Chapter Twenty-Four #2
There was blood seeping all over the floor.
She feared the worst, but he was breathing easily.
He just looked asleep with a plank on him, lying in a pool of blood.
Normal, right? It felt like a lifetime, but the portable phone in her hand declared it only a few minutes before she heard her door being pounded on frantically.
She hoped that one of the men brought their house key that they’d received only hours ago from Quinn.
Each family carried a house key to the other houses in situations as important as this one, as well as the more mundane reasons.
Cheyenne looked over at the bench one last time.
The bench was on a flattened, narrow cardboard box.
The bench itself was collapsible until final bolts were put in the assembly.
It looked like he had slid it down the stairs.
It was still fully covered by the blanket, and she expected no one to notice it during the push to get him to the hospital.
If by chance his brothers checked, it would just be something they would deal with, but his professional world would not be privy to it or their lifestyle differences.
The beams were just that. Beams with bolt holes and huge bolts attached to them.
It could have been an exercise bar, or corner beams, or even the foundation of a wet bar.
There was nothing else in the basement that would lead to any speculation, thank goodness.
There was a ruckus going on upstairs, and Cheyenne jumped up to shimmy back up the steps when Liam appeared at the top along with several hands and Ciarán.
“What the hell?”
“He must have tried to move the wood himself. I told him not to,” Cheyenne stifled a sob.
“He hit his head and he’s bleeding badly.”
“Hold on, honey,” said Liam, his voice shaking a little, but his tone was confident.
Katie called over the top of the men, “Get out of my way so I can get to him. Did anyone call the ambulance?”
“I did. They’re coming,”
“Good woman. Guys, get this log off him, carefully.” Katie wiggled past the obstruction to get to Quinlan’s head, much like Cheyenne did.
Just as the piece of timber was about to be removed from its residence on Quinlan’s body and leaned against the far wall next to its matching set, the rescue squad was piling in the door, and the ambulance was behind them.
Several volunteer firemen arrived, and between them all, the beam was completely removed and the medical care assessment was done.
They carried him from the stairs on a spinal board up to the waiting gurney.
Within ten minutes of their arrival, the men had Quinn loaded and on his way to the hospital.
Cheyenne jumped in the back of the ambulance just before the door closed with nothing but her cell phone and wallet that someone had gotten for her clutched in her one hand and Quinn’s discarded shirt in the other.
“We will be right behind you,” Katie assured Cheyenne. “I’ll bring you some clothes.” “You have to take care of your little one.”
“Jocelyn is in hog heaven keeping him. Don’t you worry about Kēven. And we will take care of calling Da.”
Once they reached the hospital, things moved quickly.
Quinlan hadn’t regained consciousness, and Cheyenne was feeling that panic return.
She sat in his ER room while they hooked him up to IVs and stripped his jeans off, all the while getting her story of the events.
For some reason she hated that they stripped him, and she took his jeans and the later discarded briefs, refusing to send them home to be washed with Katie.
They had his scent, and she needed the reassurance of him being with her.
As hectic as the first hour had been, now time stood still as she was directed to the waiting room while the medical team did the MRI and the CAT scans of his brain and spine.
Then they did X-rays and bloodwork, tapped his bladder, and left in the catheter.
Every time something else was done, or he was resting between tests, the family was encouraged to sit and talk to him and around him so that he could hear his family.
“Why won’t he wake up?” Cheyenne asked in the now familiar, tortured voice of one numb with fear. She rocked back and forth, holding his clothes to her face and searching for any movement.
Katie answered with a firm and calm voice cultivated from her work with Bhaile Haven and her nursing profession.
“His brain needs a rest, honey, and this is the way it gets it. You heard the doctor, he could have a brain bleed, swelling, certainly a concussion and any one of those is enough to keep him out for a while. His vitals are good and strong which is awesome.”
“How long does it take to get the results back? It seems like we have been waiting forever,” asked Cheyenne.
“It takes as long as it takes but we should hear something soon,” Katie assured everyone.
Ciarán tried to pull Cheyenne to him just as Kelli and Parker arrived, but she would not have it. Comfort was not something she could allow. Kelli ran to Cheyenne and hugged her for a moment before Cheyenne distanced herself from even Kelli, drawing her husband’s clothes back to her face.
“We are just waiting until someone, somewhere, wants to tell us what is going on with him.” She broke down. “I don’t know if I can wait much longer.”
Ciarán didn’t allow her to refuse his comfort the second time. Presented with his immovable force, so much like Quinn, Cheyenne sobbed. Ciarán gently rocked her while she let out the stress and tension she had been holding onto tightly.
Liam filled Parker and Kelli in on the accident and Quinn’s state of unconsciousness. Parker said nothing. After a few moments of sitting quietly, Parker took a seat near Katie, Cheyenne, and Ciarán. Kelli asked the unasked question.
“Why didn’t he get help if it was so heavy? He should have known better,” declared Kelli.
“Who knows? He’s always tried to do things without assistance if he could,” answered Liam. “But it had to be obvious that it was too much for one man. Even as strong as Quinlan is.”
Kelli vehemently declared, “I wish he wasn’t so stubborn about things. He knows we help each other all the time. He tries to be so damn tough. Look where it got him.”
Cheyenne, hearing the last part of the conversation, shoved herself out of Ciarán’s arms and yelled, “Because none of you would have understood. You’re so self-righteous, so narrow-minded that you create an atmosphere of intolerance about other people.
It isn’t always about what you think or feel.
Sometimes, it’s about allowing others to feel, think, and be different than you.
Quinn knows his family well. He wouldn’t ask you for help for this project because it was outside of your comfort zone. And he was so very right.”