Page 4 of Love Me Fierce

“I’m cut somewhere. There’s…” He inhales a shaky breath. “…blood.”

Big bleeds are very bad. “Can you find where you’re bleeding without moving your back at all?”

“Nothing like this has ever happened to me.”

He sounds a little panicky. “Tucker, take your hand and move it across your forehead.”

“Okay.” He swipes across his head.

“Are you bleeding there?” I glance over my shoulder and squint through the swirling wind. Thanks to my failing wiper blades, most of my windshield is plastered with snow, but Matty is still in his car seat.

“No.”

“How about behind your head. Keep your neck straight for me though, okay?”

He’s breathing faster. “It’s not coming from there.”

From the rasp in his voice and the wrinkles on his forehead, I’d say he’s an older male, probably sixties. “Okay. How about your chest?”

“I think it’s my leg,” he says after he’s done. “It’s startin’ to hurt real bad.”

Why didn’t I bring my phone, so I could use the flashlight? I’d like to find the source of this bleeding.

“Stay with me, okay, Tucker? Help is on the way.”

He puts his hand down like he’s going to try to pivot.

“It’s really important that you stay still.” I conjure the no-nonsense nurse voice I’ve used on tweakers and belligerent drunks countless times.

“Okay.” His voice cracks.

“Where do you live?” I squeeze further into the cab, the edge of the doorway biting into my thighs. I can see him a little better now, but with the way I’m backlit, I don’t think he can see me clearly.

“Cascade.”

“Where is that?”

“About sixty miles. North of Finn River.”

Knowing basic info like this is a positive sign. “Tucker, what day is it?”

“Uh, Tuesday.”

I squint from behind the door to my car. Through the narrow gap in my windshield, I can just make out Mateo’s torso, like he’s standing on the floor behind the seats.

“What’d you eat for breakfast today?”

“Oatmeal, same as always.”

Ideally I get in here and manually stabilize Tucker’s spine, but with his door jammed, I can’t get to him. And even if I could squeeze through the gap, the last thing I want is to get stuck in here. Not with my four-year old kid alone in the car in the middle of a blizzard.

My only other option is to gain access via the driver’s door, but he could fall out. Right now, the door is serving as a kind ofbackboard. As long as he doesn’t move, he’ll be okay for now. As long as this bleed he’s anxious about isn’t going to send him into hypovolemic shock before EMS gets here.

“I have to go check on my son,” I say. I want to do more for Tucker right now, but I have Mateo to think about too. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh,” he says, but it comes out more like a grunt. “You got a kid with you? I’m sorry for bringin’ you out here.”

“It’s all right.”

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