Chapter Thirty-Four
THE WAITING ROOM
Kate
I almost don’t answer—I’m at school, halfway through grading essays during my planning period—but the number’s local, and something inside me tells me to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Ma’am, this is Dispatch. We’re calling about your son, Cole. Is this Kate Hartley?”
Something inside me twists. “Yes, it is.”
“Ma’am, there’s been an incident on a call. Your son was involved, and he’s been transported to Memorial General.”
That’s all it takes.
The words don’t even finish echoing before I’m on my feet, my chair screeching back, my hand shaking so hard I can barely hold the phone.
“What happened?” I ask, heart in my throat. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t have medical details, ma’am. I’m just the call operator. I’m very sorry.”
I hang up without saying thank you. Without saying anything. I just move.
I don’t remember grabbing my bag. I don’t remember leaving the school. I barely remember dialing Jack’s number, but I must’ve, because his voice is suddenly in my ear.
“Kate? Everything okay?”
“No,” I breathe. “It’s Cole. There was an accident. They took him to Memorial.”
A pause. Just a beat.
“I’m on my way,” he says, instantly. “Do you want me to come get you?”
“No—I’m already in the car.”
I hang up again, fingers clenched so tight around the steering wheel they ache. I run every red light. I don’t even feel my hands go numb until I’m pulling into the ER lot and almost forget to throw it in park.
Inside, the hospital smells like disinfectant and fear.
I steady my palms on the front desk. “My son—Cole Hartley.” My voice cracks and I have to draw a breath before I can get the rest out. “He was brought in. He’s a firefighter.”
The nurse behind the desk flinches but taps her keyboard fast. “They’re working on him now. That’s all I know.”
Working on him? Those words alone nearly knock me flat.
“Is he—was he—conscious?”
“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “You can wait just down the hall. There’s a waiting area for families.”
My throat threatens to close.
I walk stiffly down the hall, following the signs until I round the corner—and stop.
Half the fire department is here. That’s not good.
Some are sitting, some are standing, all are still in uniform. Like they rushed straight here. Boots scuffed, faces drawn tight. I recognize almost all of them. Trey. The captain. Even a few of the younger guys who barely know Cole but showed up anyway.
A show of support. Brotherhood.
But I don’t need a show of support. I don’t need sympathy.
I need someone to tell me my son is alive.
Trey sees me first and stands up quickly. “Kate.”
I walk straight up to him. “Is he okay?”
“They won’t tell us much yet. Just that he’s here. And it was bad.”
My stomach flips.
I look around. “Brennan?”
Trey hesitates.
And that’s when I know.
He’s not here in the waiting room—he must be back here. Involved in whatever this is.
I sink into the nearest chair, legs barely holding me up. My hands won’t stop shaking.
Someone brings me a bottle of water. Another firefighter I don’t know says something kind. I nod, thank them, but it’s like my ears are full of static. None of it matters.
I just want someone in scrubs to come through those doors and tell me my son’s going to be okay.
And I want him to walk out behind them with his trademark smile and tell me he’s fine and not to worry so much, Ma.
But that doesn’t happen.
A few minutes later, I hear my name and nearly jump out of my seat.
“Kate.”
Jack’s voice.
I look up and he’s already crossing the room—eyes scanning, face pale but steady. The second I see him, my whole body gives out. I stand, or try to, but my knees buckle and he catches me fast, arms locking around me like a shield.
I collapse into him, fingers fisting his shirt.
“Oh God, Jack—”
He holds me tighter. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He guides me gently back down into a chair, never letting go, his voice calm even as mine is falling apart.
“What happened?” he asks, brushing hair back from my face. “What kind of accident was it?”
I blink at him, breath catching. “I don’t—” I shake my head. “I don’t know. They didn’t say. Just that they were bringing him here and now they’re working on him. That’s all I know.”
Jack’s mouth tightens, but before he can say anything, a man steps forward. Fire Captain Monroe. Cole’s commanding officer. His face is drawn, his uniform stained with smoke and grit.
He kneels beside me, hands resting on his knees.
“It was a bad one, Kate. A highway pile-up. A tanker truck jackknifed; there were cars everywhere. Cole was working the scene.” His voice tightens up, but he draws a breath and continues.
“The fire spread fast. Hazmat situation. We’re still getting updates from the scene. I’m sorry I don’t know more.”
My heart races, hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
Monroe’s voice softens. “I’m not going to lie to you. There are going to be fatalities. It was… one of the worst I’ve seen.”
I stare at him. My ears ring. Fatalities.
Jack lowers me carefully into the seat again when I start to sway, like I might go down for good. His hand finds mine, strong and steady, holding tight. But it doesn’t help.
My son.
My only child.
Fatalities.
My breath catches, then breaks, and I cover my face with both hands as the sob rips out of me. Raw. Shaking.
“I can’t do this,” I choke. “Jack—I can’t—he’s, he’s my whole world.”
He wraps both arms around me and pulls me in like he can hold the pieces together by sheer force. I don’t care that people are watching. I don’t care that I’m gasping for air between sobs.
I just want my son back.
I just want him to be okay.
I don’t know how long I cry.
Jack never lets go. One hand grips mine, the other rubs small circles across my back like I used to when Cole was a baby and I couldn’t get him to stop crying at 3 a.m. Like if I just kept moving, we’d both stay afloat.
Eventually, the sobs taper into silence. But the ache doesn’t.
My body feels hollowed out.
Jack clears his throat, voice rough. “I should call Andi.”
I blink, disoriented. “What?”
“She should know. She’d want to be here.”
I nod slowly. The name barely registers through the fog. “Yes. Yes, you’re right.” Andi, who Cole had never told me about—but who I’d met last weekend. She was so pretty—unexpected with her purple hair and her genuine adoration for Cole.
Jack pulls out his phone and steps a few feet away. I can hear the low murmur of his voice as he talks, but not the words. Then a pause. A quiet, pained exhale. He hangs up.
“She’s on her way,” he says when he returns. “She was at work.”
I nod again.
The waiting room shifts around us—nurses coming and going, doors swinging open and closed. The clock ticks so loud it feels like a countdown. Still no answers. Still no doctor. Still no him.
Then the doors at the end of the hall burst open.
Andi rushes in, nearly tripping over herself. She’s in scrubs under a wrinkled lab coat, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. There’s a smear of dried blood on the sleeve of her jacket—someone else’s, probably, not hers—and her eyes are wide and wild and wrecked.
The second she sees me, she stumbles forward.
“Kate—oh my gosh—”
I don’t even hesitate.
We crash into each other like waves, arms around shoulders and backs, and it’s not graceful or quiet or pretty. It’s broken and raw and desperate.
She’s crying now, too. Shaking like she ran the whole way here.
“What happened?” she gasps, clutching me tighter. “Is he—do we know anything?”
I pull back just far enough to look at her, my own voice thin. “They won’t tell us anything. I’m still waiting to hear.”
Andi presses a hand to her mouth.
Jack steps beside us, quiet. Solid. “It was bad. A pile-up. Tanker truck. Explosion.”
She nods once. But her eyes stay on me. “He’s strong, Kate. He’s so strong.”
I nod, too. Because I want to believe it.
But no one has any answers.
Not yet.
So we hold each other and wait.
And pray that the next person through those doors has a reason to let us breathe again.