Chapter 28
Nate
Something is wrong.
The silence wakes me with a start. It’s too quiet, too still. When I reach toward Rory’s side of the bed, the pillow is cold. As I get out of bed, I listen for the rustle of her getting dressed, for Spam’s constant whining, but there’s nothing.
“Rory?” I call, pushing open my bedroom door.
Nothing.
The door across the hallway is cracked open, and when I peer inside, my stomach drops. The bed is made, and Rory isn’t in there, either.
I listen for Spam’s whine, but all I hear is the creak of my old house settling.
Maybe she went to the barn early. That has to be it, right? I nod, trying to convince myself. That’s got to be where she is.
I catch a glimpse of the time on the bedside clock and swear under my breath. I’m going to be late for my shift if I don’t get moving.
I send her a text as I head for the shower.
Rory
Hey, hope you’re doing okay. Dinner tonight?
I run a hand over my jaw as I look in the mirror. I don’t really have time to shave, but it doesn’t look terrible.
Three minutes later, I’m done in the shower and pulling on a clean T-shirt and jeans to wear to the station, and still no reply from Rory.
I consider calling the station to say I’m going to be late, or calling out altogether and heading to the barn to see if Rory’s okay. She seemed okay when we went to bed, and it’s not unusual for her to head to work this early.
I just can’t shake the feeling that something bad has happened or is going to.
“Let’s go, Ollie,” I say, clipping the leash to his harness.
He doesn’t really need the leash to go where I go, but rules are rules. I lead him to the car and pull the door open.
As we make the short drive to the station, I can’t keep my mind off of Rory.
Something just feels…off. I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly.
It’s more of a vague, unsettled feeling.
But as a cop, I’ve learned to trust my gut instincts, and my gut is telling me something is happening or about to happen.
“What do you think, Ollie? Any input?” I look in the rearview mirror, making eye contact with the dog.
He quirks his head.
“No thoughts, huh?” I chuckle as I turn my focus back to the road.
I swing the car into the parking lot of the police station just as my phone rings in my pocket. I pull into a spot and put the car in park, then I pull out my phone and swipe to answer without looking at the screen.
“Rory?” I say into the phone, my heart beating fast.
Where is she?
A voice comes through the speaker, but it’s the wrong one. “No, it’s Jake. Everything okay?”
I curse under my breath. I need to focus on my job, and it’s tough to do that with Rory at the forefront of all my thoughts.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Sorry. What’s up? I just pulled in.”
“Yeah, just wanted to give you a heads-up that I’m headed out to a car accident on the outskirts of town. Two vehicles, and sounds like it’s blocking the road, so could use some backup. Can you head out here? About a half mile west of the town limits.”
The siren starts to wail in the background.
I’m already hopping out of the car and hurrying into the station, Ollie following at my heels. “Yeah. Let me pull on my uniform and hop in the SUV, and I’ll be right there. Maybe ten minutes.”
“Thanks.” Jake ends the call.
Within three minutes, I’m slamming my locker shut, buckling my holster around my waist as I leave the building. I stride toward the K-9 SUV with Ollie next to me. I hit the siren as I pull out of the parking lot and drive toward the scene.
“Ollie, you’re going to stay in the car for this one,” I say, talking to him the way I do to calm myself whenever we head out on a real call.
Not that other things aren’t real. It’s just that it’s hard to take injured owls and lost cats and social calls seriously sometimes.
It’s a good reflection on the town that most of our serious calls are few and far between, but when we get them, they tend to be a reminder that even the idyllic small-town setting isn’t immune from badness.
The domestic violence call involving the town councilman.
The honors student who overdosed on narcotics.
Car accidents, which tend to be brutal during the winter months when everything is coated with a sheen of ice.
Fortunately, even though the mornings are chilly in the fall, it’s not cold enough for ice, so we haven’t seen too many car wrecks lately. I cross my fingers as I drive that this one will be mild, and that Jake was overcalling the need for backup.
I turn a corner, expecting to come upon the scene any second. The flashing blue and red lights are my first clue that I’m getting close.
I cut the siren, leaving my lights on as I near the accident scene and take it in.
A green Explorer is in the center of the road, the front end smashed in. A man stands by the side of the road holding a towel to his head.
Another siren sounds in the distance—the ambulance must be on its way.
I park the cruiser and climb out. As I walk closer to the scene, taking in the scattered glass of headlights on the road, I see the second vehicle that Jake was talking about.
It’s a truck.
A black Ford truck, one with the tailgate rusted in a too-familiar pattern.
My heart stops as I recognize it.
That’s Rory’s car.
Rory.
I yell her name, breaking into a run.
Jake steps in front of me as I rush toward the truck, but I sidestep him to get to my girl.
