“Four!” Bo’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my God.”
The words were really bad, then. “They couldn’t figure out why the drop but shot him full of Narcan.”
Bo nodded. “If the problem was a lack of oxygen, then it ought to do the trick.”
God, let the drugs work. Narcan, naloxone, what agents gave to narcotics overdose cases. More than a few people still walked the earth due to the medicine’s ability to reverse the effects of oxycodone or heroin overdose.
The opioid antidote even saved Bo’s life once.
“Bo?” Lucky pushed past a boulder in his throat.
“Yes?” Bo clutched Lucky’s hand.
Lucky pulled in a deep breath, stalling for time. Admitting the next part made the words too real, too hard to deny. “He didn’t have enough oxygen for a pretty good while. They said his oxygen stats were in the sixties, whatever that means.”
“Sats. Oxygen saturation levels.” Bo closed his eyes, his squeeze on Lucky’s fingers nearly painful. “Possible brain damage.”
“Fuck.” Lucky wasn’t much of a praying man, but he’d certainly been talking to the man upstairs today.
“It’s probably too early yet to tell.” Bo opened his eyes, the stubborn lift to his chin Lucky knew too well.
“That’s what the paramedic said.” Lucky sniffed and wiped at his eyes with his free hand. “The nurses won’t let me see him.”
“Shh…” Bo rubbed a hand down Lucky’s back. “I’m sure they’re only allowing family right now.”
“I—”
An approaching nurse cut off Lucky’s confession. “Mr. Smith?”
Bo started to answer. Lucky elbowed him. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You can see your father now.” She aimed an apologetic lip twitch at Bo. “I’m sorry, but family only.”
Lucky lifted his and Bo’s clasped hands. “He’s my husband.”
Her mouth and eyes went round. “Oh! Then follow me, please.”
One thing kept Lucky from racing down the hall: not knowing where they’d put Walter.
The nurse finally opened a door and ushered Bo and Lucky inside. “The doctor will be here soon.”
Tubes protruded from Walter’s arms, and a mask hid most of his face. The visible parts of his skin now held more of a pinkish hue.
The tiny form of Lucille Smith sat by Walter’s bedside, holding his hand, appearing more fragile than Lucky remembered.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his, softly sobbing.
Bo grabbed tissues from a box on the nearby table, knelt down beside her, and murmured words of comfort.
Lucky couldn’t form words. A knife plunged into his heart and twisted. Chances were she’d already talked to the doctor, knew things Lucky didn’t. May he never have to watch over a loved one, helpless to do anything, not knowing if they’d live or die.
Or, heaven forbid, have Bo sit at his bedside. Thinking hurt too much. He held on as much for his own comfort as for Mrs. Smith’s.
Each breath Walter took kept him in the world a little longer.
Then again, Lucky might be watching a loved one die now.
The door clicked open and a doctor entered the room. Lucky nodded every now and then, letting Bo ask the questions and translate medicalese to real speak.
