Follow Me Back (Fight for Me 2)

A cry scraped from my throat when I was suddenly being torn away from where I clung to Evan, hands I’d missed so desperately squeezing me hard for the flash of a second.

Before he’d taken my place.

Kale.

Quickly, the man moved to kneel over my son. He tilted his ear to Evan’s mouth then pressed his fingers to his neck.

For the beat of a second, horror struck on his face.

It was the exact same horror I’d seen him wear in my kitchen.

It was the kind of horror that destroyed worlds.

Despairing and desolate.

He started pumping Evan’s chest.

My mouth dropped open in another scream.

A plea.

A prayer.

I didn’t know.

No. No. No.

Kale’s face broke into my vision.

His lips were moving, shouting, but I couldn’t hear.

My son, my son, my son.

“Hope. Hope! Call 9-1-1.”

Finally, the sound cracked against my ears, penetrating the horrifying daze, snapping me out of my stupor and into action.

I scrambled onto my hands and knees, slipping on the grass before I managed to get to my feet. Clinging to the railing, I fumbled up the steps and raced inside. It felt as if it took a lifetime to get to my room where my phone was charging on the nightstand.

A lifetime flashing.

A tiny infant in my arms.

“I’m sorry, but your son will require a heart transplant. It’s the only chance he has.”

M-A-M-A, he signed for the first time.

His grin. His smile. His belief.

Love. Love. Love.

Grief fisted me by the throat, and I ripped the phone from the cord and rushed back out, trying to see through the torment as I forced myself to remain steady enough to dial the three numbers.

I was already back outside and dropping to my knees beside where Kale was hunched over Evan when the operator answered.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Help, my son. He’s collapsed. He’s a heart transplant recipient. Please . . . hurry.”

I rattled off my address, begging the whole time.

“Ma’am . . . try to stay calm. Can you tell me if he’s breathing? Does he have any other visible injuries?”

“No. Just . . . please . . . hurry.”

“We have an ambulance in route. Please stay on the line with me.”

Kale worked over Evan in a controlled desperation.

Hopefully.

Fiercely.

Grimly.

As if he could pump his own life into my son’s body.

While I sat there, helplessly clutching my chest, trying to keep everything from spilling out.

Chills raked down my spine when I felt the shadow looming over us.

It was the evilest kind of darkness.

The man who stared down with animosity and a twisted sort of disbelief where Evan lay on the ground. To where Kale tried to save my son’s life.

Then the monster bolted down the walkway and to his car.

His engine roared, and he sped away.

Gone.

The way I wanted him to be.

The sound of sirens whirred in the distance, growing louder and louder as they approached. Red and white lights flickered and flashed through the growing darkness in front of my house as a firetruck and ambulance arrived.

Paramedics swarmed around us, but Kale refused to budge from Evan. He shouted that he was a doctor, making orders, never pausing chest compressions.

Evan’s shirt was cut up the middle and a mask was placed over his mouth and nose.

I cringed when an IV was placed in his veins. I hated it for him, how terrified my son was of that specific thing. His fear of needles. The way I’d always wanted to take away all of his pain.

But I’d never, ever been prepared for this.

In a scramble of activity, a defibrillator was set on the ground.

My entire body froze in grief when they set the paddles on his chest and a huge shock jolted his tiny body.

I was certain the entire earth held its breath as we waited for the line on the monitor to blip to life.

But there was nothing.

They administered another.

I could feel all the pieces I’d been trying to hold together fall away when Evan was shocked again and there was still no response. In horror, I watched as Kale went back to compressions as Evan was strapped to a backboard and placed on a gurney.

Kale never stopped his efforts when they moved Evan.

He climbed onto the gurney and straddled my son.

Pumping.

Refusing to give up.

And I prayed. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed.

Promising I would never give up hope.

30

Kale

Fear took me whole. Frantically, I ran across the lot and dropped to my knees at her side.

Her eyes rolled back. “Melody!” I shouted.

I searched for her pulse. For her breath.

Screams echoed through the air.

My shouts for help.

“I won’t let this happen. I promise, I won’t let this happen.”

I pressed my hands to her chest and began to pump.

Compression after compression.

Teeth grinding together, I worked over her, begging, “Don’t leave me. I won’t let you leave me.”

I fought and the sun spun out of the sky.

Darkness.

The world canted and tipped from its axis.