Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
THEO
The sound of the rotor blades is deafening, slicing through the air like knives. We’re crammed into the back of the medevac helicopter that arrived shortly after the ambulance, the scent of antiseptic mixing with the metallic tang of blood—his blood. Caden’s.
I can’t stop looking at him.
He’s strapped down next to me, unconscious, pale, and far too still.
There’s a bandage over his forehead, but the worst is lower—his leg is a mess of twisted bone, torn flesh, and blood that keeps soaking the gauze they’ve packed around it.
It doesn’t even look like a leg anymore.
Not really. I can’t look at it for long, but I can’t look away either.
I’m holding on to the edge of the stretcher so tightly my knuckles are white.
And even though my right arm is useless, cradled against my chest and screaming with pain, I grip the bloodstained LEGO fireman Caden made years ago like a lifeline.
I took it out of my pocket because I thought holding it would stop me losing my shit.
The medics keep asking me questions, their words muffled under the roar of the blades and the thudding in my skull.
My head’s bleeding. My ribs are a mess—I can’t breathe without sharp pain stabbing through me—but I keep saying I’m fine.
Because none of that matters.
Only Caden matters.
“Please,” I rasp when one of the paramedics checks my vitals again. “His parents. Call his parents. I know the number. I know it.”
I tell them the number I memorized when I was eight, the one written on slips of paper for sleepovers and basketball camps and just in case. My throat tightens around it like it’s made of glass. The medic nods and radios it in, but I don’t know if they’ll be able to reach them right away.
I can’t tell if I’m crying or if it’s just the wind and pain and shock.
All I know is I feel like I’m outside my body, watching everything from someplace far away.
Caden doesn’t move. Not once. I watch the machines strapped around him, his chest rise and fall.
I count every breath like it might be his last.
The lights of Traverse City bloom beneath us, bright and blurry. Munson Medical Center comes into view, and something like relief starts to flutter in my chest.
We’re going to make it. He’s going to make it. He has to.
The helicopter banks and begins its descent, the sudden shift pressing me sideways, jarring my ribs. I groan but bite it down. My vision’s swimming. I keep my eyes on Caden until the second the doors open and we’re swallowed into the chaos of voices and lights and fast-moving figures.
I try to follow his stretcher as they roll him out.
“Wait—hey, wait, I’m with him!”
A nurse catches me as I stumble, her face grim and calm all at once. “You need to be seen immediately. You’ve got a head injury. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I don’t care about that!” I shout, or try to. It comes out wet and weak. “Please. Just let me stay—” But my legs give out. Blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision, and the last thing I see is a smear of blood on the white sheet covering Caden’s body.
And then—nothing.
I wake up in a bright room with a pulse monitor beeping beside me and a pounding headache that feels like a battering ram. My left arm is strapped in place, heavy and sore. My ribs burn with every breath.
Caden.
I bolt upright, then scream as my ribs explode in pain. A nurse rushes to my side, her face a practiced mix of concern and calm. “You need to stay still, Theo.”
“No—where is he? Caden. Where’s Caden?”
“You were in a serious accident,” she says gently, adjusting the mask over my face. “You’ve got two broken ribs, a fractured ulna that’ll need surgery, and a concussion. You passed out before we could finish your intake.”
“I don’t care,” I croak. “Tell me about Caden.”
She hesitates. That hesitation sends an icy stab through my chest.
“He’s being stabilized,” she says. “He arrived in critical condition. I can’t say more.”
“I’m his boyfriend,” I tell her. “Please. I need to know.”
Her lips press together in a tight line. “I’m sorry. Due to privacy regulations, unless you’re listed as next of kin—”
“Call his parents,” I snap again. “Please. They’ll tell you. I gave the number.” Fuck, it’ll take them hours to get here.
She sighs. “I believe they were contacted. But until we verify—”
I close my eyes, hating everything about this moment. Hating that I’m here and he’s there. That we were five minutes from somewhere beautiful. That I fell asleep behind the wheel. That I—
I can’t finish that thought.
“Am I going to surgery?” I ask when I can finally open my eyes again.
“Yes,” she says. “They’ll be here shortly to prep you.”
I nod, but it feels distant. Everything does.
