The paramedics work fast, the kind of practised coordination that comes from long shifts in a small town where you’re it. No backup for twenty minutes in either direction. I stand and step back as they lift him, and click the straps into place.
Beside me, Teddy’s little fists are balled tight at his sides, his face pale beneath his freckles.
“Hey,” I lean down and murmur, running a hand over his back. “You did really well, mate. Proud of you, yeah?”
He acknowledges my words with a nod, and his bottom lip trembles as his hand slips into mine. Outside, the late-afternoon sun is brutal, heat shimmering off the pavement as the paramedics wheel Dominic past us. The siren kicks in, splitting the air, and something in my chest twists so hard, it almost chokes me. I drag a hand over my face, then pull out my phone and hit call. On the second ring, I hear, “Daniels?”
“Bradley,” I say in a low voice, controlled only by habit. “It’s your dad.”
After relaying what just happened, he thanks me quickly before the line goes dead. Teddy is pressed close against my side as we walk, looking up at me here and there as if silently trusting me to know what comes next. The truth is, I don’t.
All I know is I’m trying. Trying to be the man my son already believes I am, and somehow, the man she sees when she looks at me. Or yet, when shelookedat me. God help me, I don’t know if I’m either. The ambulance turns the corner, sirens fading into the distance, leaving behind only the hum of cicadas and thedry whisper of wind through the gums. I can already see her face in my mind. The shock, the fear, the heartbreak she’ll try to swallow down. The thought settles heavy in my gut. Because when she finds out, she’s going to need someone. And despite everything I’ve done to lose that right, every word I said that pushed her away, I still want to be that someone.
“Come on, mate,” I say, guiding Teddy toward the car. “Let’s get you home.”
37
Olivia
Stop Draggin’ Your Boots - Danielle Bradbery
Remember Him That Way - Luke Combs
It would seem the festive spirit really doesn’t exist this year. And if I thought it was gone after everything with Sebastian, it’s definitely been incinerated now.
Oh, God. Please, Lord. I know I cuss a little, and I know I’ve screwed up plenty, but please… please make him okay.
The hospital hums with a sterile kind of stillness, all blinking fluorescent lights and the low hiss of oxygen. The smell of antiseptic clings to the back of my throat. My hands won’t stop shaking. I press them together in my lap as I look at my father. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so small and pale, fragile in a way that scares me more than I want to admit. The steady beep of the monitor is the only thing keeping me tethered. Mum’s been pacing since we got here.
The doctor said it was a mild stroke.“If he has another, it could lead to a heart attack,”he’d said gently.“He needs rest. Less stress. Better diet.”
Less stress? With Dominic Mitchell? Good luck.
“I told him not to eat all that cake,” Mum mutters, shaking her head to ward off tears. “If it’s not the sweets, it’s the bloody cigarettes. This man will be the death of me.” Her voice wobbles even as she tries to sound scolding. She smooths her hand through his hair, her wedding band glinting under the harsh light. I have to look away before the lump in my throat gets any bigger.
A nurse enters, clipboard in hand and a kind smile in place. “His vitals are stable,” she assures us. “He was lucky someone acted quickly.”
“Who?” Mum asks.
“The man who stayed with him. Paramedics said he knew exactly what to do and kept him breathing until they got there.”
“The man?” I echo. “Which man?”
Bradley stands from the seat in the corner, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders. “Sebastian.”
My world tilts slightly. “What?”
“He was in town. Found Dad in the store, got him into recovery, and called it in. Paramedics said it made a difference.”
I just… stare at my brother. The words don’t land right away, bouncing off the wall of disbelief in my chest. “Sebastian?”
Bradley nods.
Mum lets out a sharp sob that melts into relief. “Oh, thank God. That man’s an angel.” She presses a hand to her heart. “I have to thank him in person. He saved your father’s life.”
My mouth opens, then closes again uselessly. Gratitude, confusion, something dangerously close to longing—it all crashes into me at once. The kind of ache you feel when someoneyou’re trying not to love reminds you exactly why you almost did.
Don’t get emotional, Olivia. He’s just being a good person.
