Page 2 of Tangled Up

She charges forward, and I turn fast.

His head has fallen to the side, and his eyes stare blankly at the corner where the ceiling meets the wall. The room tilts and a knot twists my throat.No.This isn’t happening. This can’t happen again…

“He’s in arrest!” Tessa’s shout propels me into action.

“Get the paddles.” My voice is calm, but I can’t fully inhale. “Someone call the time. This isn’t a drill, people.”

A nurse shouts out, “Six fifty-eight!”

Rubbing the paddles together as the charge builds, my mind screamsnot again, not again...

Closing my eyes briefly, I allow it to happen, allow the panic to fill my veins for the three seconds it takes the defibrillator to reach go time.

Three…

Two…

One…

Another nurse places an oxygen pump over Mr. C’s nose and mouth, and I step forward, holding the silver paddles over his bare chest.

My palms are clammy. “Clear.”

I press down, and as the energy fires through the metal, his body rises off the bed. We all step back, eyes fixed on the monitor, waiting for that blip, barely breathing. Seconds drag by like frozen water over a dam.

“Come on, Mr. C.” My voice is a quiet plea. “Come on…”

Nothing changes. I say a mental prayer as we wait, transfixed.

“It didn’t take.” Tessa breaks the silence.

“Chest compressions.” Clasping my hands, I place them on his chest and begin to pump up and down as the new nurse continues with the ventilation. We count in time.

All eyes are on the monitor, waiting for it to blip again.

“Come on…” My voice is a low growl this time.

Every muscle in my body is tight, and I’m right back in that place reliving it. Another life in my hands, slipping through my fingers, and I’m powerless to stop it.

Fuck that. I’m not fucking powerless.

My jaw is tight, and I grind out a NO as my fists clench. I’m about to beat them against his chest, fractured ribs be damned, when a blip stops me. My lips part, and I hesitate, waiting.

We all hold our collective breaths as we stare, waiting for one more…

One more…

Blip!It comes.

Then another… another… steady, regular.

“We’ve got him!” Tessa cries, and my shoulders drop.

I step back, adrenaline flooding my veins so hard, I have to touch my eyes. No time for emotion. My fists unfurl, and I return to treatment mode.

“What happened?” The old man’s voice is hoarse. He blinks at me first then Tessa and back to me.

That’s when it happens—recognition breaks across his face, and his brow lowers. “Beckham Munroe. You’ve been stealing my watermelons again.”

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