Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Erika
Stretching out on the bed, I blink once, then twice, trying to remember where I am. Then it hits me: I’m on Leon’s yacht. Sorry, our yacht. “I’m not sure I will ever get used to saying that,” I mutter to myself in a daze.
I lift my head and peek out the circular window on the other side of the bedroom. To my surprise, even though I’ve slept well, it’s still dark. I feel like I’ve been asleep for hours; I’ve slept more this vacation than I have all year.
The lack of Leon’s soft snores makes me tap the side of the bed to find what I suspected: I’m alone.
I wonder if he’s just taking a leak, which suddenly makes me realize I need to go too.
I throw off the bedsheet, which is more like a lettuce leaf because it’s so thin but suitable for the hot climate, a contrast to the freezing temperatures of Edmonton in winter.
Rubbing my half-dopey eyes lazily from sleep, I ease out of bed, feeling the coolness of the night air brushing against my skin, then head to the bathroom to discover that Leon isn’t there either.
Maybe he went up on deck to watch the sunrise, something we discussed during our pillow talk before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
I quickly finish my business, wash my hands, and climb the spiral stairs leading to the upper deck that will take me to him. “Leon?” I whisper, my heart unsettled and my mind alert.
Nothing.
“Leeeeooooonnnn.” I sound like I’m calling a cat.
Still, nothing.
That’s strange.
I stand still as a statue, trying to hear him to work out where he is.
With only the sound of the ocean below us, the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull, the occasional creak of wood, and the soft thump of the roping, there are no voices to be heard.
Taking a moment, I enjoy the calm, appreciating the moonlight that’s painted in silver streaks across the still water, but there’s a slight nip in the air as the breeze hits me. I fold my arms around myself, hugging Leon’s T-shirt closer.
Walking toward the back of the yacht, the stern, I slip on something sticky. “Shit.” I hiss, steadying myself, then I look down at my bare feet to find I’ve stepped in something dark.
I shiver because I know what that is. It’s blood.
“Leon?” I call his name once more, spotting stains that look a lot like drips of blood that make a path toward the aft. Panic rises in my throat, my heart beating so fast now it feels like I’m about to have a cardiac arrest, my eyes darting around the space.
That’s when I see him.
My Leon.
Lying face down, a dark stain spreading out across the decking.
“Leon,” I shriek, my medical instincts kicking in, my heart refusing to give in to the panic that’s crawling up my throat.
Running to him, I drop to my knees and don’t see a patient whose hair is matted with blood, but my heart, my anchor, and the love of my life.
“Help me,” I scream. “Somebody help,” I scream again at the top of my lungs to signal the crew for support, my fingers trembling as I touch the cool skin of his neck.
Acting quickly, I check for a pulse, the gut-wrenching reality hitting me like a ton of bricks.
Nothing.
“No… no, no, no,” I whisper, panic rising to an all-time high, but my training snaps into focus.
I move him onto his back and wince, sheer fright seeping through me when I see the amount of blood pouring from the side of his head and covering his face.
I position my hands over his chest and begin forceful compressions, counting in my head: One, two, three.
Pressing down, releasing, pressing again.
“Come on… come on, you can’t leave me,” I murmur between breaths as tears pour down my cheeks, blurring my vision.
Leaning down to deliver rescue breaths against his mouth after thirty compressions, the blood on his face smears and wets my lips, but I don’t care. I keep going as the metallic tang of his blood fills my mouth.
That’s when I hear footsteps moving closer.
“I’m at the rear of the yacht,” I call as I recheck Leon’s airway, his breathing, his circulation, while every fiber of my body screams in terror.
“Leon. Baby. Please,” I whisper, pleading with him to come back to me as I begin more compressions.
“Mrs. Hill, what’s happened?” A frantic voice appears, sounding startled.
“I don’t know. Call for help. The coast guard, emergency services, anyone.
Now,” I shout, panting and out of breath, not looking at whoever asks me, and they dash off.
After repeated compressions, I tilt my head back and scream into the night.
“Don’t fucking do this to me. Not now. Bring him back to me.
” I ask for help from the heavens; the serene, starry night turning into a nightmare I can’t escape.
I alternate compressions, breaths, counting, checking, listening, and adjusting, using every skill I’ve perfected in the ER. But this isn’t a hospital. This is my life. My love, lying motionless on the deck, the moonlight spotlighting us as he slips away from me.
