Chapter 28 #2
Cal’s talking down the phone, but his words are jumbled. Compressions. Starting. Breaths.
He knocks me out of the way and starts to push the palms of his hands against Dad’s chest.
I should have done that. But I’m just staring. Staring. Staring. Staring.
Brynn kneels at my side, I feel her, but I’m still just staring.
The helicopter appears over the headland within minutes – that’s what they say, isn’t it, twelve minutes from anywhere in Cornwall – and then there’s controlled chaos.
Paramedics in red jumpsuits, a stretcher, words I half-understand.
Stabilising. Airlifting. Treliske. They take over from Cal, hooking my dad up to a life pack.
‘I’m coming with him,’ I say.
The paramedic shakes her head. ‘No room. You’ll need to drive. Royal Cornwall Hospital, Truro. A&E.’
‘But—’
‘We’ve got him.’ She’s already moving, helping load him into the helicopter. ‘Drive safe. He’ll need you when you get there.’
The rotors spin up. The helicopter lifts, tilts, disappears over the rooftops.
And I’m left standing on the dock, watching it go.
The drive to Truro takes over an hour.
Over an hour of winding coastal roads and tourist traffic and my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache. Over an hour of not knowing. Of replaying the morning – his grey face, his trembling hands, the way I walked away instead of making him sit down.
I should have pushed harder.
I shouldn’t have left.
Brynn’s in the passenger seat before I can tell her not to come.
‘Drive,’ she says. ‘I’ll navigate.’
I don’t argue. Don’t have the words for it. Just pull out of the harbour car park too fast, tyres spitting gravel, and point us toward Truro.
The roads out of Sea Salt Bay are narrow. Single track in places, high hedgerows blocking the view, the kind of roads where you pray nothing is coming the other way. I take them faster than I should. Brynn doesn’t tell me to slow down.
Her hand finds mine on the gear stick. She doesn’t say anything. Just holds on.
The silence stretches between us, filled with engine noise and my own ragged breathing. I keep seeing him on the ground. Eyes open, staring at nothing. The way his chest rose and fell, shallow and wrong.
I should have made him sit down this morning. Should have called someone. Should have done anything other than walk away.
‘It’s not your fault,’ Brynn says quietly.
I don’t answer. Can’t.
The A-road opens up and I floor it, watching the speedometer climb. Seventy. Eighty. The hedgerows blur into green streaks.
‘Jude.’
Eighty-five.
‘Jude, you can’t help him if you’re dead.’
I ease off. Slightly. My jaw aches from clenching.
Brynn’s thumb strokes across my knuckles. Back and forth. A steady rhythm that doesn’t match my heartbeat but somehow helps anyway.
We pass through villages I don’t register. Past fields and farmhouses and a tractor that makes me brake so hard Brynn’s hand flies to the dashboard. I swear under my breath, pull around it, accelerate again.
‘Twenty minutes,’ Brynn says, checking her phone. ‘Maybe less.’
Twenty minutes. The helicopter would have had him there in twelve. He’s probably already being seen, already hooked up to machines, already—
Don’t think about it.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder. Kit’s name on the screen.
‘Can you—’ My voice comes out rough. I clear my throat. ‘Can you put it on speaker?’
Brynn does.
‘Jude?’ Kit’s voice fills the car, tight with worry. ‘What’s happening? Is he—’
‘I don’t know. They airlifted him to Treliske. I’m driving there now.’
‘Christ.’ A pause. I can hear him breathing, can picture him running his hand through his hair the way he does when he’s stressed. ‘Right. Okay. I’m booking flights.’
‘Kit, you don’t have to—’
‘I’m coming home, Jude.’ No room for argument. ‘First flight I can get. Maisie too – she’d never forgive me if I left her behind.’
Maisie. My niece, who has her father’s stubborn streak and her mother’s fierce heart. Who sends me videos of herself attempting to surf and calls me ‘the fun uncle’ even though I’m her only uncle.
‘What about Isla?’
‘She can’t leave the show.’ Kit’s voice is heavy with it. ‘You don’t just walk out of a Broadway run – understudies need notice, contracts, the whole thing. She wants to come, but…’
‘I understand.’
‘She’s gutted. She’ll call you later, she said. But Jude—’ He pauses. ‘We’ll be there. Tomorrow night, probably. Maybe sooner if I can swing standby.’
I relax. Just a fraction. An inch. Probably not even an inch.
I’ve spent so long trying to prove I can handle things on my own. Trying to be enough, even when Dad made it clear I wasn’t. But right now, with the road blurring ahead and my father somewhere in the hospital—
I need my brother.
‘Yeah,’ I manage. ‘Okay. Good.’
‘Keep me updated. Every hour, even if there’s nothing new.’
‘I will.’
‘And Jude?’ A beat. ‘Whatever you were going to tell me earlier. About being in love. We’ll talk about that too, yeah? When I get there.’
I glance at Brynn. She’s looking out the window, giving me privacy I don’t need. Not from her.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘When you get there.’
The line goes dead.
Brynn’s hand finds mine again.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.