All I can think about is the last look I had of Caden’s leg. The way it bent the wrong way. The blood. The glass. The mangled door pressed against him. The way he never spoke again after they pulled him from the wreckage. He never opened his eyes.
Not even once.
He always opens his eyes when I say his name.
The nurse squeezes my shoulder gently. “We’ll let you know the moment we’re able to, okay?”
I don’t answer, because the truth is, I already know.
Something’s broken that can’t be fixed. And I’m the reason it happened.
The ache in my chest isn’t just from broken ribs or guilt. It’s from the fear that the person I love most in this world might never open his eyes again. And if he does, it might be to a world where our lives are forever changed.
It’s late morning by the time my parents arrive. The hospital staff have been keeping me up-to-date about when to expect them.
The sterile light in my hospital room is too bright, making everything feel surreal and too real all at once.
The quiet hum of machines and the faint murmur of nurses moving outside my door fills the silence as I lie here, heavy with drugs and heavier with dread.
My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, but my thoughts are jagged and sharp, refusing to dull.
I blink blearily toward the doorway just as it opens.
My mom rushes in first, her face blotchy and streaked with worry, followed closely by my dad—his jaw set tight, his eyes already shining.
Amelia trails behind them, moving slower, her hoodie sleeves tugged down over her hands like she’s trying to make herself small.
Her braids are frizzed at the edges, the way they get when she’s been pulling at them.
They look like they haven’t slept. I doubt they have. It must have been hell for them to have to wait until this morning for a flight to get to us.
My mom is crying before she even gets to my bed. “Oh, baby,” she says, her voice cracking, and she carefully leans in to kiss my forehead. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “They’ve got me on meds.” I glance down at my casted arm, the bruises blooming beneath the hospital gown, but none of it matters.
“Is Caden okay?” I rasp, before they can ask me anything else. My throat burns with the question I’ve been carrying since I woke up. “No one will tell me anything. What’s going on?”
My mother opens her mouth—but nothing comes out. She turns away, covering her mouth with her hand as fresh tears fall. And just like that, I know. I know it’s bad. Something inside me cracks.
“Dad,” I say, hoarse and urgent. “Please. What happened? Tell me. Tell me now.”
My father steps forward, taking a steadying breath. His voice is rough when it comes. “Theo… he’s alive. He’s stable now, but… it’s serious.”
I nod, bracing.
“His left leg,” he says slowly, gently, like the words might break me if he’s not careful. “They had to amputate. Below the knee.”
Amelia makes a sharp, choked sound. She presses her sleeve to her face, shaking her head like she can’t take in the words.
Then she crosses the room quickly, climbing onto the edge of the bed the way she’s done since we were kids, slipping her arm through my uninjured one like she’s holding me together.
The room tilts.
I hear myself making a sound—something low and broken—and I try to sit up too fast. Pain screams through my ribs, and my head spins.
“No. No. No.” I shake my head, desperate to reject the truth. “That can’t—he can’t—”
“Theo,” my dad says, firm but kind, placing a steady hand on my good shoulder. “You need to breathe.”
But I can’t. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest.
“I did this.” The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them. “I fell asleep. I was driving and I fell asleep and now he—” My voice shatters, just like everything else inside me. “He’s never going to play again. I ruined his life.”
Amelia stands and Mom’s arms wrap around me gently as I sob, broken and full of guilt. I feel her trying to soothe me, whispering things like “It was an accident” and “You didn’t mean for this to happen” and “You love him so much.”
But none of that matters.
Love doesn’t give him his leg back.
Love doesn’t give him basketball.
Love doesn’t erase the sound of metal crunching or the image of blood and flesh and twisted bone or the weight of his hand in mine as he drifted in and out of consciousness, scared and hurting and trying to stay awake.
“I can’t ever look at him again,” I whisper into her shoulder. “How can I? How can he?”
My dad crouches down beside the bed. “Because he’s alive. And he’s still here, Theo. And he loves you. That hasn’t changed.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“Yes, I do.” His voice is unwavering. “He loves you.”
From the corner of the room, Amelia’s voice wavers.
“Of course he does.” I turn my head, and she’s standing there stiff, her arms wrapped tight around herself like she’s holding something in.
“You think he’s gonna let go of you just because of this?
No way.” She swipes at her cheek with the heel of her hand, sniffling hard.
“You’re stuck with each other. Everybody knows that. ”