7. Huxley
7
HUXLEY
Captain Zander drives us back to the trailhead by the river, where Jack and I parked our cars.
Even after leaving the farm behind, my mind is still running on overdrive. The adrenaline from the rescue and the encounter with Savannah have me feeling edgy, like a live wire sparking with unresolved tension. I know I need to stem this crazy energy before I go insane, so I decide to engage Jack in conversation.
“How’s Ava?” I ask, turning away from the trail imprinted with Lance Anderson’s truck tread marks we found earlier today.
“She’s good, man. Anytime now,” Jack replies, and I can sense his smile. Jack, tough as nails from his military days, always softens when he talks about Ava.
The couple is expecting, and I’m excited for them. I got to know Jack when he was still a Marine, and I’ve grown close to both him and Ava. Despite Jack’s tendency to be a hardass with me, their relationship is the kind I aspire to have someday. Ava’s strength makes her a force to be reckoned with, while Jack’s protectiveness reveals his deep devotion .
“I’m waiting for your turn, Astro Boy,” Jack quips. Sometimes, he calls me that instead of Comet like the others do.
I scoff. “It takes two to tango, and right now, I’m dancing solo. The only kids I’m chasing are the ones in my imagination.”
Finally, I hear him laugh. “At least you’re still chasing something,” he says.
We go into our respective cars. As I settle in, I notice Jack receiving a call, and his expression changes instantly. I wait until he finishes.
“Jack?” I ask, stepping out of my car to approach him.
His face reveals a whirlwind of joy and anxiety. “She’s in labor. Ava’s in labor!” he exclaims.
“Well, that’s certainly a joyous bundle!” I flash him a wide grin. “Go be with her. I’ve got everything covered here. Just drive safely, okay?”
Jack nods appreciatively and hurries away.
I call Cora-Lee at headquarters to let her know we’ve wrapped up the operation. Then, I head back to the city.
The road seems less daunting as my thoughts fill with the heartwarming news. I’m already thinking about the gifts I’m going to buy for Mom, Dad, and Baby later. I can’t wait to play Uncle Comet for his little munchkin.
As I continue driving, a coyote darts in and out of the road, capturing my attention. Something doesn’t feel right. There’s a sense of recent chaos, as if another vehicle had just swerved to avoid a collision. Knowing that wildlife-related accidents are all too common in Montana, I slow down and pull over, compelled to investigate.
My hunch is right. Right ahead, I see tire tracks veering off the road and leading down a slope. Worry sinks in as I recognize the familiar white RAM truck at the bottom.
Feeling a surge of nervous energy, I quickly rush down the slope, my boots slipping on the loose gravel. My mind races with possibilities, each one more dire than the last. As I get closer, I see that the driver has done well to stop. The truck’s front end is only slightly dented, steam rising from the engine.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” I shout.
Once again, my hunch is right, but I hate what I see. Savannah, behind the wheel, shifts in her seat with visible effort. I’m by her side in an instant, yanking the door open with a bit of force. The jam from the dent doesn’t slow me down. I push the deflated airbag aside to reveal her. She’s conscious, her eyes darting around, and she doesn’t seem to be in pain.
“Are you okay?”
Unlike the composure she displayed at the ranch, her hands are now a flutter of nerves as I help her out of the truck. The moment her feet touch the ground, she wobbles, and I instinctively wrap my arms around her, forming a protective cradle. “I’ve got you,” I murmur.
It pains me to see her struggle, but this is precisely what it means to be a man—ensuring she never feels the harsh pull of gravity alone. Her fragility doesn’t make her weak. It actually endears her to me even more, deepening my desire to be with her.
I scan the car’s interior for other possible victims. Thankfully, she’s alone.
Once she’s steady, I retrieve her purse from the passenger seat, thinking practically. We might need her identification, her phone.
“Savannah, are you okay?” My words are a cautious prod. Yet, as she grasps me, her grip intensifies with instinctual force. She shivers, her body trembling against mine, the reaction not matching the relatively minor impact on the truck’s hood. I silently commend her for the reflex that saved her from the worst. Yet her terror feels profound. It’s as though she’s grappling with a fear far greater than the incident.
My instinct isn’t to question it but to grant her the safety she craves.
“Hey, you’ll be okay.” I try to infuse certainty into each word. Her grip on me is desperate, seeking something beyond the physical support.
