36. Elodie
THIRTY-SIX
ELODIE
The inn was still and warm, bathed in golden light that stretched long and slow across the hardwood floors.
I sat in the oversize armchair in the Drifted Spirit’s kitchen, one leg curled under me, the other bouncing in time with my nerves.
Levi sat at the table beside me, fidgeting with the edge of a paper napkin, his shoulders stiff, his silence louder than usual.
I had brought him here an hour ago after the call from Cal, just past midnight. Wes was in surgery. Hayes was alive. But the words kept ringing like church bells in my head, over and over until I wanted to scream just to silence the echo.
It’s bad.
There was something cruel about how beautiful the Drifted Spirit was in the dark hours of night.
The fireplace crackled low. The soft scent of cinnamon and something woodsy—maybe cedar—floated through the air.
Cal’s touch was in every detail, from the hooks by the door to the blanket tossed neatly over the back of the couch.
It was the kind of place people dreamed of staying in.
The kind of place people paid good money to visit.
And Cal had built it. He’d worked for it. He’d earned this.
I was just borrowing the peace for a moment.
My phone buzzed again. I grabbed it so fast it nearly flew out of my hand.
Cal
With Hayes. Wes is in surgery. I’ll call soon.
I pressed the screen to my chest and closed my eyes.
Please. Please, please, please let him be okay.
“I don’t get it,” Levi murmured. His voice was so quiet I almost missed it. “Wes is like... invincible.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. His face was pale, drawn tight in a way that made him look younger than he ever let himself act. My heart twisted.
“He’s still fighting,” I said, my voice thick. “That matters.”
Levi nodded but didn’t look convinced.
I stood. “Come on. Let’s do something.”
Together, we gathered blankets, stacked muffins from the pantry, and made cocoa that neither of us drank. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t have to. The silence between us wasn’t empty—it was full of fear, of waiting, of love we didn’t know how to show but couldn’t stop feeling.
A soft knock on the glass door broke the stillness.
Helen stepped into the kitchen, her arms wrapped around a cardigan that didn’t match her dress, her eyes warm but lined with worry. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Levi looked up quickly, relief flickering across his face before he masked it with a shrug and looked away. I rose from the chair and met her halfway.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” I murmured.
“You called the right person,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Go. He’ll be okay with me.”
I nodded, brushing a hand over Levi’s shoulder as I grabbed my bag from the counter. But before I could step away, Levi stood too.
“Wait.” He shifted his weight awkwardly, his eyes darting between us. “Can you tell my dad something?”
“Of course,” I said gently.
“Tell him that I—” He looked down, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. “Tell him that I love him.”
My throat went tight. “I will,” I promised, then reached out and pulled him into a quick, fierce hug.
Helen waited until he let go before placing a hand on my arm. Her voice was quiet but firm. “Be strong. He’ll need to see your face and not your fear.”
I nodded, fighting the sting behind my eyes.
Helen leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower. “And no matter what you see tonight, remember, people are more than their worst days. That boy in there”—she nodded toward Levi—“he gets that strength from somewhere. Cal is tough, but he’ll need a shoulder to lean on too.”
Tears burned, but I blinked them back and forced a shaky smile. “Thank you.”
“Now go,” she said, ushering me toward the door. “We’ve got things handled here.”
The sliding glass doors of the hospital parted with a whoosh that sounded too gentle for what waited inside.
It smelled like antiseptic and sorrow.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I moved past the front desk, barely hearing the nurse who pointed me down the corridor toward the surgical waiting room.
I knew this hospital, had come here once for a broken ankle in high school and again when Kit had sliced open her hand with a pruning shear.
But tonight it felt entirely foreign. Too bright.
Too quiet. Too full of the kind of waiting that stripped the air bare.
Voices murmured down the hall. Familiar ones.
The waiting room was full. Kit stood near the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Austin sat on one of the plastic chairs, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, worry carved into the lines of his face.
Brody, still in uniform, prowled across the space like a tiger.
My parents were perched on the other side of the room—Dad clutching a foam cup of coffee, Mom rubbing his back in slow, even strokes, like she was trying to keep him grounded.
Cal stood near the hallway entrance, pacing with his hands on his hips and his mouth set in a grim, unreadable line.
