28. Sutton
Sutton
The drive to the hospital feels incredibly fast and incredibly slow.
Luke’s truck eats the road in long, urgent stretches, but my heartbeat still outruns the engine.
Streetlights flash across the windshield in sharp, white bursts. Each one makes me flinch.
Navy takes my hand to keep it from shaking. She presses her shoulder into mine, a reminder that I’m not alone.
Luke doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to. Every line in his face tells me exactly how nervous he is. I know he’s trying to hold it together for me like I’m trying to hold it together for him.
The hum of the tires is too loud, air too thin. I squeeze Navy’s hand tighter. Every second stretches, warps, pulls tight like it’s going to snap.
“Hunter is tough,” Navy says. “He’ll be okay.”
I stare ahead at the glowing hospital sign, bright against the night, and force a breath into my lungs that don’t want to work. He’s okay. He has to be.
Luke parks and is out before I can find my seat belt. Navy and I scramble from the backseat, joining Luke and Greer at the entrance. Voices filter in as the rest of our friends join us.
A moment of panic swooshes through my stomach, remembering the last two times I was at a hospital. Two moments that would change me forever—losing my dad and losing my baby.
A beat or two of silence passes as we look up at the hospital. “Are we not going in?” Vinnie asks.
“Just give them a minute,” Luke says, voice low, gesturing toward Greer and me.
And then I remember Greer hates hospitals as much as I do. We reach for one another at the same time, her arm looping through mine. “You ready?” she whispers.
I’m not ready. Not even close. But this is not the time for me to unravel. Hunter needs me.
We move together, bracing against the cold rush of the automatic doors. The sharp antiseptic smell hits immediately. The lights are bright, humming faintly, washing everything in a sterile glow.
My feet want to stop. My heart doesn’t. Momentum pulls me forward even as my stomach tightens and heat spreads across my chest.
The receptionist looks up, and Luke steps in before I can find my voice. “Hunter Michaels,” he says. His voice is steady even though his hands curl into fists at his side.
She taps her keyboard, gives a quick nod, and motions toward a set of double doors. “He’s not been transferred to a room yet. The ER only allows family members.”
Family. We may not be married yet, but Hunter has been family from the first moment we met him.
“She’s his girlfriend,” Luke says, “and he’s my best friend.”
The receptionist eyes him. “Close enough. Come on back.”
Navy squeezes my shoulder. “Go,” she says softly. “He’ll want to see you first.”
Luke stays close as we walk, his arm brushing mine like he’s making sure I don’t disappear. The hallway narrows as we make another turn in the maze. Machines beep behind closed curtains. Nurses move with quiet purpose, their shoes whispering across the floor.
Tears prick my eyes as I remember the room my dad stayed in, the machines he was hooked up to, and the constant stream of nurses and doctors. I’ve stood in a place like this too many times before. But this time I’m here for Hunter.
My best friend. My everything.
We reach an open curtain, and my breath stutters when I see Hunter.
He’s lying shirtless on the stretcher, feet hanging over the end, blankets draped across his lap, IV lines trailing from the inside of his elbow.
His shoulder, forearm, and pectoral are wrapped in clean, white dressings, the skin red and puckered at the edges. A temporary cast covers his left wrist.
His eyes are closed, but his chest rises slowly and steadily. The heart monitor beeps softly beside him.
All I want to do is run to his side, but my feet won’t move. Like if I step any closer, it will make this real in a way I’m not prepared for.
“Excuse me, Doctor?” Luke’s voice cuts through the silence.
The doctor looks up from the chart. “You’re here for Hunter?”
“Uh, yes,” I nod, my throat tight. “I’m his girlfriend, Sutton.”
“Luke Bradley. Best friend.”
“Hi, I’m Dr. Winters.” She shakes each of our hands. “He’s got some burns. Mostly second-degree on his shoulder, a few third-degree patches on his chest and forearm. There’s no internal trauma, but he does have a clean fracture to his radius. Overall, he’s pretty lucky.”
My knees nearly give out. I’m grateful he’s okay, but I don’t like seeing him injured in any way. Luke tries to steady me, but I shrug him off with a half-attempt at a smile. I got this, I communicate with a glance.
Dr. Winters explains that although the burns have been treated, they’ll continue to burn deeper over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I take a deep breath to steady myself when she mentions he’ll have to come in every few weeks to remove dead skin.
“Do you know what happened?” Luke asks.
“It appears Mr. Michaels was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Dr. Winters says. “Mr. Donnelly was with him when the ambulance brought him in.
“Oh, I’m sure Hunter loved getting to ride in the ambo,” Luke says with a faint smile.
