Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Faster and faster.
Plummeting to the dirt.
Tumbling, rolling, crashing, slamming, metal crunching, pain taking over swiftly and violently.
Not today. The thought fluttered through me right before my world went dark and cold.
Chapter Two
Jonas
“Is he going to make it?” My friend Eric’s voice was crackly on my phone. Nasty early December weather meant horrible cell reception. He was asking what everyone wanted to know, yet no one had the answers.
“Hold on.” I paced farther down the chilly hospital corridor, away from Declan’s ICU cubicle and Sean’s hearing. Eric was a seasoned paramedic and undoubtedly knew what my pause really meant. Likewise, I understood he was asking my opinion more than wanting a regurgitated version of what the medical team had told our friend Sean, Declan’s father. “Doctors are saying the usual about head injuries being unpredictable and tricky. Between us, though, it’s pretty bad.”
Bad was a wild understatement for our last three days, starting with the moment Sean received a phone call that Declan had been injured at a motocross event near Salt Lake City. And every update since then had been worse than the previous. “Declan sprung a major subdural bleeder last night, so the on-call neurosurgeon had to go in to fix it.”
Eric sucked in a breath. Brain surgery was never anything minor, and bleeding was the one complication of traumatic brain injuries that everyone dreaded. Brain bleeds were associated with lower survival rates and more loss of function, something all of us in the first responder field knew all too well.
“He’s still sedated for rest after that surgery, I bet.” There was a clinking noise like Eric was stirring something. Like me, he tended to put his excess restless energy into cleaning or cooking when home.
“Yeah.” I paced the length of the hallway, my own nerves jangling. Eric and I were best friends and didn’t look the most alike, but people occasionally mistook us for brothers because of our similar mannerisms. “Now it’s a waiting game.”
“What’s the EEG showing after the brain surgery to relieve the bleeding?” Eric’s voice was crisp, the sort he used on a call. Focusing on medical jargon, chart data, procedures, percents, and so on was so much easier than admitting our other friend, Sean, might lose his son. I flexed my hands as acid gathered in my already sour stomach.
“Latest reports show some brain activity, so there’s hope Declan can pull through this TBI, but of course, there’s no telling what limitations he may face if—when—he wakes up.” Testing could only tell us so much. As a longtime emergency room nurse, I’d seen more than my share of head injuries, and each one was its own unique beast with a hard-to-predict outcome. I’d seen lesser injuries than Declan’s yield permanent comas, while injuries that at first appeared far more severe resulted in a patient who was up and demanding food by this point.
“And how are his other injuries?” Eric sounded distracted now, like one of his teens had come into the kitchen, and indeed, a tinny voice sounded in the distance.
“Couple of cracked ribs. Bruised spleen. Pray that doesn’t rupture because he doesn’t need another emergency surgery.” Sensing our conversation might be cut short, I spoke fast. “Broken right ankle and tibia. A likely sprained wrist, but the main thing is the head injury.”
“Yeah.” Eric went silent for a moment before mumbling something to whomever else was in the room. “Okay, I sent Wren off to wash up before dinner. They’ve been reading up on head injury protocols.”
“I’m not surprised.” I was too tired to laugh, but Eric’s younger teen was nothing if not predictable.
“Jesus. I hate this for Sean.” Eric made a pained noise. “For the whole Murphy family, really. If it wasn’t for the weather, the whole clan would undoubtedly be there.”
“That’s why I’m sticking around longer.” I’d initially driven Sean and his boyfriend, Denver, straight to the airport in Portland. But weather in Salt Lake, as well as a few other West Coast hubs, had grounded flights, and there were no seats to be had. Desperate, Sean had proposed driving, and there was no way I’d let Sean and Denver make the trek alone. I’d only met Declan, who was in his early twenties, a handful of times, and I would have made the offer for any friend, but I was still struggling to explain, even to myself, how compelled I felt to be here.
The drive from Portland could be as short as thirteen hours, but it’d taken us eighteen straight through, changing drivers every so often in increasingly windy and wintery weather.
“Not only are road conditions terrible for the drive back, I don’t want to leave Sean and Denver to deal with any hard decisions on their own. Weather should improve in the next few days, and after Sean’s folks and ex arrive, I’ll feel better about leaving them.”