Wildfire Omens (Wildwood #1)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Rhett

Clawing my way to the surface felt like the hardest thing I’d ever done. But when awareness finally dawned, she was there.

An angel, holding my hand and telling me everything was going to be okay.

I was cold. Too cold. Like I’d never get warm again. But she was a fire, a fire I clung to. The only thing that made me think I might make it through.

Everything was a blur. It took me a while to realize I was on the ground—the cold, wet ground—and that my body felt like I’d been put through a meat grinder.

“What happened?” I tried to force the question past my dry lips, but nobody answered. It was a swirl of activity. Sirens and people, and then I was moving up onto a board, being shoved into the back of an ambulance.

Everyone kept saying I was going to be okay.

But I only believed it when it was her.

I kept reaching, kept stretching my hand out, looking for that fire to cling to. And then she was back. Sitting beside me in the back of the ambulance, gripping my hand.

“Don’t leave us. You hear me? You hang on. You’re going to be okay.”

I vaguely recognized that the words didn’t come from her . It was my sister’s voice talking, begging me to hang on.

But the hand I clung to was Cheyenne’s. I’d have known it anywhere.

I forced my eyes open and she was there. Unlike Claire, who couldn’t stop talking, Cheyenne was silent—white as a ghost as she stared at me. I tried to tell her I was okay, but I couldn’t get the words out. And then the world went dark again.

The next time I clawed my way to the surface, the beeping noises and harsh smell of antiseptic told me I was in the hospital. I fought to open my eyes and found Mom hovering above me, her eyes red and swollen.

“Rhett,” she said, sagging in relief as she grabbed the crucifix around her neck. “Thank God. He’s awake, guys.”

I moved my head slightly—nearly vomited from the pain—and saw my siblings standing around the end of my bed. Even Finn had come. Their faces were all pale and worried.

“You gave us quite a scare,” Mom said, squeezing my hand.

“How bad is it?” I wasn’t sure, but between the pain and the looks on my siblings’ faces, I was concerned, to say the least.

Mom forced a bright smile. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Claire,” I said, turning my eyes toward her. “You’ll tell me the truth.”

She came over, took my other hand. “Really, you’re going to be okay. You took a bad blow to your head. It was … scary. Very scary for a little while. You were unconscious for a long time, and there were … concerns. You have a serious concussion. But the doctor says your prognosis is good.”

No wonder they all looked like they were at a funeral.

“Still got all my parts?” I asked, mumbling, as my eyes got heavy.

Claire cracked up. “Yeah. You still have all your parts. But a few of them are a little worse for wear. You’ve got some broken ribs, cuts, and scrapes.”

“What the hell happened to me?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.”

“Don’t remember,” I said, feeling the darkness threatening to take over again. Before it did, I gripped Claire’s hand. “Where’s Cheyenne?”

Cheyenne’s voice, thin and strained, came from the back of the room. “I’m here.”

I forced my eyes open just in time to see her step out from behind Travis.

“Need you,” I managed to get out before sinking back underneath the darkness.