“My daddies aren’t here either. How old are you, Declan?”
“Four.”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“Amy, I’m going to fetch Declan some shit,” I muttered, not being able to look at Declan. Poor fuckin’ kid. I hurried outside and to the gift shop. There, I bought some toys and clean clothes for Declan. He couldn’t stay in those torn and bloody belongings.
Returning, I passed through the crowd that had gathered. Relatives had been trickling in, but three hours had now elapsedsince the crash. The trickle had become a flood. Security let me through, and I saw Amy’s bed had moved to the side of Declan’s.
“Hey, I’ve got you some stuff,” I said to the kid. I pulled out a blue teddy bear and handed it over. Some cars, a truck, and a fire engine followed. Declan smiled as I pushed them back and forth and made some noises with them. The guy rolled over and ignored us.
Declan hugged the bear and leaned towards Amy. She, in turn, got out of her bed and climbed onto his and offered Declan a hug.
“Keep the noise down,” the guy said.
I glowered as a growl escaped me. “He’s a four-year-old kid who’s been through hell and has no idea how to handle it. Shut the fuck up.”
The asshole turned with tears rolling down his cheeks. “My pregnant wife was on there. I made it; she didn’t. Don’t tell me about hell.”
Shit, trust me to put my foot in it. The doors opened, and I glanced up as a bed was wheeled in. Doctors and nurses hurried behind it. Another survivor? Three hours had passed. Surely not. A second later, another bed rolled in. Doc Gibbons followed, and I headed over to him.
“Two survivors, a man and a woman. They were found in the adjoining field and had been flung free,” Doc Gibbons said.
Hope flared in Amy’s eyes until she saw the dark, curly hair of the female. Amy looked away and held onto Declan tightly.
“Declan’s parents?”
“The woman who died in the theatre. Declan’s father had curled his body around them both to protect them. Man’s a fuckin’ hero in my eyes. We’re trying to track down any other relatives,” Doc said. “We’ll keep Declan here as long as we can, but sooner or later, he’ll have to go to foster care.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. Two men walked in. I immediately took notice. One was military; it was obvious in his stance, and the second exuded power.
“Dad! Papa!” Amy exclaimed on seeing them. They hurried over and hauled her into their embrace. By token, because Amy was holding him, Declan was included as well.
“Pudding!” the military one cried, and that had to be Papa.
“Munchkin,” the other guy murmured.
Amy broke into sobs, and her dad stepped back, leaving her with Papa, which surprised me, considering he was military. Amy’s dad reached for Declan and carefully removed him from the huddle. He picked Declan up and looked around.
“This was Amy’s bed; she’s in Declan’s because he was upset,” I said, moving forward.
“You’re the guy on the phone,” he replied.
“Yeah. Vortex.”
“Duke Clemments, and this is my husband, retired Colonel Philip Wright, Amy’s Papa.”
“Sorry about the call, but Amy needed family.”
“I’ll take a call like that any day if someone’s telling me my girl’s safe,” Duke stated and looked at Declan playing with the fire engine. “Parents didn’t make it?”
“Father sacrificed to save him and his mother. She died in theatre,” I murmured.
“Shit. Any family?”
“Don’t know. They’re searching.”
Duke’s gaze landed on the two beds where doctors were working on the latest two survivors, before landing on the guy who refused to face anyone.
