Page 12 of Run to Me
“We should get back,” I say, a shaky laugh in my voice, but the look he gives me is full of more than I can say, more than either of us can hold. It’s the promise that we’re not done, not even close, not even after tonight.
“Yeah,” he agrees, watching me like I’m something he wants to remember, like he’s memorizing every detail.
Something has changed and with the auction coming up, I can’t think too much about it. My first priority has to be winning the ranch. Ace will have to wait until after. That is, if he still wants to continue after I take the ranch.
And after tonight, I hope he wants to because my body reacts to him in ways it never has with anyone else.
OLIVIA
Tomorrow is the auction and my nerves are shot. I’m used to persevering under pressure, but this is a whole new level. My father pushed so hard to keep the place running, but with the last couple of rough years, he couldn’t keep up with the taxes and overhead. His pride kept him from telling me he needed help. I have to win this for him. This ranch is everything he worked so hard for - to hand down to me one day - and just like that it might go to someone else. But that’s not going to happen. I’m more determined than ever to win the auction. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it in my family.
I come down the stairs, the sunlight billowing through the windows, and notice he’s not in his normal spot. Weird. I walk to the kitchen and grab my coffee cup and fill it up. He must be outside already. His mood has shifted in the last couple of days, and I know this is scaring him as much as me. Though, he won’t talk about it.
I take my coffee out to the porch, wanting to enjoy the sunrise. There’s just nothing like it in Lawson Ridge. The colors are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Jeremy heads over from the fields in a rush. “Hey! Have you seen your dad? He’s never late and I can’t find him anywhere on the property.”
My heart sinks. “I thought he beat me out here. I’ll go inside and check.”
I sit my cup down and head upstairs. “Dad?” I knock on his door, but no response. “Dad, Jeremy’s waiting for you. It’s not like you to sleep in.”
There is no sound coming from inside the room. “I’m coming in.”
I open the door, and sink to the floor. My father is laying in his bed, all the color drained from his face. “Dad!” A gut-wrenching scream erupts from my throat and Jeremy rushes inside.
“Oh my God,” Jeremy says, rushing past me to my father’s bedside.
I can’t move. My limbs feel like they’re made of lead, and a high-pitched ringing fills my ears. This can’t be happening. Not Dad. Not now.
Jeremy presses two fingers against my father’s neck, his face grim with concentration. “Call 911,” he says, his voice eerily calm.
The words snap me back to reality. I fumble for my phone, my hands shaking so badly I can barely dial the numbers. When the dispatcher answers, my words come out in broken sobs.
“My father... he’s not... he won’t wake up.”
Jeremy has already started CPR, his rhythmic compressions making the bed creak. I watch, helpless, as he tries to breathe life back into my father’s still form. The dispatcher is saying something about an ambulance, about staying on the line, but her voice sounds far away, underwater.
Time stretches and contracts. It feels like hours before I hear sirens in the distance, but the clock on Dad’s nightstandsays only seven minutes have passed. Seven minutes that have changed everything.
The paramedics burst through the front door, their heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. They swarm around my father’s bed with practiced efficiency, speaking in clipped, urgent tones. Jeremy pulls me back, his arm around my shoulders the only thing keeping me upright.
“No pulse. How long has been like this?”
“I don’t know,” I stammer, my voice barely audible. “He was fine last night. We had dinner together. He seemed normal.”
One paramedic is attaching electrodes to my father’s chest.
The machine beeps, a flat, monotonous sound that tears through me like physical pain.
“Clear,” someone shouts, and my father’s body jerks violently as electricity courses through him. I turn away, burying my face in Jeremy’s chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady against my ear, a cruel contrast to my father’s silence.
They try again. And again. Each attempt followed by urgent murmurs and the shuffling of equipment. I can’t look anymore. Instead, I focus on the photographs lining my father’s dresser—fishing trips, my college graduation, Mom’s funeral three years ago. Had his heart been quietly breaking all this time?
“I’m sorry,” the paramedic finally says, her voice gentle but final. “We’ve done everything we can.”
The words don’t make sense at first. They hover in the air like foreign objects, refusing to penetrate my understanding.
“What do you mean?” I ask, though I already know.