The doctor laughs. “He was in and out of consciousness, but he made it very clear no one was to know about that part.”
I glance at Hunter’s sleeping form, and I swear there’s the slightest hint of a smile.
“But what happened?” I ask.
“He and Mr. Donnelly were investigating the fire at the lumber mill when debris fell. Mr. Michaels pushed Mr. Donnelly out of the way. Hunter attempted to catch himself, but . . .” She gestures toward his arm. “The burns came from where he landed on heated metal drums.”
Luke clears his throat. “Sounds like him. Always ready to play the hero.”
“He’ll be out of commission for a while,” Dr. Winters says, placing the chart at the foot of Hunter’s bed. “He’ll need to take it easy so he can heal. We’ve got him on good pain meds, so he’ll be in and out, but I’m sure he’d love to see you.” She offers a small smile and steps out of the ER bay.
Luke puts his arm around my shoulder and kisses my temple. “He’s good, Sut. You won’t break him any more than he already is if you get closer.”
I step into the small space, my eyes taking in everything—the cast, the bandages, his torn clothing, the monitors, and the way his face looks both relaxed and in pain. I never imagined I’d ever see Hunter like this.
“You’re in so much trouble,” I whisper, fingers trembling as I brush hair from his forehead. “Scaring me like that.”
“The good kind, I hope,” he rasps. His eyelids flutter, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. My chest tightens at the sight. Even like this, he’s composed.
My voice wobbles, and I huff out something that’s half-laugh, half-sob. “Only you would flirt when you’re hurt.”
“I mean,” he murmurs, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I could be on my deathbed, and I’d still flirt with you.”
“Can we not mention deathbeds?” Another sob-like sound squeaks out.
His eyes open slowly. He shifts, wincing as he raises his head. “Hey . . . C’mere,” he says, voice rough.
I hesitate. “I don’t want to hurt—”
“Just let me feel you,” he says, his good hand lifting toward mine. Hunter scoots his legs to the side, making room for me to squeeze one butt cheek onto the edge.
“Better?” I ask, being sure not to lean into his body too much.
He releases a long exhale and says, “Much.”
That does something to me. The fear still weaving through my chest loosens, and my body relaxes. I lightly cup his cheek, careful of the tape and wires. His skin is warm under my touch. “You scared me.”
He shifts enough to lace our fingers together. “I’m sorry babe. Didn’t mean to.”
Of course he didn’t. He never means to worry anyone. Just like Luke and the rest of the guys, they do it by existing, by throwing themselves headfirst into danger and shrugging like it’s no big deal.
Behind me, Luke exhales the kind of breath someone makes when the adrenaline drains out. I glance over, and he gives me the smallest nod.
Hunter’s eyes track the movement. “Hey, Luke.”
Luke steps to the foot of the bed. “You look like hell.”
Hunter smirks. “Feel like it too.”
A nurse pokes her head in. “Hunter, Doc wants to keep you overnight, so we need to get you settled into a real room.”
“Tell Dr. Winters I’m fine to go home tonight.”
“Damn, first responders,” Dr. Winters comes around the corner, a giant smile plastered across her face.
“You all are a bunch of pains in the ass when you’re on this side of things.
We talked about this, Hunter. You’ve got significant burns and a fracture.
You’ll want to enjoy the IV meds for a while. ”
“Fine,” he mumbles.
“Can we stay for a little while?” I ask.
“Visting hours are over soon,” Dr. Winters says, “but I’m sure the nurses won’t mind.”
We trail behind the stretcher as nurses push him out of the ER bay.
The hallway feels endless, no sound except shoes on linoleum, machines beeping, and whispered orders bouncing off the sterile walls.
My chest tightens with every step, remembering too many days spent with Dad under too many fluorescent lights. Days where the outcome wasn’t good.
My shoulders drop and a wave of calm crashes through my body because this time, the outcome is different. Hunter is injured, but he’s fine. He’ll get to come home.
Inside the small burn unit room, the nurse helps Hunter scoot onto a new bed. When he’s settled, she disappears to get him water.
“Let me find you a gown,” I say.
The hallway storage closet is filled to the brim with blankets and gowns. With Luke’s help, we find one that might fit Hunter. I grab a few blankets for extra measure.
“Alright, bro,” Luke says, “let me help you sit up.”
I step up to the side of the bed and reach for the measly ER blanket draped over his lower half, but Hunter presses his arm down, stopping me.
“I’m good to stay like this,” Hunter says, looking side to side.
I roll my eyes. “Hunter, this place is freezing. Let us help you put a gown on.”