“All done, buddy,” Reed says to him.
Dean rakes his heavy eyelids open so that he’s looking up at Reed. “Whoever… taught you… how to use that… did a damn… good… job,” he gets out.
Reed chuckles, a sad laugh that sounds trapped inside his throat.
“And whoever… taught you… to sing like that… did too,” Dean says, grazing my arm.
I shake my head furiously as I cling to his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her. I’m so sorry I wouldn’t let you in.”
His arm quivers as it hovers no more than a couple inches off the ground, and he whimpers. He’s trying to reach for me, and I’d let him if I thought he could. I’d hug him if I could. Instead, I press his arm back down and tell him not to exert himself.
He’s getting blurrier by the minute as my tears mix with rain, my sleeve a useless towel with how sopping it is. I brush back the wet strands of hair matted to his forehead as he gets out a weak “You let… him in… and… that was all… that mattered… to me.”
At first I think he’s talking about Reed, but then his gaze finds my dad before eventually making its way to the sky, staring at a fixed point, the fight slipping from his eyes. Defeat takes over the weight of his limbs and he stops struggling, lying limply against the ground.
“Dean, stay with me!” I clamp my fingers to his carotid artery. His pulse is more of a hum now. This can’t be the end for us; there has to be more. Ineedmore time.
“Hayes, step back. We’ll get him transferred,” my dad says, looping his hand beneath Dean’s armpit. He and Murphy work at a quick pace to support both sides while Reed stabilizes the log. They gently guide Dean’s body on top of heavy orange plastic, snapping together buckles. Pulling tight on the straps, the sked stretcher forms a U-shape with a flat end beneath his boots.
“Let’s go,” my dad says, dragging it over the ground behind him just as the chop of copter blades splits through the sky.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
REED
“We don’t have to start a fire if you don’t want to,” she says as she lays out a blanket in front of the hearth.
It’s amazing how much Hailey has learned to read me. She’s right. I don’t want it.
I slide two logs onto the metal grate and strike a match, touching it to the center of the pile of wood. It ignites in a ripple as it spreads across the timber.
I can barely look at it.
“I want you to be warm,” I tell her as I toss the match into the kitchen sink and carry over the picnic-style dinner I made.
“I’m not really hungry,” she says, staring into the hearth.
I don’t blame her. Eating is the last thing I can think about with Dean still in the hospital.
I shift the wooden charcuterie board to the edge of the checkered quilt.
“Have you heard from your dad?”
She taps her phone screen and shakes her head. “Not since Dean’s parents got there an hour ago. The surgery will take a while.”
When I sit, I pull a pillow with me and she lies down,resting her head in my lap. Her body is no longer blocking the fire, and I hate that it’s the brightest thing in the room.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
Do I tell her the truth? That all I’ve thought about since the moment they hauled us out of those woods is how much I want to leave this place? That everywhere I look I’m reminded of my shortcomings?
I study a frayed edge of wool on the rug beneath the coffee table. With Dean out for who knows how long, they ended our crew’s fire season a couple weeks early. I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life now, but I can’t just sit here waiting.
“Have you ever been to Silverwood?” I ask her, running my fingers through her wet hair. A waft of vanilla fills my lungs, and I take a deep breath of it.
Her eyebrows bend as she looks up. “No, why?”
I lean back on my palms. “We should go.”
