Chapter 14 #2
Tad—Wren’s cocky dancer—sprawled on the grass beneath the stage.
A rock sat next to his temple, and blood seeped into the grass below next to his head.
Dane’s eyes travelled over his body, taking in his leg at an angle it shouldn’t be.
Behind him, he heard Gina crying, someone retching, the faint slap of footsteps as people ran over to see what had caused the commotion.
He dropped to his knees beside the boy.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice automatically calm. “Hey, Tad, you know who I am, right? I’m Dane, and I’m a doctor. Don’t move, okay?”
He didn’t know if Tad could hear him, but on the off-chance he could, Dane thought the kid needed reassurance.
He checked his breathing first. Steady. Shallow, but steady. Pulse next—it was rapid, but strong. He bent down, getting as close as he could, scanning for airway obstruction, blood in the mouth, any sign of spinal trauma.
“Somebody call nine-one-one,” he said without looking up. “Tell them that I have a head injury and a possible femur fracture. He’s unconscious, breathing, stable for now.”
The words came like clockwork. His voice didn’t waver.
His hands weren’t shaking. So far, so good, but he couldn’t think of himself right now.
He slid one palm under Tad’s jaw, fingers at his neck, stabilizing the head to prevent movement.
With the other, he gently moved his fingers over his skull, feeling for depressions or swelling.
There was a small hematoma forming behind the left ear—not good, but not hugely problematic—yet.
He kept his tone low, even, as he worked, talking to himself and Tad. “Pupils reactive … good job, kid.”
Someone knelt beside him; her scent told him it was Wren. He spared a second to look at her, noting her face was chalk-white, and her eyes wider than he’d ever seen them. “Oh God, Dane… He just… He slipped… Is he okay?”
“Wren, stop panicking.” He needed her help, but didn’t need her rattled, so he kept his tone steady and firm. “I need you to grab that rolled-up banner—use it to cushion his neck.”
She instantly obeyed, running to get the banner.
When she returned, he saw that her hands trembled, but she seemed steady enough.
“Don’t move him, just slide it gently. Good,” he said, then heard her deep breath, the sob she held back.
He didn’t pull his eyes off Tad, but knew she needed reassurance, too.
“Breathe deeply, in and out. You’re helping. ”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her jerky nod.
Needing to move on, he sat back to look at Tad’s bent leg.
The kid wore shorts, which helped. He already had a mid-shaft deformity, and his leg was swelling.
Dane whipped off Tad’s trainer and sock and nodded when he saw his pink foot.
He gripped it; it was warm, and he easily found a pulse—blood circulation was intact.
He exhaled, a small, quiet sound of relief. “We’re okay,” he murmured. He looked at Wren. “We’re going to keep him still until EMS gets here.”
Tad made a low sound—a cross between a murmur and a groan—and Dane watched his eyelids flutter.
“Hey, bud, good to have you back with us,” he said, leaning close. “Don’t move your head, okay? You took a spill, but I’m here, and I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
The crowd murmured and grew—quick explanations, crying, whispers, but Dane paid no attention to what was happening behind and around him.
His only concern was vitals, breathing, and bleeding.
He glanced at the blood seeping out from under Tad’s head, it had slowed a little.
Mercifully, there was no issue with his breathing.
Dane was grateful; he really hadn’t wanted to do a tracheotomy with someone’s penknife and a straw.
He looked up to find Wren watching him, chest heaving, hands still braced around the makeshift neck support. “You’re the guy who runs toward the mess,” she whispered, managing a shaky smile. It took him a moment to remember that was how he first introduced himself to her.
He met her eyes. “Luckily, I don’t need a scalpel today.”
There was something raw in her gaze—fear, admiration. But he didn’t have room for that. Not yet.
The distant wail of sirens rose over the hum of the crowd.
“EMS is nearly here,” someone called.
Dane nodded. “Perfect. We’re holding steady.”
He stayed where he was, hand still on the boy’s pulse, counting each beat until the paramedics took over. Only when they slid the stretcher under the kid, listened to his handover, and loaded him into the ambulance did he finally rock back on his heels and let out a long breath.
His palms were streaked with dirt. His knees ached. His shirt stuck to his back.
But for the first time in months—in three months—Dane felt alive. He looked down to find Wren staring at him, wide-eyed.
“You didn’t even flinch,” she said softly.