“Stay with me… please, stay with me,” she pleads, her breath hot against my ear. And in that plea, I hear a call for help that transcends the accident.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe now, okay?” I assure her, even as something inside me shifts. The feel of her in my arms stirs a sense of connection. She’s so delicate, so vulnerable, like a reflection of a part of myself I thought I’d numbed through the years of rescues and close calls. The protector in me merges with a more primal urge to shield her from harm. Holding her, I’m guided by a purpose that feels as old as time and just as urgent.
Her body wriggles against mine as she moans, “Get her out. We must get her out…”
I steady her, my hands firm yet gentle. “There’s no one else in the car.”
Her gaze remains on the truck as she takes a ragged inhale, realization dawning in slow motion. “God. I’m sorry.” Her voice is a mere whisper, a sign of an adrenaline crash that’s coming on fast.
Then, a spark of recognition lights up her eyes. “Hux?”
“Hey. Yeah. It’s me.”
Then she pants, trying to regain composure, even showing a hint of frustration for letting herself crumble. Standing upright, she releases herself from my grip. “I apologize. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
I want to tell her that it’s okay, that shock does stranger things to a person, but the words stick in my throat. “You’re just shaken. You’ve been in an accident. Are you hurt?”
“No,” she sighs, her head drooping. Then, her attention lands on the seats of her truck. “I was alone,” she repeats as if to assure herself.
“Yes, you were alone.” I hold on to her.
As she moves, I notice a rip in the back of her pants. She must have torn it while exiting her truck. Without hesitation, I remove my jacket and place it over her shoulders. Hanging off her petite form, it falls well past the curve of her backside.
Confused, she protests, “I’m already warm. I don’t need it.”
“I know. Just keep it on, all right? Keep it on.”
Unable to refuse, she grasps the lapels, holding onto my jacket.
“I’m going to take you to the hospital.”
“No. I’m fine,” she says, looking at her watch. “I have to be somewhere.”
“I’m sure it can wait,” I say.
It’s clear she’s about to insist once again that the hospital is the last place she should be. However, as she sways, she lets me guide her.
“Are you okay to walk back up?” I ask, gauging her strength against the slope in front of us.
“Yeah.” Her voice is faint.
Step by step, she clings to me. She once stood as a pillar of strength during our first encounter at the ranch. Now, in this charged moment, I embrace the role of being the support she so desperately needs.
As her steps become steady, the top of the slope within reach, her gaze lifts to meet mine. My heart hammers, stalls, then restarts with a ferocity that threatens to undo me. Amid the pounding beats, I understand that she has ensnared me. She needs me as much as I need her .
Without the noise of my flawed first impression, those eyes now challenge me to question what it truly means to move forward, to find that new shore I thought I’d been sailing toward. So far, I’ve failed because I am perpetually adrift in the sea of Valentina’s memory. But can memory exist alongside reality?
I won’t leave Savannah here. The thought of abandoning her to the care of strangers in an ambulance is inconceivable. But once she’s safe, where do I stand? Whatever the outcome, I’m poised to fall.
So, the question remains. Will I fall daringly, lowering my defenses and yielding to the desires of my heart, or will I fall while clinging to the familiar confines of the status quo?
Heaven help me!
I help her settle into the passenger seat of my car, still weak and closing her eyes. I hold her hand and ask, “Are you feeling dizzy?”
She nods.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be there in no time,” I assure her as I drive on. “If you need me to stop, just tell me, okay? I’m trained in first aid, so if you feel any pain, nausea, or anything else, let me know. Even if you just need a moment to get some fresh air, I’m here.”
“I think I’m good.” Her words are clearer. “Thanks for helping me. It all happened so fast. I almost hit a coyote, then I lost control.”
“Those creatures can be unpredictable on the road. It’s not your fault,” I say, hoping to reassure her.
After a few moments, Savannah breaks the quiet. “Earlier, you said you weren’t with the police. Are you a PI or something?”
“I’m with a company called Red Mark. We specialize in rescuing missing children. ”
“Red Mark. That name rings a bell. Oh…weren’t you involved in saving the attorney general’s son? Years ago. A rooftop rescue, right?” Her eyes widen as she recalls the event.
“Yes, that was us. But it happened before I joined. It was actually my two bosses who carried out the rescue.”
“So you really are the good guys!” she quips.
I chuckle. “Well, we’re the type of decent where even our shadows pass background checks.”
She laughs heartily. Then another question comes up. “So, the police employ you guys?”
“Most of the time, it’s the family who hires us, but occasionally, the police do as well. Either way, we consistently collaborate with them. We handle the rescues while the police manage the criminals. Well, today was a little different since you dealt with Lance Anderson.”
