“It’s back up,” the second EMT said, relief evident in his voice. “But he needs a hospital now.”
Everything happened so fast after that. They had him loaded onto a gurney and out the door before I could even process what was happening. I just stood there in shock, feeling like someone had reached into my chest and torn my heart out with their bare hands.
“It’s okay, Hats,” Gator said gently as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I’ve got ya.”
“There was so much blood, Drake,” I whispered, staring at my hands still covered in his blood. Gator His life force—he’d lost so much.
Gator nodded against the top of my head. “He’s a tough motherfucker, doll. He’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
I nodded woodenly. “He has to be, Dranke. I won’t make it again without him.”
“Hey.” Gator tilted my chin up so I had to look at him. “That man has been pining for you since the day you left town eight years ago. He’s not gonna give up now that you’re back. You’ll see.”
One week later
“She won’t leave.”
I heard my grandmother sigh.
“She’ll be okay, Jean.”
That was Tacoma. He’d been there most of the morning. “I’ll be back, Hattie.”
I waved as he left the room.
I’d been beside Weston’s bedside for a solid week, and people had been coming and going. Some sat with me for a little whilebetween doing whatever it was they did during the day, while others popped in to bring me food and check in on Weston.
I’d lied when I got to the hospital on the first day, telling the staff that I was his wife. With all his blood on me, nobody had questioned it.
Thank the gods for that. There was no way I could sit out in the waiting room knowing he was back here by himself.
“How you doin’, darlin'?” I glanced up and smiled at Weston’s dad, whose eyes were only for his boy.
“Gamble,” I breathed, climbing to my feet. “When did you get back?”
I’d asked for him at the clubhouse during my Welcome Home party, but he’d been out on a run.
“Came straight here when I got the news.”
He pulled me into his arms and squeezed. “Good seeing ya’, girl.”
I nodded against his chest. I just wished it were under different circumstances. Gamble’d been like a dad to me growing up. Mostly because Weston and I had been joined at the hip our whole lives. Pete and Repeat, they’d call us.
“How bad is he?” Gamble asked, his hands gentle as he pulled back to look at me.
“It’s a miracle he’s still here,” I whispered, reaching for Weston’s hand. It was warm, which I took as a good sign.
He’d been out for six days. The doctors said it was a good thing. That it was his body’s way of healing from all the trauma he’d sustained.
“Wake up, Weston,” I murmured, squeezing his fingers. “I can’t do this life without you.”
I’d been talking to him about everything and nothing, hoping that somewhere in the darkness, he could hear me.
“Hattie Lynn.”
I looked up to find Granny Jean standing in the doorway with Papaw Pete behind her, both of them wearing matching expressions of concern.
“Hey, Granny,” I said, trying to muster up a smile.
