Nothing. You say nothing.
The windshield wipers begin their rhythmic scrape across the glass. Squeak, thump, squeak, thump. Rain beads on the windows, distorting the world outside into watercolor smudges.
My hands grip my thighs, fingers digging into denim until my knuckles bleach white. I focus on the pressure, on the slight pain, on anything but theman beside me.
Woody drives with the same intensity he approaches surgery—fast but deliberate, no wasted movements. His jaw clenches so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding. Every few seconds, his eyes dart from the road to the digital clock on the dashboard, watching precious minutes tick away.
“Why would he have been unresponsive like that? Is that normal in his situation? Is he going to be okay, Woody? I can't imagine the thought of Sanders losing him, of Carly losing her son.” My voice cracks on the question, the fear bleeding through.
Woody doesn’t look at me right away. His jaw is tight, his focus locked on the slick highway ahead. “It's not normal,” he says finally, voice low but firm. “It could’ve been his potassium crashing, or his blood pressure dropping. Dialysis takes a toll. Sometimes the heart can’t keep up.”
My stomach twists. “So you’re saying?—”
He cuts me off gently, his tone softening without losing its steadiness. “I’m saying he’s alive, Lane. If Carly got him to the hospital and they’ve stabilized him, he’s alive. Kids are resilient. They bounce back faster than you’d think.”
The reassurance helps, but only a fraction. My palms drag over my thighs, denim rough against my fingertips. “Sanders must be so scared,” I whisper. “He was right there.”
Woody exhales, a sound heavy with more than just breath. “Then we’ll be there for him. Together.”
The word together hangs in the air between us, louder than the hum of the tires or the rhythm of the wipers. I stare out at the rain-blurred trees, heart pounding, forcing myself to believe him.
The hospital sign appears through the rain. The blue and white backlit sign glows against the gray morning.Cape Fear Regional Hospital. The place where Woody saves lives. The place where our son met a boy who changed everything.
He turns into the entrance without a word, but his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.
The automatic doors whoosh open as we rush into the main entrance. The bright lights hit my tired eyes while overhead announcements blare through speakers. That familiar hospital smell floods my nose.
My mouth opens to ask the receptionist where to go when I hear it.
"Mom!"
Sanders bursts from a hallway to our right, his face blotchy and tear-streaked, eyes swollen red. My heart shatters at the sight. He launches himself at me, slamming into my body with the force of his fear.
I drop to my knees instantly, catching him as his sobs break open the relative quiet of the waiting area. His small fingers clutch at my shirt, twisting the fabric while his whole body trembles against mine.
"Hey, baby," I whisper, pulling him closer. My own fears dissolve into something else, a primal instinct to shelter, to protect. "I've got you. It's okay."
I rock him gently, feeling his heartbeat hammer against mine. Behind us, I sense Woody hesitating. He kneels beside me and puts a hand on Sanders' shoulder.
"Luke's in good hands now," I murmur into Sanders' hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo mixed with what I think is popcorn. "The doctors are helping him. You don't have to be scared alone anymore."
I press my lips against his forehead, his temple, his hair—anywhere I can reach. His hiccupping sobs gradually slow as I whisper steadily against his ear. "Just breathe with me,okay? In and out."
Woody stands and walks over to Carly, who is standing near the nurses' station. His large hand rests on her thin shoulder as she dabs at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. Something twists in my chest. It isn't jealousy by any means, but a sharp awareness washes over me of how naturally Woody steps into the role of comforter.
Last night was like a lifetime ago.
"Luke's strong," I tell Sanders, refocusing. "Dad said his doctors are doing everything they can to help him."
Sanders pulls back slightly, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "He wouldn't wake up this morning," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Ms. Carly came in to give him his medicine, and she just kept shaking him and crying?—"
"Oh, baby. I know that must have been so scary."
A nurse in dark blue scrubs appears in the doorway, her face professional but kind. "Ms. Turner. If you could step into the consultation room, please. Dr. Mitchell would like to speak with you."
"Woody, Lane. Would you please come with me?"
I can see the fear in her eyes. "Of course, Carly. I'll be right there. Woody, go ahead. I'll get the children situated."