I tilt my ear toward his mouth, and my eyes widen when I feel a gentle breath against the shell. Then I check his pulse, and there it is… a flutter.
My chest heaves with relief, and I weep while keeping his airway open because his pulse is weak and irregular. He’s alive, and that’s all that matters. “Don’t leave me. I’ve got you. Stay with me, you’re going to be okay. Stay with me, Leon.” I run my hands through his sticky hair.
“I need a compress. Now.” I don’t even know if anyone is nearby until several sets of hands arrive. One covering him with an emergency foil blanket to keep him warm, another handing me a dressing, which I quickly snatch out of their hand.
The dark, sticky blood makes it hard to see the exact wound, but I gently tilt his head, keeping his neck stable, and my hands stay steady despite the pounding of my heartbeat racing in my ears as I place the compress over the wound.
“Have you called the coastguard? Who’s coming? We need them here immediately,” I state firmly as cold dread settles in my gut.
“We’ve alerted the coastguard; they are en route, Mrs. Hill. They will take him ashore and transfer him to a helicopter for medevac off the island,” someone from above informs me.
I carefully lift the dressing off his head to examine the gash on Leon’s head, wincing at how deep and jagged the wound is. If he doesn’t get immediate attention, he’ll bleed out.
“Where are they?” I shrill, aware of how critical his situation is as I press the dressing firmly back in place.
Someone quickly assures me, “The coastguard will arrive soon, I promise.” I then recheck his pulse, every small irregular beat emphasizing how fragile he is, lying unconscious under the moonlight.
“Stay with me… stay with me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the gentle rocking of the yacht. The night is silent except for the distant sound of water, but inside, my chaos continues.
Every part of me aches at the thought of losing him here, under the stars.
I press my forehead against his, whispering, “You’re not leaving me tonight. Not now, not ever. You hear me? Stay with me, Leon. Stay with me.”
With my hands on his body, the surrounding voices fade away, and I cling to the desperate, fragile hope that he will wake as I fight for him.
The rhythmic sound of the engine from the rescue boat rolls across the water as it crashes through the waves, bouncing off my heart and every bone in my body. “Oh, thank the universe,” I weep. “Help is here, baby. Hold on.”
As it approaches, the searchlight cuts through the dimness, and I shield my eyes from the brightness.
The captain of the rescue boat skillfully maneuvers alongside the yacht, gently brushing the side and coming to a stop. Quicker than a bullet out of a gun, Leon’s crew opens the railing gate, then lowers a rope ladder to the rescue boat to allow the paramedic on board.
With calm precision, they climb the ladder holding a rigid stretcher and step onto the yacht.
Then everything happens so fast.
The paramedic moves with intention as I reel off Leon’s stats, informing him that I am an ER doctor. Gentle and efficient, the paramedic assesses Leon’s wound with gloved hands before confirming their destination: Papeete Hospital.
“I want to come,” I shout over the engine’s roar from the rescue boat. Leon’s captain wraps his arms around my shoulder and informs the paramedic and me that we are heading back to shore as Larry is on his way to pick me up and has prepared Leon’s private jet for takeoff to take me to Papeete.
“But I want to go with him.”
“You need to clean yourself up, Mrs. Hill.” I look down, gasping when I realize I am covered in Leon’s blood. “It takes less than an hour to get from Bora Bora to Papeete. You’ll be there in no time.”
An hour. That’s way too long, but I get it. “Okay,” I say, agreeing, while my eyes stay fixed on the paramedic, who has redressed Leon’s wound and is securing Leon onto the stretcher, checking and double-checking the security of the ropes for boat-to-boat transfer.
I wipe under my nose, then push my hands through my hair. Leon looks almost peaceful, like he’s sleeping; him not waking up is not a good sign, but I’m hoping it’s just a concussion.
“Ready,” the paramedic calls into his headset radio, and the stretcher is lowered smoothly from the deck of the yacht down onto the rescue boat, the paramedic joining him.
A wave of relief hits me so hard that my knees buckle and I drop to the ground.
He’s not out of danger, not even close, but now he has a chance.
When the rescue boat speeds away, carrying him to the safety and support he needs, I whisper in the wind, “I’ll be right behind you, Leon. Hold tight, baby. I’m on my way.”