Page 120 of Chasing the Sun
I pressedthe screen to my chest and closed my eyes.
Please. Please, please, please let him be okay.
“I don’t get it,” Levi murmured. His voice was so quiet I almost missed it. “Wes is like... invincible.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. His face was pale, drawn tight in a way that made him look younger than he ever let himself act. My heart twisted.
“He’s still fighting,” I said, my voice thick. “That matters.”
Levi nodded but didn’t look convinced.
I stood. “Come on. Let’s do something.”
Together, we gathered blankets, stacked muffins from the pantry, and made cocoa that neither of us drank. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t have to. The silence between us wasn’t empty—it was full of fear, of waiting, of love we didn’t know how to show but couldn’t stop feeling.
A soft knock on the glass door broke the stillness.
Helen stepped into the kitchen, her arms wrappedaround a cardigan that didn’t match her dress, her eyes warm but lined with worry. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Levi looked up quickly, relief flickering across his face before he masked it with a shrug and looked away. I rose from the chair and met her halfway.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” I murmured.
“You called the right person,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Go. He’ll be okay with me.”
I nodded, brushing a hand over Levi’s shoulder as I grabbed my bag from the counter. But before I could step away, Levi stood too.
“Wait.” He shifted his weight awkwardly, his eyes darting between us. “Can you tell my dad something?”
“Of course,” I said gently.
“Tell him that I—” He looked down, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. “Tell him that I love him.”
My throat went tight. “I will,” I promised, then reached out and pulled him into a quick, fierce hug.
Helen waited until he let go before placing a hand on my arm. Her voice was quiet but firm. “Be strong. He’ll need to see your face and not your fear.”
I nodded, fighting the sting behind my eyes.
Helen leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower. “And no matter what you see tonight, remember, people are more than their worst days. That boy in there”—she nodded toward Levi—“he gets that strength from somewhere. Cal is tough, but he’ll need a shoulder to lean on too.”
Tears burned, but I blinked them back and forced a shaky smile. “Thank you.”
“Now go,” she said, ushering me toward the door. “We’ve got things handled here.”
The slidingglass doors of the hospital parted with a whoosh that sounded too gentle for what waited inside.
It smelled like antiseptic and sorrow.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I moved past the front desk, barely hearing the nurse who pointed me down the corridor toward the surgical waiting room. I knew this hospital, had come here once for a broken ankle in high school and again when Kit had sliced open her hand with a pruning shear. But tonight it felt entirely foreign. Too bright. Too quiet. Too full of the kind of waiting that stripped the air bare.
Voices murmured down the hall. Familiar ones.
The waiting room was full. Kit stood near the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Austin sat on one of the plastic chairs, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, worry carved into the lines of his face. Brody, still in uniform, prowled across the space like a tiger. My parents were perched on the other side of the room—Dad clutching a foam cup of coffee, Mom rubbing his back in slow, even strokes, like she was trying to keep him grounded.
Cal stood near the hallway entrance, pacing with his hands on his hips and his mouth set in a grim, unreadable line.
The moment I stepped in, every head turned. Kit crossed the room in two strides, pulling me into a tight hug.
