Cyrus
Chapter forty-three
Swept Away
The storm has finally stopped screaming and settled into something steadier—rain dragging across the windows in long, restless sheets. Inside Fallon’s house, everything feels too warm for the kind of weather tearing through town.
The kids passed out hours ago. Billy and Liam claiming a hallway floor like it was a campground, tangled in blankets, arguing in their sleep over something that probably didn’t matter anymore.
I hadn’t moved from the couch since Fallon sat down.
We’d started talking—about Rosemary first. Then Jordan, and how long she’s been carrying other people’s versions of her life like they were facts instead of opinions.
She didn’t say much after a while. Just…let me sit in it with her. That alone says more about her than anything else.
At some point, she’d leaned into me without thinking. Or maybe she had. I don’t know any more with her—half the time it feels like she’s testing how close she can get before she remembers she’s supposed to pull away.
She never pulled away tonight. Now she’s asleep against my side, one arm tucked across my chest like she forgot she didn’t mean to do it. Her breathing’s even, soft, steady. Like she trusts the space she’s in.
Like she trusts me. That part hits harder than it should. My hand rests on her shoulder, not holding her down, not pulling her in. Just there. Like I’m afraid if I move wrong, she’ll disappear back into every version of her life where I’m not allowed to be close.
The TV hums low in the background, weather warnings flashing across the screen no one’s watching anymore. Outside, the wind pushes rain hard against the glass.
My phone buzzes on the table. Once. Then again. I don’t move right away. I already know what it is before I look. When I finally pick it up, the screen lights the room in a harsh blue glow that catches her face. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.
“Don’t,” she mumbles, barely conscious, like even sleep is asking me to stay.
My chest tightens. “I wish I could,” I murmur.
A text from dispatch. Highway accident. Storm-related. Entrapment possible. Units already en route.
Of course.
I close my eyes for half a second and drag in a breath that doesn’t do much good. When I open them, she’s shifted closer again without realizing it. Like she knows I’m about to leave. Like she’s trying to stop it without waking up.
“Hey,” I whisper, brushing a hand through her hair, slow and careful. “I’ve got you.” Her fingers tighten in my shirt for a second before loosening again. That almost keeps me there. Almost.
I ease myself out from under her, careful not to wake her. The second I stand, she makes a small sound—a soft protest, half asleep—and it cuts straight through me. I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and pull it over her shoulders, tucking it in like she might feel it even in dreams.
She doesn’t wake. I stay there longer than I should. Just looking at her. Like I can memorize enough of this moment to carry it with me into whatever’s waiting outside. The storm rattles the house again, wind scraping across the walls.
I lean down, close enough that my voice doesn’t have to travel far. “I love you, Fal,” I murmur. A pause. “I’ll be back.”
I force myself to step away before I change my mind. Because the hardest part isn’t leaving for the call. It’s walking out the door knowing the only place I actually want to be…is right here.
Dispatch’s ringtone shatters my thoughts. I answer on the second ring. “Hello?” Dread blankets me, knowing nothing about a call at this hour will be pleasant. “Morning, Chief. I sent the alert message out. Possible 006 in progress.”
Car accident with a body in the water. Shit.
“Location?”
“That’s the problem, sir- the truck was swept away in a flash flood. It’s headed for a bridge. If it stays afloat and doesn’t sink, that is. The distressed caller’s name is Tommy Ownby. His son Nick wasn’t able to get out before it was taken by the current.”
“What’s the ETA?
“Seventeen minutes, give or take. Tommy and some guys are following it on the highway. They say it’s still floating somehow. Kids on the hood holding onto a rack.”
“I’m en route. Get Jonah and his crew to meet me at Bluestone Bridge. This is a command-level response. I’m assuming incident command.” Static, then.
“How did you know it was headed that way?”
“If it were the other river, this would be a different kind of call.”
I hang up, stuff the phone in my pocket, jam my feet into boots, and pray the roads aren’t flooded too badly.
The streets are flooding. The suspension pack I splurged for—compliments of our local drug dealer being busted—is the only thing getting me to that bridge.
Thank fuck I live in town. Even though the roads are underwater, the homes are set on an elevated site.
The water would need to rise eighteen feet before homes would be submerged.
I think we’ll manage. The rain isn’t as bad as it was; I pray it stops before too much time passes.
The truck rolls up to a stop at the bridge, where Jonah and Amos are already directing first responders. Orders are flying in every direction. Cold pebbles of rain pelt my face as I jump out, jamming a hat on to protect my eyes. I quicken my pace.
We don’t have the resources for this kind of water rescue.
I thought on the way over here about what we could do in order to get this kid out of the water.
I was able to come up with an idea. It’s not a very good one.
I jam my hands into the rucksack, pulling out the tightly twined rappel rope and harness.
Something I never thought I would use, thank fuck, I took extra training classes with it.
“Jonah, Amos, we have mere minutes until that truck passes under this bridge. Once it goes over the falls, that kid is gone for good. I have a plan—”
I quickly replay my idea to them, both men’s faces identical in denial and skepticism.
