Page 118 of Chasing the Sun
Everything in my mind went still, but my body was moving, searching for my clothes and tugging up my jeans. “An accident?”
I put the phone on speaker so Elodie could hear.
“From what I could gather, Hayes’s truck was broken down. Wes came to help and a driver hit them. Hayes is pretty banged up. A few minor cuts, shaken up. They’re still checking him out now, but Wes—he took the brunt of it. He got hit protecting Hayes.”
I closed my eyes. “Fuck.”
Brody’s voice was grim. “They’re both at the hospital. I’m here now.”
“I’ll be there.” I ended the call and looked at Elodie, who was already pulling on her own clothes.
“I’m calling Selene and Kit. Someone needs to be there for Hayes. I can stay with Levi until we figure it out,” she said, her voice calm but tight. “Wes needs you and Levi shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
I nodded, reaching for her hand. “Thank you. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”
She leaned in and kissed me softly—no pretense, no hesitation. Just us.
Then she slipped out, and I was left with nothing but the echo of her kiss and the sick feeling in my gut. I watchedas Elodie pulled her phone to her ear, already making calls as she hurried across the grass toward the Drifted Spirit. She ducked through the fence and was swallowed by the darkness.
I dragged a hand over my face and took a breath. Wes and Hayes didn’t need me freaking out. I made my way to my truck, pulling a wide circle and driving as fast as I could toward the hospital.
The hospital waiting room always smelled the same—sterile, metallic, and exhausted.
I walked in to find Brody standing near the vending machines, arms crossed tight over his chest, his police radio clipped to his shoulder like a second skin. His expression was grim.
He didn’t bother with preamble. “Hayes has a few bruises and a busted lip. Lucky, all things considered. Wes pushed him out of the way when the driver came around the bend too fast.”
My throat burned.
“Fuck.” Brody scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Wes took the hit straight on. Broken ribs, punctured lung. His leg is in bad shape, but they won’t say much until the surgeon sees it.”
I sank into one of the hard plastic chairs like my bones had given out.
“He just ... reacted?” I asked.
Brody nodded. “Didn’t think. Just moved.”
Of course he did. That was Wes. In the Army, he’d had this calm about him, like he was built for chaos and pain. Wes was always the first to jump in, never waiting to see whether someone else would do it.
Brody sat down beside me. His movements were slower than usual. Measured.
For a long minute, we didn’t speak.
Finally, he said, “You okay?”
I exhaled, shaking my head once. “No.”
“Same.”
The silence between us was thick. Not awkward—just full. It was the kind of quiet that came when you’d seen too much, felt too much, and still didn’t know what to do with any of it.
“What else is eating you?” Brody finally asked.
“I don’t even know where to start.” I stared at a scuff mark on the linoleum.
When Brody sat patiently, I started prattling on. “I’ve been holding on to this idea. Of who I was supposed to be. What I was supposed to do with my life.”
Brody didn’t interrupt.
