Colin nodded, then hissed out an angry breath. “Fucking peachy!” he blustered, the mask muffling his outrage. “Now the feds are in it. And we can’t even get a fucking change of clothes!” He spun to face the paramedic. “Can weleavenow? There’s nothing more you can do here.”
“No, sir—you can’t leave. You’re being transported to UVA Medical for evaluation. In the meantime, you both have to stay on oxygen.”
“He’s right,” David said, resting both hands on Colin’s shoulders. “You and Joshhaveto be looked at.” He tilted his head toward Joshua. “Look at him, Colin! Do you want him to end up with permanent lung damage?”
Joshua’s face was gray beneath streaks of soot. The mask over his mouth and nose fogged and cleared—breaths too slow, way too shallow. When their eyes met, Joshua tried to smile, but it dissolved into a cough that bent him double.
Colin’s hand shot out to steady him.
“We’ll be right behind you,” David assured him. But Nate, who had been sitting next to Joshua the entire time, got to his feet, drawing Joshua up with him. “I’m riding with them.” He shot a glance at the paramedic. “Is that OK?”
The EMT nodded and took Joshua’s arm, guiding him to a gurney. “Sure,” he said to Nate. “You can sit here next to him. Just be sure he keeps that mask on.”
The ambulance doors slammed—bright lights, cold metal, the hiss of oxygen. Colin let them push him onto a small bench, let them secure the mask over his mouth, but his eyes never left Joshua, who was slumped across from him, leaning into Nate’s shoulder.
“Deep breath for me, sir.”
He tried. Cold sweat covered him. His lungs hitched, sharp and painful, and suddenly he was back in the house—smoke thick and suffocating, Joshua’s weight against him, his heart hammering with the terrifying certainty that they might not make it.
“Sir? You with me?”
Colin blinked. The paramedic watched him, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable.
“I’m fine,” Colin croaked.
The EMT didn’t argue. He moved to Joshua, adjusting the flow on his oxygen. “Pulse ox is climbing. That’s good.” He looked at Colin. “Lucky. You got him out just in time.”
Just in time.
Not with time to spare, not safely.
Just in time.
He gripped the edge of the bench, wincing as pain flashed through his bandaged hands.
Across from him, Joshua slumped sideways against Nate—head resting on his shoulder, unmoving, soot streaking his cheekbones like war paint. A layer of ash and plaster dust clung to the dark curls Colin loved.
His throat locked.
“I did this to us,” he choked out—voice raw and cracking. He felt his throat constrict, eyes burning with tears as his breath caught on a sob. A hand on his arm pulled him back: Nate, gripping him hard.
“Hang on, Colin,” Nate whispered. “Hang on.”
Colin turned his eyes to Joshua’s face. “It’ll be all right, love,” he said in a muted whisper. “We’ll get checked out, then we’ll go to David’s and rest.”
Joshua gave him a slight smile. His lips moved behind the mask, shaping words Colin couldn’t quite make out over the rumble of the engine and the muted whine in his ears.
The ambulance hit a pothole. Equipment rattled. The paramedic braced himself, not even looking up from his notes.
Colin closed his eyes and held on.
They could have died in there—both of them.
He reached across and laid the unburned tips of his fingers against Joshua’s wrist, willing himself to feel his pulse.
One. Two. Three. Still here. Still breathing. Still alive.
For now, that had to be enough.
