Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“I’ll join you,” David says.
We’re just finishing up our run on the treadmill when my phone goes off with a text from Taylor, letting me know that she’s with her mom and they’re on their way to the city.
But before I can respond, my phone dies.
“Fucking hell!” I throw my phone on the table. “Can I borrow your phone?” I ask David. “Mine’s dead, so I need to let Taylor know to call the station if she needs me.”
“Sure.”
He hands it over, and luckily, I know her number by heart. It rings once, twice, a third time, then goes to voice mail.
“Hey, Tay, my phone is dead. When you get to the city, call me at—”
My words are cut off by the sound of the emergency tone ringing out through the station, followed by the details of the incident—two females in a car accident, both injured and in need of medical help.
Since we’re the only fire station in town, our engine fits two patients, so we jump into emergency mode, heading straight to the scene of the accident.
Because we’ve done this too many times over the years, my brothers and I work like a well-oiled machine. So, when David gets to the victims before I do since I’m grabbing the gear with Luke and yells for me in a tone that indicates he’s freaking out, I’m confused … until I get over to him and see why.
“Taylor!” I yell, racing over to my little girl, who’s lying on the ground, unconscious.
There’s metal and glass shards poking out of her skin in various places, and her arm is in an awkward position. I glance at the other woman, who’s still in the car, and even from here, I can see it’s Jamie.
“Shane,” David says. “Snap out of it, man. We need to get them to the hospital.”
His words kick my ass into gear, and like the professionally trained paramedic I am, I work with my guys to get my daughter and her mother stable and to the hospital, the entire time praying that my little girl will be okay.
Shane
Present
“Fuck, Sour Patch.”
I pick her up and carry her over to the couch while Becky follows, sensing that something is wrong. When I sit on the couch with her in my lap, Becky sniffs and then licks her face.
“It’s okay, girl,” I tell her, patting her head. “Kinsley just needs a moment.”
The entire way here, I was worried about telling her what had happened because of how her late husband and baby had died, but I thought by telling her to stay calm, she’d listen. In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best approach.
I move several strands of hair out of her eyes as she stirs slightly, blinking several times in confusion. I know the moment she remembers what I told her because her face pales, and she scrambles to climb out of my lap.
“Where is she?” she chokes out when I try to hold her so she won’t freak out. “Please tell me she’s okay.”
Tears fill her lids, and I tighten my hold on her. The past twenty-four hours have been hard enough, and the last thing we need is Kinsley in the hospital as well.
“She’s okay. I wanted to call you, but I didn’t know your number, and I didn’t want to leave her yesterday. Her phone got smashed in the accident, and mine’s fucked. I’m so sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”
The first thing I’ll be doing when this is all over is getting a new phone, and then I’ll be writing down Kinsley’s number. Not being able to get ahold of her was fucking hell. I just kept thinking she thought I was blowing her off.
My parents were already at the hospital with Eric and Katie when we brought them in, and I asked my dad to go by my place to see if Kinsley was there, but she wasn’t. And when he went back last night to check again, he found her and Becky asleep in my bed. He asked if I wanted him to wake her, but since visiting hours were over, I didn’t want to stress her out when there was nothing she could do, so I told him to let her sleep and that I would tell her myself in the morning.
Thankfully, my parents have cell phones, so I’ve been able to use my mom’s phone to communicate with everyone.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kinsley cries. “I just need to know she’s okay. I need to see her.”
“We can go see her,” I tell her, standing and setting her on her feet. “But you need to be prepared. She broke her wrist in numerous places, and the glass caused several gashes that needed to be glued. When she hit the concrete—”
“What do you mean, she hit the concrete?” She gasps, covering her mouth as tears slide down her cheeks.