The moment I stepped in, every head turned. Kit crossed the room in two strides, pulling me into a tight hug.
“El,” she whispered into my hair, “thank goodness you’re here.”
I clung to her. “How bad?”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Her own were bloodshot and tired. “Hayes is banged up but stable. He has a concussion and a few bruises. Mom and Dad just saw him.” Her voice cracked. “Wes is still in surgery. His leg is badly injured. ”
I sucked in a breath, my heart bottoming out. “Do they know anything yet?”
She shook her head. “They won’t tell us much. Just that it’s ... serious. And long.”
I nodded, arms still around her, grounding us both for a moment longer. “Can I see Hayes?”
Kit’s mouth pressed into a line. “He’s beating himself up pretty badly. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
I squeezed her hand and moved across the room to my parents first. My dad stood when he saw me, pulling me into a quiet, fierce hug. No words. Just solid warmth and trembling strength. My mom’s eyes were glossy as she touched my cheek.
“We’re holding it together,” she said softly. “But I don’t think Hayes is.”
I swallowed hard, nodding. “I’ll go see him.”
I felt Cal’s gaze on me as I turned, but I wasn’t ready for him yet. Not until I saw my brother and knew for myself that he was okay.
The hallway leading to Hayes’s room was silent, every step echoing in my ears like a heartbeat. I knocked gently before pushing the door open.
Hayes sat on the edge of the hospital bed, a white bandage on his temple, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitch. He didn’t look up when I entered.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice soft.
He didn’t move.
I took two steps closer, hoping my movements wouldn’t scare him away.
Finally, his gruff voice broke through the silence. “I should’ve seen the car coming.”
I walked closer, resting a hand on the metal bed rail. “Sounded to me like you didn’t have time.”
He shook his head once. “That’s not true. I saw it. I froze.” His voice cracked like something fragile and furious. “He pushed me out of the way, El. I didn’t even warn him. He just ... reacted.”
I moved around the bed and sat beside him.
“You’re alive,” I whispered. “That means something.”
Hayes dragged a hand through his hair. “Not if he loses his leg because of me.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault or try to offer comfort that would feel like sand in his mouth. I just reached for his hand and held it.
We sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, the beep of the heart monitor next door the only sound between us. Eventually, Hayes leaned against me like he used to when we were kids and the world felt too sharp.
I didn’t move. I just let him lean.
When I made my way back to the waiting room, the ache in my chest had bloomed into something unbearable. I needed air.
Cal was still near the hallway. His eyes tracked me the second I reappeared. I nodded for him to follow and stepped into a small alcove just off the main corridor, a quiet nook near a vending machine and a gumball machine with a crack in the globe.
He followed, the lines in his face deeper than I’d ever seen them.
“I saw Hayes,” I said.
Cal’s jaw flexed. “How is he?”
“Broken. But trying.” I exhaled toward the ceiling. “He blames himself.”
He nodded once, looking down at his hands .
“What about you?” I asked. “How are you holding up?”
His eyes lifted to mine, and something inside me twisted.
“I keep thinking about the last time I saw Wes,” he said, voice hoarse. “We were at the inn. He was teasing Levi. Calm, quiet. Typical Wes.”
He paused, then rubbed his hands over his face. “I know people say this shit happens in an instant, but it doesn’t hit until it’s someone you know. Someone solid. Someone who’s been through hell already.”
I reached for his hand and held it.
Cal stared at our joined hands, then back at me.
“I can’t lose him,” he said, the words barely audible.
“You won’t.” I swallowed hard. “He’s still fighting.”
He nodded but didn’t speak again. Just pulled me into his arms and held me like the world was slipping sideways.
And I let him. I held on with everything I had.
When we returned to the waiting room, the nurse was there. “Family of Wesley Vaughn?”
Every head lifted.
“He’s out of surgery. Stable. We’ll know more when he wakes, but the amputation went as planned.”
The room fell silent.
Amputation.
Kit choked back a sob. Brody stepped forward to steady her. My parents clung to each other. Austin sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
Cal just stood there, still as stone.
I felt the bottom drop out of the world.
The doctor’s words barely registered. Wes’s amputation was above the knee. It would change everything for Wes, but he was alive .
And that was something.
The next forty-eight hours blurred.