Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“No.” Sitting up taller, I picked up my fork. “The salad is fine. I really do want to eat better.”
“Good for you.”
“And I’m feeling really strong today. Really good about myself.”
“I love that.”
“I mean, it’s still hard for me to believe I’m the one he wants, but—”
“Stop.” Blair pinned me with a look. “He wants you.”
“He wants me.” I couldn’t help smiling.
“So let’s have a toast.” Blair picked up a French fry and raised it.
Plucking one from her plate, I lifted it to hers. “To happily ever after.”
“Yes,” she said. “Amor vincit omnia.”
“What does that mean?”
She smiled. “Love conquers all.”
Twenty-Seven
Cole
During Monday’s shift, I responded to the kind of call that every police officer dreads.
An infant, just a few weeks old, had stopped breathing.
When I pulled up to the house, a woman I assumed was the mother came running out with the baby in her arms.
“She’s not breathing! She’s not breathing!” she screamed over and over again. “Help me!”
Nothing is worse than a situation where a child is in danger, but my training kicked in and I remained calm, even as my own heart was firing like a machine gun.
“Okay, let me have the baby. Let me have her.” I took the infant from the hysterical mother and assessed her quickly. The baby’s color was okay, and she was blinking at me. Her huge eyes were dark and trusting.
But she wasn’t breathing.
While continuing to soothe the frantic mother by speaking calmly, I checked the baby’s mouth and airway but saw nothing obstructing it. Then I rotated her to face down on my forearm and delivered three blows to the upper middle portion of her back. A few seconds later, she started to cry.
Part of me wanted to fall to my knees in relief, but I remained upright and stoic, holding the baby against my chest as I radioed back that the baby was breathing and crying, and the EMT had arrived.
Afterward, I wrapped up the call like it was any other, accepting hugs from the grateful mother, handshakes from neighbors who’d come out to see what the trouble was, and claps on the back from colleagues at the station. I finished my shift as if nothing was amiss.
Then I went home and had a full-on panic attack, alone in my room.
What if I hadn’t gotten there in time? Or worse, what if I’d been unable to save the baby? What if I’d been too late, or so panicked I’d forgotten my training, or simply hadn’t been able to clear the obstruction? That innocent little life would have been gone on my watch.
My watch.
It was the perfect example of why you couldn’t trust the universe or God or anyone else to protect you. You were on your own. Anything and anyone could be taken from you inside a minute.
An accident. A mistake. A lightning strike. An error in judgment. A split second. A wrong choice.
There were so many ways fate could turn on you, no matter how smart or careful or good you tried to be.
After pulling myself together, I changed out of my uniform and went downstairs.
The episode with the baby had made the evening news, and footage from my cruiser’s dash cam had been released to the media. By the time I made it downstairs for supper, the phone had started ringing—townspeople calling to praise and congratulate me.
My mother was beside herself, beaming with pride, scolding me for not saying anything sooner. “Cole Mitchell! You walked right by me at the stove and went upstairs to change without telling me what you did!”
“Sorry, Mom,” I muttered. “I needed a minute.”
My daughter was impressed too, hugging me hard, playing the video online again and again. “Wow, Daddy! Can I bring you in for Show and Tell?”
“Uh, no.”
Cheyenne came rushing in the back door, practically knocking me off my feet the way she hurtled herself at me. “Why didn’t you say anything, you big jerk?” she cried. “You’re a hero!”
“I’m not. I was just doing my job,” I told her as she sobbed on my shoulder.
That night, the soundtrack of my nightmare included the sound of a child gasping for air.
I yelled so loud, I woke my mother.
The following day, baskets of fruit and plates of cookies showed up at the police department, and I fielded phone calls from reporters who wanted to interview me. My boss had to essentially give me the day off just to keep up, but he said he was glad to do it.
Burying all my emotions, I calmly relayed the events the way they’d occurred, saying only that I was grateful for my training and happy the baby was okay. It was all in a day’s work of keeping Bellamy Creek safe. The baby’s family came to the station, and we took a photo together, me holding the baby and the child’s parents standing beside me. By the time I got home, my mother had printed it and taped it to the refrigerator.