“Is he? What? How?” My stomach tightens and a deep ache takes root, forcing me to bunch over and hold my stomach.
“We need to go now, Lib,” is all he replies, but it’s not enough. I can’t get my feet to move.
“I-I can’t. I can’t.” I don’t know what I’m saying, what I’m asking. It’s like time has ceased and everything around us has frozen.
“You can, darlin’. Just take my hand.” He holds it out, but the simple task of moving my hand to his has me completely lost.
“Please, Liberty. He needs you.” The words are exactly what I need to jolt me back to some semblance of myself. Fox, noticing my return, steps forward, takes my hand and gently maneuvers me out of the doorway so he can close the door behind me.
“You need anything else?” I think I shake my head, or maybe the ground moves again, and I move with it, but whatever it is, Fox takes it on board, and starts directing me down the stairs.
“Does Hetch need anything?” I ask, stopping our descent, the thought hitting me fast.
“Other than you? Not right now. Let’s just get you to the hospital.” There’s no annoyance in his tone, but I can tell he’s tense.
“Okay, yeah,” I continue and he follows, keeping close like Hetch would. When we reach the parking lot, he takes the lead. Walking past me, he opens the passenger door of his truck. The step up is not as high as Hetch’s truck, but for some reason, this one seems harder for me climb into. Fox, noticing my reluctance, places his hands on either side of my hips and helps me up.
“Thank you. I’m sorry, I’m just….” I trail off, not looking at him. I’m barely holding on by a thread; I’ve already lost it in front of him once. I don’t need to do it again.
“Hey.” He reaches out a comforting hand but stops himself midair. “He’s going to be okay, Liberty.” His reassurance does nothing to calm me. If anything, it makes me want to ask him how he could possibly be so sure. Two minutes ago, he said he didn’t know. Now he’s reassuring me he’s going to be okay.
Instead of lashing out at someone who doesn’t deserve it, I sit back and silently work through the same breathing exercises I teach my boys when they’re worked up and can’t contain their emotion.
One hand rests on my chest, the other on my abdomen and I inhale steadily through my nose.
Please, don’t die, Hetch.
Exhaling through my mouth.
Don’t you dare die.
Inhaling through my nose.
Please don’t die.
Exhaling through my mouth.
Don’t you dare die.
By the time Fox pulls up at the front of the emergency room fifteen minutes later, I’m no calmer than when I took Kota’s call. If anything, the coil of tension snaps tighter inside my stomach.
Please don’t die, my mind screams loudly.
Not prepared to wait for Fox to shut off the truck, I release my seatbelt, throw open my door and I forgo any help down. Fox doesn’t call out for me, or maybe he does and I’m too lost in my own head to hear him. Instead, he picks up his pace to stay close behind me.
Reaching the double entry doors before he does, I make it into the waiting room out of breath and immediately search for Kota, or anyone familiar. It doesn’t take long for me to find Kota first. She’s standing on the far side of the waiting room, shoulders resting against the wall, hands crossed over her chest. She’s talking to Sterling and her mother, and at the sight of them, I instantly feel like I shouldn’t be here.
You pushed him away, Liberty.
“Kota?” My voice is unsure, across a waiting room of police officers. Her head, followed by Sterling’s and Brianna’s, come up at my voice and I move toward them, anxious for information.
“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Kota steps away from the wall first, followed by Sterling and Brianna.
“Is he okay? Where is he? What happened?” The questions fire out as I move toward them, and I can’t stop them.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
“Whoa there. Slow down, darlin’.” Sterling reaches for me just as I reach them on wobbly legs, and takes me in his arms, holding me steady.
“Tell me what happened? Fox said he was shot. How? Is he going to survive?” My heart rate can’t keep up with the questions. Pounding against my chest, I fight the tightness with large deep breaths.
Please don’t take him away from me.
“Come here.” He pulls back, and motions me over to a vacant chair. The last thing I want to do is sit down, but I don’t voice my concern. My need to know everything that’s going on anchors me down into the chair.
“He was hit twice in the neck. They’re operating now.” He gives it to me straight, and instantly, I wish he were more gentle.
“The neck?” Last night’s dinner threatens to come up, but I manage to keep it down by sliding back in my chair and looking up at the ceiling, squeezing my eyes shut. The neck? How serious is the neck? My mind takes stock of my own body, connecting everything together.