Chapter 19 #2
Tate paced the crowded waiting room of the hospital in Redemption, drowning out the voices swirling around him.
Families of crew members from all the vessels involved in the accident filled the orange plastic chairs.
Somebody had shed their raincoat, and water still dripped from the sleeve, leaving a widening ring on the linoleum tile.
On the TV in the corner, headline news looped without sound.
The weather ticker at the bottom announced that clear skies and sun were in tomorrow’s forecast. That felt like a lie.
Night pressed in against the windows, a heavy, damp blanket punctuated only by the glow of the pole lights around the parking lot.
The whole place smelled like cleaning supplies and wet socks.
He paused, unscrewed the cap on the Dr Pepper someone had pressed into his hands, and took a sip. The sugary bite and carbonation made him wince. He forced it down anyway, screwed the cap back on, and set the plastic bottle on the chair he was too restless to occupy.
The double doors parted, and all heads in the room swiveled. Caroline strode through, her eyes surveying the faces, her badge’s lanyard flopping against her green scrubs top.
“Hey.” She took his hand and pulled him off to the side, where they might be able to have a confidential conversation.
“Good news,” she said. “She’s stable.”
“Oh, thank You, Lord.” Tate squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a long, shuddering breath.
“We’re warming her up. Slowly. No cardiac arrhythmias. No concussion. She’s exhausted and cold, but she’s okay.”
Okay. What did that mean exactly? The word rattled through him, then spurred him into action. “Can I?—?”
“Listen.” She pinned him with a serious gaze. “I will let you in. Ten minutes, tops. Keep it simple. No lectures. Do you hear me?”
“Right. Ten minutes, simple.” He nodded like a bobblehead.
Beyond Caroline, two Coast Guard guys—search and rescue—stood in the corner talking in low voices. Someone from the police department made the rounds, gathering statements.
Tate’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. A text from Damian filled the screen.
Damian
Call me.
“Not a chance, dude.” He put the phone away.
Caroline tipped her head to one side. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. You know what? I am going to answer that.” He pulled his phone out again, typing with shaking fingers.
Tate
I have nothing to say to you except that this should never have happened.
Caroline touched his forearm. “I need you to promise me that you’re going to stay calm in there. You cannot agitate her.”
“Promise.”
She buzzed them through the double doors with her badge. The hallway was too bright. Too wide. Almost harsh. A man and woman in scrubs stood at the nurses’ station. They lifted their eyes, offered thin smiles, and then retreated back into their hushed conversation.
“This way.” Caroline led him to the last doorway on the right, then pushed back a curtain.
Scottie lay reclined in a hospital bed, blankets pulled up to her chin.
Her dark curls spread out on the pillow.
An oxygen cannula rested beneath her nose.
Her eyes slid toward him and—oh my—his knees nearly gave out.
He grabbed the bed rail because the last thing he was going to do was hit the floor.
Caroline would shovel him right on out of there.
“Hey.” He squeezed the word past his tight throat, then reached for her hand.
“Hey,” she whispered. She swallowed hard. At least her lips weren’t blue anymore, and a little bit of color had crept back into her cheeks.
They’d found her.
She’s here. Thank You, Lord.
Her hand felt kind of warm. But she didn’t squeeze back the way he’d hoped. A flicker of something—weariness?—passed through her eyes.
“I can’t…” The words crowded, fighting to spill out. Caroline’s warning echoed in his head. No lectures. But fear had already spilled out, rising up like a river overflowing its banks.
“Scottie, you scared me. That was horrifying.”
“I know.” She looked away. “I was scared too.”
“You almost died.” Spots freckled the edges of his vision. “I can’t keep standing back and watching as you throw yourself into dangerous situations.”
Her brow furrowed. “But it’s part of the job. My personal occupational hazard.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” He glanced at the IV dripping something clear into her arm.
The monitor’s green line blip-blip-blipping like a musician in a marching band.
“Every time, you’ve told me that it will be fine, and every time something has gone wrong.
This accident could’ve killed you. So where’s the line?
When do you stop chasing the thrill or trying to prove something? ”
“I wasn’t trying to prove anything.” She blinked, so slowly it looked like it hurt. “Somebody hit us. On purpose.”
“I know. I heard little bits and pieces out in the waiting room. That will all get sorted out. What matters is…that wasn’t just another close call.”
She looked away and stared at the ceiling, her jaw working.
“Say something, please.”