“You can’t do this.” Jonah’s voice carries over the storm.
I stand tall, tightening my harness. He tries again. “I’m the one trained to—”
“I am as well,” I cut him off. “And I’m the one who decides.” His eyes flash as I pull rank over them both.
“I’m the incident commander. I’m assuming full responsibility.”
Amos crosses his arms over his chest. Silently observing the two of us. I know he won’t get involved. Amos has always let us make our own decisions. He won’t be the one to give me hell.
Jonah steps close, his tone and stance one that would have most men cowering. “If you go over that bridge—there’s a damn good chance you may not come back up.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I add. He looks ready to explode. He turns to Amos, looking for support. Amos shrugs. Knowing when my mind is made up, I can’t be swayed.
Jonah’s capable—but this is mine—I won’t bury another friend.
The bungee and rappel rope feel too thin in my grip as I sling the lines toward Amos.
“Amos, tie me off.”
He hesitates. “That’s a direct order,” I say. “Record it in the books if that will bring you comfort. No one is changing my mind.” Jonah’s hands clench. His frustration borders on rage. “Cyrus, if you jump in that river—”
“We’re out of time,” I snap. “No other option gets to him fast enough.”
The plan was formed fast, ugly, dangerous, and barely legal. I’ll probably lose my job, the shortest position held in the record books. I’ll deal with that later.
Spotters line the bridge now. Thermal binoculars, hunting gear I absently note, not department issue, are pressed to faces. We need more funding. Another problem for a different day. Johnny Leeman, a tall, willowy volunteer, shrieks, “Here he comes!”
The net isn’t fully secured. The truck is moving too fast. The rain comes down harder. My hands shake, pulse pounding.
I wrench free, sprinting to the edge.
“Are these bungees secured?”
“Some of them,” a rookie says. One of the few men on the bridge. “Can’t promise it’ll hold.” He tacks on. That’s not reassuring. “I only need a minute. Get ready to pull us back up!” Amos grabs my harness. “You jump wide, not straight down. No hesitation.”
“Got it,” I say over the noise.
“This is a death sentence!” someone shouts.
“Then, damnit, find somewhere else to be!” Jonah roars.
“GET READY! HERE HE COMES!” The rookie yells.
Gravel shifts as I launch myself across wet asphalt, leaping.
Air whooshes around me, freezing rain pummels me, reducing everything to a blur.
I’m suspended in mid-air before I crash onto the truck’s roof, breath knocked out of me.
Nick, the poor kid, panicked, grabs for me.
His arms shiver as he latches on. We teeter on the slick surface, ice-cold river water splashing us from the sides, until I finally find my footing.
“If you don’t calm down, we both will die.
” He doesn’t reply, so I get to work, securing his vest, locking the brackets behind him.
The tremors set in about the time I rip the Velcro holding the helmet to my chest. I grip it, pissed at my body for betraying me the moment I need it to cooperate and jam the headgear on his head.
Before engaging him close to me, I hold on to the kid’s trembling body like I’m his lifeline. Well, I kind of am, go figure.
He tilts his head to my ear, screaming, “I’m not ready to die!”
I jerk him close to me, “No time for that now. Don’t let go.”
“As if I would.”
Okay, so clearly under pressure, the kid’s a smartass. Fantastic, I can work with that.
“At least you’re not panicking anymore,” I bark over the roar of rushing water. “That’ll get us both killed faster than this river will.”
I yank the last strap of the harness tight, checking the buckle once more before planting my boots harder against the slick hood.
“Brace yourself, kid,” I warn, raising my voice over the storm. “This next part’s gonna hurt like hell.”
“What do you mean?” he shouts, dark brows climbing toward his hairline.
“Means you better hold on to me real damn tight,” I tell him.
Before he can ask anything else, I throw the signal toward the guys stationed on the bridge above us.
Everything happens fast after that. Voices yell through the storm. The recovery line jerks violently. Then the net snaps taut beneath us, and the truck shifts hard enough to nearly rip us sideways.
Freezing river water crashes over us in filthy waves, soaking us instantly as the current fights like hell to drag us back under. The force of it slams into my ribs, crushing air from my lungs while the crew above starts hauling us upward inch by brutal inch.
“Don’t let go!” someone shouts from above.
Like I fucking would.
I lock an arm tighter around the kid as muddy water and debris churn beneath us, the river raging loud enough to swallow every other sound alive. Something heavy smashes into my boot on the way up, pain shooting through my foot, but there’s no time to think about it. Not until we’re out.
Jonah’s head leans into view above, eyes locked on mine as he leans over the railing. “Hold tight, man!”
Is there another option?
My knuckles crack as I wrap the rope around us. Nick trembles against my chest, teeth chattering. Warm fear soaks through his pants. I bite back a curse, staring out over the water. Sighing, that was piss.
Yeah. This’ll be fun to unpack later.
Closer to the bridge, I breathe easier, or as easily as I can with the harness, ropes, and bungees squeezing my rib cage. Amos and Jonah’s orders come from above, and from the moment I leapt from that bridge, I exhale.