed, choking on the water. “Iamyour dad.” He felt Zoey’s arms lock like a vice round his neck. He was calculating the time—seconds, minutes—it would take to get her out of the water and safe.
Then his world faded into nothing but the murky gray swirl of the river around him.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Brodie woke up gazing into gorgeous caramel eyes. “Is this heaven?”
Maeve’s brow arched wryly. “You’d be lucky to make it there.”
His mouth quirked. It hurt his head, he winced. More so when he tried to sit up. Looking around he saw the stark white walls, electric strip lighting and the various machines and charts. Everything ached.
Maeve wore pale blue scrubs and a stethoscope round her neck. “How are you feeling?”
“Dreadful.”
He watched her try not to smile. Then she checked all his vitals and said, “I think you’re going to live.”
It was his turn to laugh. Again, it hurt, burned in his throat. “Is Zoey okay?”
Maeve nodded. “Yes, she’s fine.” Then she swallowed. “Thanks to you.”
Brodie managed a little proud smirk as if it were nothing, but then Maeve added, “Except if you hadn’t decided to leave in the first place.…”
Brodie shook his head, immediately hissing in discomfort, he really had to stop moving. “I think I’d prefer it if you stuck with the ‘she’s fine, thanks to you’ line.”
Maeve looked at him for a second, pierced him with the sudden seriousness of her gaze, and then nodded. “You’re her hero,” she admitted.
Brodie felt a warmth in his chest.
“You’re lucky, Brodie, this could have been much worse.”
“At least I would have died a hero.”
Maeve shook her head. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he quipped, a bit unnerved, then added, “Would you have been sad?”
She paused and looked at him for a moment, unblinking. Brodie wondered if his pulse reading was going up. Then she shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Devastated.”
He could only laugh. It hurt his lungs.
A male nurse came in to take his blood pressure and moving past Maeve said, “How are you feeling, Mr. Carter?”
“Like a hero,” he said, eyes still on Maeve, who could only roll hers in response—but did he notice a tiny hint of relief under that mask of professionalism?