When she looked back at him, her eyes were wet. “I am so grateful that you helped find me. Very few men would’ve jumped into the water like you did. But if I walk away from my career, from what matters to me, then who am I?”
He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. “Someone I could still love without worrying that the next job might be the one where I lose you forever.”
Scottie’s breath hitched. “Tate, I?—”
“Can you just take a step back? Maybe sit out the rest of the season? Surely Damian can find somebody else. This job isn’t worth your life.”
She let her gaze slide toward the ceiling. “If I stopped being me to make you feel safer, what would our future look like?”
He shook his head. She didn’t get it.
She pulled her hand away.
He wanted to reach for it and sandwich it between his own. How could he be so relieved and so angry at the same time?
“I can’t be the guy waiting to find out if you’re dead. I can’t survive that.”
She closed her eyes for a beat. When she opened them, something had shifted. “So you’re saying you can’t love me?”
The words slapped him. He stared at her, every part of him aching for a way to fix this. “I don’t want to love someone who is constantly putting herself in harm’s way.”
“If you need someone who will stay safe, who’ll be at home waiting for you…” She wouldn’t look at him. A tear slid from the corner of her eye. “That’s not me. I’ve never been that girl.”
“Scottie, don’t you understand?” He tunneled his fingers through his matted hair. “I can’t do this. Not like this. We’re done.”
“Just go.” She tucked her hands beneath the blanket. “Please go.”
He swallowed back the lump clogging his throat. “Scottie.”
She turned her face away.
“Tate?” Caroline’s voice was calm but firm. He hadn’t heard her step in. She touched his elbow. “She needs to rest.”
He looked down at Scottie—the tube feeding her air, the stubborn jut of her jaw as she refused to look at him. He wanted to say something that would undo the last few minutes.
Instead, he stepped back and stumbled into the curtain. Caroline’s grip steadied him.
“Let’s go.” Caroline steered him through the double doors and toward the waiting room.
Done. The word nearly cleaved him in half. Done.
She squinted, then forced her eyes open and looked around the room. An IV tube still snaked into the back of her wrist. Lights were dim. She turned her head slowly toward the window.
Lainey and her dad sat side by side. Dad’s chin drooped to his chest, his own oxygen supplement still doing its thing. Lainey held a paperback novel, her expression unreadable.
“Good morning? Hello?” Scottie’s voice felt like someone else’s—thin, papery. Somewhere overhead, a machine beeped.
Lainey closed her book and stood up. She wore a purple hoodie and black joggers. No makeup. Her hair was matted. “You’re awake. I’m so glad. How are you feeling?”
Scottie swallowed hard. “Thirsty, but warm.”
Finally. Like she’d been dredged up from a black sea and propped up near a fire.
“That’s great.” Lainey offered a weak smile. “Caroline went home because she’s off today, but she’s done a great job taking care of you. She made sure you got warm.”
Scottie gingerly wiggled her fingers and toes. “Anything broken?”
“No. Nothing’s broken, and no concussion. You just got really, really cold.”
“Wow. That’s amazing.”
“Sure is.” Lainey gripped the bed rail. “The nurse said she’d be in at two. It’s one thirty now. I think you can go home today.”
“Good.”
“There’s my girl.” Dad yawned and stretched his arms overhead, then slowly pushed to his feet and came to stand beside Lainey at the edge of the bed. He looked older this morning, the illness drawing shadows where light should be.
“That was quite the adventure. How are you, kiddo?”
“Fine, I guess.” Something wasn’t right though. Scottie rubbed at the ache in her sternum. “What happened?”
“Tate helped save you,” Lainey said, her eyes bright. “Rallied his coworkers to search, then somehow pinpointed your location. He even put on the Gumby suit and jumped in the water until the Coast Guard showed up.”
“I-I remember that part.” She fidgeted with the edge of the coarse hospital sheet. “But what about the collision? Does anyone know what exactly caused it?”
Gary frowned. “The captain of a seiner got upset, thought another boat was encroaching on his turf. He rammed into the one that you were on and”—Dad winced—“that’s when everything headed south.”
“There’s a boy—Keegan.” Scottie swallowed. “Any news?”
“We haven’t heard much about him,” Gary said.
“He’s alive,” Lainey reassured her. “He’s being treated for a couple of things. That’s all we know.”
“And Damian…all the people from the show?”
“They’re fine,” Lainey said. “We haven’t let Damian in here to see you. We’ve been keeping your visitors to a minimum. Caroline’s advice.”