“I call shotgun,” David teased as he passed.
The old joke caught Gabe straight in the heart. “Any time, dude. Any time.”
“I need a gurney down here.” The medic tending to Cara said into his radio.
"I can walk." Cara's protest came out slurred and unconvincing.
"You can try." The medic helped her stand.
Her legs buckled immediately.
Gabe caught her and lifted her without thinking, ignoring the medic's protest that he should let them handle it and the fire screaming through his ribs.
He carried her up the stairs, through the boat house, into cold morning air that felt tropical compared to the Pacific.
The parking area that had been empty when they'd arrived was now full of vehicles. State Police cruisers. County sheriff SUVs. Fire trucks. Two ambulances with lights flashing. First responders organizing in the pre-dawn darkness.
Price had mobilized half the county while Gabe had been trapped in the rubble.
He set Cara carefully on the gurney and watched the medics swarm around her, checking temperature, starting an IV, asking questions she could barely answer.
"We need to transport. Both of them. Hypothermia protocol." The lead medic looked at Gabe. "You family?"
He opened his mouth, couldn't figure out how to answer.
"Yes," Cara said. Her voice was steadier now. "He's family."
"Then you can ride along." The medic gestured to the jump seat. "But stay out of our way."
They loaded David into the second ambulance. Wade climbed in with him without hesitation.
Gabe sat in the jump seat and watched the medics work—warming blankets, hot packs under Cara’s arms and around her neck, heated IV fluids.
Cara's color was already better. The purple fading from her lips. The shaking becoming less violent.
"Temperature's coming up. Ninety-four point two." The medic marked something on a chart. "You got lucky. Another few minutes and we'd be looking at severe hypothermia."
Gabe's hands shook. He pressed them against his thighs and tried to breathe normally despite the pain in his ribs.
She'd jumped into the Pacific in December to save his brother.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You thank You thank You.
The prayer ran on repeat, inadequate and desperate and real.
Cara's eyes found his, clearer now and present. "David?"
"Other ambulance. Wade's with him." Gabe's voice came out rough. "You saved his life."
"I had help." She tried to smile and managed something close. "Wade shoots better than I do."
"You jumped in the ocean."
"Your brother can't swim."
The simple statement landed like revelation. She'd known, had assessed the situation, had made a calculated choice to risk drowning to save someone she'd never met.
"Neither can you, apparently," he said.