He gave her a tired half-smile. “That’s the trick,” he said. “You never flinch until it’s over.”
But as his adrenaline drained, he felt the old ghosts stirring—the memories of injuries and blood, life fading from people’s eyes, and too-late interventions, the people he couldn’t save.
Then he forced the walls back up, and he let himself take the win.
* * *
Silas stayed at Dane’s shoulder the whole time he attended to the boy, aware of ghosts—including Lila, Ruby, and Naomi—behind him, all of them eager to get a front row seat to the drama. But he’d ordered them back and knelt at the boy’s head, resting his hand on Tad’s hair.
Dane took control. He was calm, thoughtful, skilled, and for Silas, seeing him in action reinforced his wavering resolution that the doctor should be back in the field, that treating people on the front lines was where he belonged.
He was too good to be doing anything else.
Lila and Ruby flanked him, both of them looking worried. Nobody, not humans nor ghosts, liked it when children’s lives were in danger. And they didn’t understand it any more than humans did.
“Is he going to be okay?” Ruby asked, worried.
Silas nodded. “I think so.” He glanced at Dane, who looked calm. Gathering his energy, he pushed a little, trying to get a handle on his emotions, and didn’t feel any intense worry within the doctor. He had this under control. “He’ll need an operation, but the boy will be fine.”
Lila looked at Dane, as starry-eyed as a ghost could be. “Will Dane do it?” she asked, sounding excited.
Silas shook his head. “I shouldn’t think so,” he said. “From what I understand, there are other doctors at the hospital who will operate on him. Dr. Trafford is not needed at this point.”
It wasn’t important whether Dane would operate or not; what was of more importance was that he knew what to do, when, and how to do it.
His hands didn’t shake, nor did he second-guess himself.
Silas had long suspected he was suffering from Soldier’s Heart—characterized by a rapid heartbeat and intense worry, he’d seen it often enough—but when it mattered, Trafford had performed admirably.
Dane was healed. It was time for him to leave Solstice Spring and pick up the mantle of duty. “He’s too good to stay in this small town, to not be out in the field,” Silas told his friends. “He’s needed out there, in places where the world has gone mad.”
Lila cocked, then shook her head. “His skills might be required, but where does his happiness fit into your scenario? He’s happy here, happy with Wren, more content here than he’s been, I suspect, for a long, long time.
He doesn’t want to leave Wren. He cares for her. He’s allowed to be happy, too.”
Yes, Silas thought, but what did love matter, what did anything matter, when there were lives to be saved?
* * *
The ambulance lights painted the stage, the pavilion, and the park in red and blue, making the woods behind the meadow look more sinister than usual.
Then it was gone—its sirens fading into the night. There was just air now. And silence.
Wren looked at Dane, who still stood where he’d been kneeling, hands on his hips, head bowed. She placed her hand on his wrist and frowned. His pulse was still hammering even though the crisis was over, as if he didn’t seem to know how to power down.
Then he exhaled hard and slowly. Counted it out.
One. Two. Three.
She knew he’d seen and dealt with much worse than Tad’s injury, so why was he as shellshocked as if he’d performed life-saving surgery on the grass of Blackweather Green?
She tipped her head, thinking fast. He always said he was in H-Town for a break, and she easily understood why he felt like he needed to step away from his high-pressure job.
Hell, she’d needed a break from her career and hers didn’t involve injured people, operations, and the pressure of saving lives.
But she hadn’t probed any deeper, hadn’t looked beyond the obvious.
Judging by Dane’s white face and the fine tremors passing through his body—leftover adrenaline—there was more to him being here than needing a vacation.
It was so obvious that he was brilliant at his job, so calm, so competent, and she knew this was what he was put on earth to do.
But he’d walked away from his work to hang out in H-Town.
Why hadn’t she asked more questions, delved deeper, gotten to know him better? Had she been trying to keep some emotional distance to dilute the hurt when they finally, inevitably parted, or was she simply too self-involved? Either way, she felt ashamed.
After collecting a bottle of water from her gym bag, she offered it to him. He took it, twisted the cap, and drank.
“You were … very impressive back there,” she murmured.
He shrugged. “Just muscle memory.”
His words came out too flat, and she frowned. Why did he sound robotic?
“That’s not simple muscle memory, Dane. You were calm when everyone else was losing it. You knew exactly what to do.”