When I make it to the front side of the truck, my stomach drops to my feet and my pulse pounds in my ears, the only proof I have that I’m not dreaming. The front end of the truck is completely destroyed, the windshield cracked in a spiderweb pattern, with a splotch of something red at the center.
Blood.
And slumped over the steering wheel is my whole world.
I reach for the door handle, but something—someone—holds me back.
“Wait for the paramedics,” Jake says, gripping my arm. “Protocol, man.”
“That’s Rory.” My voice breaks as I say her name.
His hold loosens. “I get it. I do.” He looks over his shoulder, and I follow his gaze to see an ambulance pull up. “They’re here. Just let them do their jobs, okay?”
I nod, frozen in place, completely powerless to help my girl. As the medics reach the truck, I step back.
“Can I get someone out here to drive Ollie and the SUV back to the station?” Jake says, and I realize he’s talking into the radio at his shoulder.
“Ten-four.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You stay with Rory. We’ll take care of everything else. Just take care of your girl.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat.
I knew something was wrong this morning. We’re just a few yards away from the entrance to Lonesome Acres, so she must have been heading to work. But what would have caused a head-on collision?
As the medics pull open the driver’s door, Rory’s head lifts, giving me a rush of hope.
She’s okay.
Now that I see her moving, talking, I can breathe again, even though it still comes in shallow pants.
“Miss, can you tell me your name?” one of the paramedics says, looking her over.
She doesn’t answer, though. Her eyes have drifted shut again. There’s a red stain over her forehead, her hair matted around it.
“Her name is Rory,” I whisper. “Rory Kelley.”
Rory Patterson, soon, if I have anything to say about this.
Because when you see your life practically disappear in front of your eyes, you know you’ll do whatever it takes to save it.
All I can do right now, though, is watch, helpless, as the two medics check out her injuries and load her onto a stretcher, while Rory lies there fading in and out of consciousness.
A sharp yip is what breaks me out of my thoughts.
Spam.
The medics start to wheel Rory toward the ambulance, and I walk past them toward her truck.
“Don’t leave without me,” I tell them. “I’m coming with you.”
One of them gives me a short nod.
The door of the truck is gaping open, abandoned. I step on the running board and into the driver’s seat, still warm from Rory’s small body. Another shrill bark comes from the footwell in front of the passenger seat.
When I look down there, I see him, trembling in one corner.
“Come on, Spam,” I say, holding out my hand.
He doesn’t move, so I reach down and scoop him into my arms. “Let’s go take care of our girl.”
I carry him against my chest as I stride toward the ambulance, his small body quivering.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Spam,” I murmur. “Your mama is going to be okay, too. She has to be.”
I climb into the back of the ambulance and take the open seat at Rory’s side.
They’ve strapped her onto a backboard, protecting her spine until the doctors can check to make sure she hasn’t injured it.
Someone has placed an IV in her hand, with clear tubing running to a bag of fluids.
Her skin is pale, making the rivers of blood along her cheek stand out like some kind of garish face paint emanating from the bandage they’ve taped over her injured forehead.
It’s all I can do to keep myself from unclipping every strap and gathering her into my arms. I want to be the one to protect her.
“Rory?” I say, leaning over her.
“She’s out, but she’s breathing.” The paramedic holds out his hand toward me. “Tim Matthews. I’ve seen you around town.”
I return the handshake. “Nate Patterson. HiLo PD, but here as a civilian.”
He nods as he looks down at Rory and pulls her eyelids open, shining a light into each one. “Are you her…?”
He waits for me to fill in the blank.
What am I? Her boyfriend? I thought we were getting to that point last night, but this has all been a whirlwind. I wanted to talk with Rory more, make sure this is what she wants.
“She’s my everything,” I finally manage.
Because that’s what she is. She’s the one I want to come home to at night and wake up next to in the morning, the one I thought I was in love with all those years ago and the one I’ve pined for.
But now, seeing her like this, I realize that what I felt then doesn’t come close to what I feel for her now. It’s like thinking you know what the color red is, only to realize that what you were looking at the whole time is a transparent shadow of the hue.
I’m seeing everything in full color now.
The ride to the hospital is short. I thank God or whatever deity is available that it doesn’t take long to get Rory to where she needs to be.
I climb out of the ambulance first, standing helplessly to the side as they unload the stretcher. She still hasn’t woken up other than the brief period when the medics first got to her.
I clutch Spam like a lifeline as we walk through the sliding glass doors into the trauma bay. I’m sure animals aren’t really allowed in the emergency room, especially ones like Spam, whose potty training is questionable at best. But no one says anything to me, everyone focused on Rory.
The ER staff swarms around her, attaching her to monitors and calling out orders, and all I can do is pray that she’ll be okay.