Her lips curl into a lively smile. I meant it as a way to lighten my own spiraling nerves, but now I find the situation spinning me around. It’s hard to pull my gaze away from her.
“Huxley, is that your first name or last name?”
I don’t blame her for not getting my surname when I introduced myself while she was still high on her horse. It’s an Italian name, anyway, one that’s not so common. “First name,” I clarify. “My last name is Cometti.”
Her full face, now smitten, finally emerges. My pulse drums against my skin, racing against my brain that’s already trying to conclude something it shouldn’t.
“Ah, okay. Huxley Cometti,” she says it perfectly.
“Yeah. I’d still like you to call me Hux, though.”
A spark is visible in her eyes as she leans back. “Hux is good. It sounds like?—”
I wonder what my short name sounds like to her, but the thought seems to dissolve before it takes shape. And as quickly as the spark came, it fades, her eyelids drooping, her energy waning.
“Savannah! Savannah, stay awake.”
Her response is sluggish, her voice a whisper against the weight of exhaustion. “I’m…so…tired.”
Alarms ring in my head when I see her hand creep to her chest, clutching her heart. An ominous sign.
“You must stay awake!” I rub her hand rigorously. “Talk to me. Tell me more about your life.”
She draws in a labored breath. “I’m… I’m from Lakefall Valley, but?—”
Her words tumble into silence as her body slackens.
“Savannah!” My voice cracks, fear seizing my throat as I brace for what comes next.
Arriving at the hospital, I sweep Savannah into my arms and make for the emergency room. Perhaps hearing the noises around her, her eyelids flutter open. She begs, “Don’t leave me. Please, hu…” She trails off.
I stride toward the nurse, urgency sharpening my voice. “She’s been in an accident. Her name’s Savannah Mitchell.”
“And you are?” the nurse inquires with clinical detachment.
“Huxley Cometti. I’m her boyfriend.” The lie spills before I can consider it, a necessary deception to ensure I remain by her side. Hospitals have their rules, after all.
“Please wait here,” she instructs.
I reluctantly loosen Savannah’s grip on my hand. She’s whisked away behind the swinging doors, lost in a flurry of white coats.
Alone, surrounded by the unsettling hush punctuated only by footsteps and distant conversations, I feel out of place. I call Cora-Lee to update her on the situation, and she instructs me to keep in touch .
Meanwhile, the news flashes on the TV with breaking coverage of a rescue at a farm near York—that’s us. Despite my efforts, Savannah’s face flashes on the screen for half a second, and the rest of the clip only captures the top of her head behind me.
Watching the scene unfold from the outside, doubts about my role begin to surface. Who am I to pretend I’m her boyfriend? Meeting Savannah stirred deep feelings within me, but does that give me the right to act on them? She asked me to stay, but in her semiconscious state, could she have truly meant it? The weight of these questions makes me reconsider my presence here, wondering if my actions are driven by genuine concern or misplaced feelings.
I saunter back to my car. As I drive away from the hospital, my phone erupts, Sam’s name flashing on the screen. I answer the call on speaker.
“Comet, is everything all right? Cora-Lee filled me in about Bethany Anderson. She also mentioned you came across a car accident. Are you okay?”
“I’m intact, sir. It’s the woman who helped us with the rescue. Savannah Mitchell. Her truck veered down an embankment. She’s just been admitted.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“No visible injuries, but…” My voice falters, the weight of her situation pressing down on me. What if something is really wrong with her?
Silence stretches over the line, as if both of us are waiting for the other to restart. Sam’s voice eventually cuts through, tinged with concern that I can’t quite place, whether it’s for me or for Savannah. “Do what you need to, and if there’s any way I can help, just let me know. And great job today.”
“Thank you, sir,” I reply. “By the way, any updates on Jack? ”
Sam exhales softly. “No changes yet, I’m afraid. Ava’s still in labor. It looks like we’re in for a long haul.” He pauses, perhaps taking time to process it all. “It’s hard to imagine my little brother about to be a father.”
“I have no doubt he’ll rise to the challenge. His Marine grit hasn’t faded.”
“I’ll make sure to pass that along,” Sam responds with a chuckle.
The call ends, and I keep driving toward Red Mark, the only place where I know I can get my sanity back. Then I hear a tremble on the passenger floor, realizing I’m still in possession of Savannah’s purse.
I stop and make a U-turn toward the hospital. I’m going to give her purse to the medical staff and check if she’s okay, that’s all.
As I drive, her phone won’t stop buzzing, and the screen lights up with call after call through the open zipper. I ignore it. Whoever it is seems frantic and cannot wait, but they have to.