Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cole
T he clinic was closed on Sundays, which meant that Willa usually slept in, worked out, and then either read or binged episodes of Bridgerton . We’d enjoyed a long weekend due to New Year’s falling on Friday, and we’d spent a lot of time attempting recipes from YouTube, doing yoga together, and what had recently become my favorite activity with Willa: knitting—me, of course—and reading a fantasy novel—her—side by side. Most days, she’d put her head on my shoulder, and we’d sit in silence.
But this morning, we’d trekked out to the diner. I’d had a craving for eggs Benedict, and no one made it better than Bernice and Louis. We’d been hanging out at the cottage for the last few days, so the change of scenery would do us some good. Though Magnolia had invited us to some swanky party in New York City, that was not my scene anymore, and Willa’s eyes had dulled when she mentioned it. What my wife needed more than anything was a little downtime.
The last thing I wanted was to find myself in a noisy crowd where alcohol flowed. I’d built a safe little bubble here. I was helping out at the mayor’s office, planning next year’s festival, coaching my girls, and talking to the University of Maine about transferring my credits and applying them to a BA program.
For the first time in years, I felt good. I was sleeping and exercising and doing things I cared about. The best part of it all was spending time with the person I cared about most.
Eventually, my feelings for her would be a problem, but I was choosing to ignore it at the moment, and I was progressively getting better at avoiding my attraction to my wife. Truly, I had developed some kind of superpower. However, it didn’t change the fact that I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could.
The diner was packed full of church ladies casting judgmental looks, parents cutting blueberry pancakes into tiny bites for hungry kids, and groups of older men loudly debating the day’s hot topic.
I’d avoided the diner for so long. It was the unofficial hub of our town, and I’d been swamped with so much shame and had no interest in the scrutiny I’d receive if I made an appearance. But with Willa? I was proud to walk in, even if I had to duck under the old doorframe to avoid hitting my head.
“Do you have a game this afternoon?”
“Yes. Can’t wait.” Excitement coursed through me. My girls were kicking ass on the ice. Most of the teams we played were from towns far larger than Lovewell with consistent access to ice time. But my team was scrappy, and moving Emily to goalie and playing a left wing lock had really turned things around for us.
“Can I come?” It was a simple request, but it made my chest squeeze, nonetheless. She wanted to come watch my team play?
“To my game?” I cringed. Shit. That sounded pathetic. “To see the girls?” I corrected.
“Of course.” Nodding, she brought her coffee to her lips. “I’m free all day. You’ve done every conceivable chore around the house, you’ve run every errand and even stocked the freezer with meals. Plus…” She wiggled her brows. “Shouldn’t the coach’s wife make an appearance?”
Yes . The answer was yes. She was always welcome, especially if she went around introducing herself as my wife. The thought of it filled me with pride.
“Sure,” I said, trying to play it cool, even as my heart thumped heavily in my chest. “The kids would be excited to have another fan.”
She smiled broadly, and though it should have lifted me up further, I was hit with a pang of regret. She’d never seen me play hockey. My family had all seen me play, and people I met along the way were usually impressed by my size and talent. But this was different. I wanted her to see me play because I wanted her to see me, the real me, not the guy decked out in his team’s colors.
And there was no realer version of me than when I was on the ice, at least before I went pro and lost my drive. Back when my pulse quickened every time I laced up my skates. I wanted her to know that version of me, not whatever I was now.
“Cole,” she said, putting her coffee cup down. Her hands were cupped around it, and she was chewing her bottom lip. It was one of her tells. She was nervous.
My heart sank. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m great. I just wanted to ask—”
A loud crash sounded, interrupting her, and as we both spun. Scanning the space, we found a group of people gathered by the front door.
A loud scream startled me, sending me to my feet. My height gave me an advantage as I surveyed the scene. Immediately, I saw Mrs. Moran kneeling on the floor beside her husband, wailing.
Willa grabbed my arm, and together, we started to push through the crowd. “Back up,” she shouted, her tone authoritative.
I followed her, stretching my arms and gently pushing people back.
“It’s Bob,” a woman near me said, her voice shaky. “He was getting up to leave and collapsed.”
Willa dropped to her knees beside him and shook him gently. When he didn’t respond, she grasped his wrist and checked for a pulse.
“Help me lay him out,” she commanded, her voice calm but firm. “And push everyone back.”
Though she hadn’t looked up from Mr. Moran, it was clear she was talking to me, so I helped her maneuver him onto his back.
“Let me stabilize his neck,” she said, yanking off her sweater. Once she had it tucked under his head, she brought her ear to his mouth and nose to listen for breath.
“Bernice,” she shouted. “Call 911. Tell them we have a possible cardiac arrest.”
Bernice pulled a phone out of her apron and tapped furiously as she hustled away from the group.
Willa locked her sights on Mrs. Moran. “Your husband is unconscious. Do I have your consent to perform CPR?”
“Yes,” the older woman cried, a shaky hand pressed to her cheek.
With a nod, Willa shifted into action. Using her sweater to tilt his head back, she tipped his chin up. She listened for breath again, then moved back to his side.
Hands on his chest, one over the other, she locked her elbows and pushed hard. A hush fell over the crowd as she hummed to herself, her face a mask of concentration. The muscles in her arms tensed with every compression.
“Ambulance will be here in six minutes,” Bernice shouted.
Willa nodded, her focus never straying from her patient.
Pinching his nose, she bent down and put her mouth over his. As she breathed air into his lungs, his chest rose. After she’d given a second rescue breath, she went right back to compressions.
She repeated this process several times, her pace steady and her focus unrelenting, compressions followed by two quick breaths, over and over for what seemed like hours.
She never tired or looked away from Mr. Moran. Even as people cried and prayed and shouted updates about the ambulance’s arrival. Bernice and I pushed the crowd back, and when the EMTs arrived, she opened the door and flagged them down.
As they jogged into the diner, Willa looked up from her compressions. “Prep the AED.”
With a nod, one EMT lifted a small green box-shaped device. The other wordlessly took over compressions and rescue breaths while Willa cut open Mr. Moran’s shirt and placed sticky patches on his skin.
“Hands off,” she said
Quickly, both EMTs leaned back.
She studied the screen, and a moment later, she said, “Ventricular fibrillation.” Then, with her finger hovering over a button on the green box, she called out “clear” and pressed down, sending what looked like a powerful charge.
A hush fell over the diner as she studied the screen again.
“We’ve got activity,” she said. “Resuming compressions. Get the stretcher and the O2.”
One EMT rushed away, mumbling into his radio.
When he returned, they loaded Mr. Moran onto the stretcher. Willa never stopped compressions, and she continuously checked the screen.
“Call it in,” she said to the EMT who slid an oxygen mask over their patient’s face. “Myocardial infarction with V-fib.”
She walked next to the stretcher as they rolled it out the door, then helped them load Mr. Moran into the back of the ambulance and climbed in herself, immediately hooking him up to various machinery.
Mrs. Moran grabbed my arm with a shaky hand, her face streaked with tears. “Is he gonna be okay?”
I had no idea how to respond, so rather than speaking, I patted her hand, hoping to offer her a little comfort.
“Thank God the doctor was here.”
The EMTs motioned for her to climb in, so I helped her into the ambulance, and then watched helplessly as the doors closed and the bus pulled away, tires screeching.
I was no doctor, but I was pretty sure I’d just watched Willa save that man’s life.