"He did," I managed through my tears. "He jumped right in after you."
"Th-thank you," Casey said, her small voice barely audible.
Easton's hand found hers under the blanket, squeezing gently. "Always, kiddo. Always."
I held my daughter closer and prayed she'd be okay. That this wouldn't leave lasting damage. That I'd get to watch her grow up, watch her play hockey, watch her live the life she deserved.
The life that almost ended today.
The sirens grew deafening, and then red and blue lights flooded the parking area as the ambulance pulled in, followed closely by a police car.
Easton stood back as the paramedics rushed over with their equipment, but his eyes never left Casey.
"We've got her from here," a female paramedic said gently, reaching for Casey.
I didn't want to let her go. My arms locked around my daughter.
"Ma'am," the paramedic said, "we need to get her stable. You can ride with us."
I forced myself to release Casey into their capable hands, watching as they moved with practiced efficiency. They checked vitals, wrapped her in heated blankets, and loaded her onto the gurney.
"I'm coming with you," I said.
"Of course. This way."
I started to follow, then turned back. Easton stood by his car, soaked and shivering, watching us with an expression I'd never seen before.
Raw. Terrified. Protective.
"Easton—"
"Go," he said firmly. "I'll follow you to the hospital."
"But you're freezing!"
"I'm fine. Go with Casey. It will keep her calm."
I climbed into the ambulance, and the doors closed behind me. Through the back window, I watched Easton standing in the parking lot, arms wrapped around himself, watching us drive away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Palisade
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and urgent voices. Paramedics. Doctors. Questions I answered on autopilot while my mind stayed frozen on the image of Casey's small hand breaking the surface of that dark water.
They were keeping her overnight for observation for secondary drowning, a precaution to make sure water hadn't stayed in her lungs. By the time they moved her to a room, Easton had arrived, still in damp clothes, refusing to leave until he saw her.
She looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, surrounded by blankets and monitors. Her eyes were open, and when she saw us, a weak smile crossed her face.
"Mom, Uncle Easton." She kept her voice low and looked like she was fighting sleep by blinking hard.
"Hey, baby." Taking her hand carefully around the IV line. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired. And warm. Really, really warm."
Easton moved to her other side, his hand finding her free one. "That's good, kiddo. That's exactly how you should feel."
"I'm sorry," Casey whimpered, tears welling. "I wasn't paying attention—"
