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It takes nearly forty minutes,and with every single second that passes, Grace begs the universe to not be the cruel and merciless thing she’s always known it to be. It doesn’t make any sense, but the longer they follow behind Boone, crossing the plain with the rain still beating down on them, the more she blames herself for whatever it is they’re about to witness. She is quicksand. Always has been. Everyone she tries to keep close ends up hurting in the end.
She should’ve known better than to start anything with Crew. He’s too good—too gallant and kind to be associated with her. It was never going to pan out well for him, becoming part of the land mine of tragedy and chaos that is Grace’s life.
The rain lets up before they find him. Hard, ceaseless, fat drops fizzle into a whisper, a gentle sprinkle that allows them to actually see what lies ahead—and as soon as Boone starts barking, they know they must be getting close. Grace’s heart is in her throat as his barks get louder, more insistent, and when she eventually spots something in the distance that doesn’t fit in with the landscape of dirt and dead brush, she squints, trying to make it out. When it’s finally clear enough to see, Grace gasps, and then she starts to run.
Chapter 16
The fear that courses through Grace’s entire body when she spots Crew lying beneath Duke’s prone, massive form is sharp and unadulterated. It moves her feet, pushes her legs, steadies her breath so she can sprint toward him with abandon. Her eyes are riveted to his face looking skyward, giving her that angular, enchanting profile she’s seen in dreams and stared at for far too long. His eyes and his mouth are open—and though the movement is stunted by the hulking, nine-hundred-pound animal on top of him, his chest is rising and falling.
He’s breathing. He’s alive.
Grace gets to him before anyone else, crashing to his side on her knees like she’s sliding into home base. Crew glances at her, and his face is strained, his features tight and twitching. “Hi,” she blurts out, and something in her soul knits itself back together when the corners of his mouth pull up.
“Hey,” he rasps, barely audible.
Suddenly, she’s not alone—the guys appear at her side, surveying the situation. Forty crouches down to Duke’s front left leg, shaking his head. “Gopher hole?”
Crew nods, sucking in a shuddering breath. “Didn’t see it in the storm. He stepped right in and took me with him.”
Forty’s already moving, and so are the others, positioning themselves evenly around Duke, who looks more annoyed than distressed about this situation. Grace stays next to Crew—she won’t move. She can tell he’s playing tough, forever in the role of valiant, unbreakable protector. But it’s a mask. He’s in pain. He’s afraid—she can see it in the wild honey of his eyes as they dart to hers.
Grace doesn’t have room in her brain to rationalize what the others may think when she reaches out and cups Crew’s cheek, much like he did with her the other night. Soft and tender, she sweeps her thumb over his cheekbone and blinks down at him. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Crew nods, leaning into her touch.
“All right, men,” Forty grunts, reaching down into the gopher hole to grip Duke’s sunken leg. “On three, let’s slide him off. He’s gonna get up quick, so be ready to give him room.”
Grace backs up as little as she can, not wanting to leave Crew but also not wanting to be in Duke’s line of fire when he’s upright. Forty counts, and then, as one, they lift his body and slide it off Crew’s, while Forty relieves the animal of its trap gently, methodically. As predicted, Duke is up within seconds, shaking off the fall and groaning a little as he trots away from them. With the horse situated, they shift their focus to Crew, who still lies in the same position, spread out atop the wet ground. Grace kneels next to him once again, and Cooper drops down to his other side, scanning him for any visible injury. “Anything broken?” he asks.
Crew shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Just—”
“Wind knocked outta ya,” Forty supplies, standing over them.
“Yeah,” Crew grunts as he attempts to sit up.
“Slow,” Cooper urges, reaching behind him to grab on to his shoulder. Grace does the same, and together, they help him into a seated position.
Crew breathes deeply, one after another, until he seems to relax slightly, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. Cooper’s hand is back at his side, but Grace keeps touching him—his shoulder, his chest, his thigh. Without even realizing what she’s doing, she’s patting him down for wounds, for protruding bones or sprains.
Satisfied, she looks up to find him staring at her.
“Well, Doc, am I gonna make it?” he asks, a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
Grace could cry with the relief that floods through her. He’s fine. Snarky as ever. She exhales, sinking fully onto the ground next to him. The others back away, Caleb and Forty running off to reel in Duke, and Cooper and Pierce comforting Boone, thanking him for being such a good dog.
“You got lucky,” Grace says, shuffling up until their thighs are touching.
When he answers, there’s no humor left in his voice. “I know.”
She looks over his form once again. “Can you walk?”
He nods, and together, they slowly get to their feet. Though he seems steady at first, he stumbles slightly upon being fully upright, and Grace reflexively latches on to his middle, keeping him in place. “Hold on to me,” she says softly, and he wraps his arm around her neck. They walk back like that—all the way to camp, she holds him up.
The hands who’d stayed behind clap when they see themapproaching, and while it’s meant to be a lighthearted gesture, she can see the relief in their faces. The care they all have for Crew, for one another, is a powerful thing—if one of them is hurt, they’re all hurt. Grace doesn’t know if she’s been fully integrated to be part of that collective outlook, but she certainly feels it when it comes to Crew. The second his safety was in question, she’d launched into action, sprung like a feral animal, and stopped at nothing until she’d gotten to him.
In the commotion of relief and questions and claps on the back, Grace doesn’t notice that one of the trucks is now parked behind camp, and she also doesn’t see Renata leaning against the tailgate, arms folded over her chest, watching. Crew, who still clings to Grace despite seeming to have fully regained easy mobility, sees his mother first and walks them both over to where she stands. Renata’s welcoming smile is less bright than normal—twisted with residual worry. She pins her elder son with a look that says a thousand words, a lifetime of conversation, lessons taught, warnings given. Eventually, once they seem to have exchanged whole sentences without uttering a word, she sighs and asks, “Did you think you couldstopthe storm? Control the weather like some ancient deity?”
