Page 119 of Don't Look Down

Finally, fucking finally, I land. As quickly as possible, letting my canopy come to rest behind me. My legs are shaking so fucking viciously, they almost give out underneath me.

But I can’t afford to falter. Andrew needs me.

I need to remove my friend hat and put on my professional hat.

Work mode, Sky. There’ll be time to fall apart later. Holy fucking shit. What the actual fuck just happened?

Unclipping my rig, I take off running full speed across the grass, making my way toward Frankie and the heap that’s Andrew.

He’s not moving. I’m not surprised, but it shakes me to my core.

Get it together, Sky. This is what you’ve been trained to do.

Frankie’s hand hovers over Andrew, scared to touch him. He’s on the phone, begging for an ambulance to fucking get here as soon as possible. His words are cracking, filled with hysteria.

I dig deep to compartmentalize. Hearing his words, but not processing them. That’s for later. Andrew needs me. Reaching down, I carefully shift the canopy farther off Andrew.

Compartmentalizing my emotions is easier said than done.

The compound fracture of his femur is quite possibly the gnarliest thing I’ve seen.

A gag fights to be set free, but I swallow it down.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

The sight will forever be burned in my brain.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I wish I was anywhere, but here. But if wishes were horses or whatever the fuck that saying is.

My eyes trace his body, looking for any sign of life.

Nothing.

Oh God.

Holding myself together is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Looking at my watch, I automatically note the time. Twelve forty-one.

It plays in my head on a loop. The time matters.

Cayden will want to know.

I already know, but I have to check to be sure.

I don’t want to.

You have to, Sky.

Goosebumps rise on my skin, nausea roiling. Using two fingers, I grab Andrew’s wrist and feel for a pulse I know won’t be there.

Nothing.

Time of death, twelve forty-one.

Sirens fill the air, coming closer and closer, screaming and echoing morbidly across the field.

Giving zero fucks, the paramedics drive over the well-maintained grass. As close as possible to us.

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