Page 47 of Sparrow

My brain refuses to cooperate. It’s too busy chanting ‘my girl, my girl, my girl,’ like it’s some sort of mantra.

Like that’s going to somehow fucking save her.

So instead of making for one of the cars or bikes we have in the parking lot, I find myself sprinting through town toward the house with one tiny girl in my arms, a tiny part of my brain screaming that this is the stupidest possible way to do it. I’m at least twenty blocks from the house and will have to cross train tracks and half of town to get home.

On foot.

With human cargo.

It doesn’t matter. My feet are moving faster than they ever have, my legs pumping away and my lungs telling me I have plenty of oxygen for the run. And this way, I never have to put her down.

I hold her tighter, blocking out the sound of people shouting behind me–no doubt asking me what the fuck I’m doing–and bend so my mouth is right against her ear.

“Hold on, baby. I’m gonna get you home.”

I don’t know what happened or what’s wrong with her, but I know if I can get her back to the house, we can get it fixed.

We have to.

I skid into the driveway to find the entire gang already there, milling about the space like they’re all brand new dads waiting for their wives to finish giving birth. And no wonder, honestly; Arden has been here a matter of days and has already gone through the entire crew, taking names and fluttering her eyelashes.

At this point, she might as well be the club mascot.

Mars bursts through the door of the house and stalks toward me.

“Finally get here? What the fuck are you doing running? We have bikes, you know.”

I shoulder him aside and run for the steps. “Not now, Mars. I don’t want to hear it. Rookie, get Doc Mason. Now.”

I don’t wait to see whether they react to my suddenly giving orders and pushing Mars to the side. I want to get Arden upstairs and into her own bed. I want her warm and safe and away from prying eyes.

And yes, there’s a part of me that’s watching, confused, as I sell my own reputation to take care of this girl and murmurs something about me saving her the way someone should have saved me when I was a kid.

I don’t listen to that voice.

I don’t have time.

I hammer up the stairs with Mars right on my heels and turn right, then turn again into the room he gave her. It’s the best guest room in the house, but it already feels like her in here. Clothes are spread across the desk, mingling with the pictures there, and I at least three surfaces are covered with stacks of books. She’s turned the quilt over to use the side that has more green than blue, and the room smells like her.

I hadn’t even realized she had a smell, but now that I know, I can’t stop smelling it.

God, I sound crazy.

I lay her gently in the bed and step back, then turn to look at Mars. “Is she going to be okay?”

The question is quiet and vulnerable and I hate that, but I can’t seem to change it. I don’t want to be one of those people constantly asking Mars to fix something for them.

But I need someone else to tell me that she’s going to wake up and be fine.

Mars looks at me like he understands all of this, and his shoulders get straight and firm. “She’ll be okay,” he says gently. “Just need to get the doctor here to wake her up so she can tell us what the fuck is going on.”

Rookie and the doctor show up then, both of them trying to come through door at the same time, and for a moment there’s a scuffling scrabble there, a struggle, until Rookie physically pushes John Mason back and shoots through the door. He drops to his knees next to Arden and turns terrified eyes up at me.

“What happened?” he asks. “Why did she fall? Did someone hit her? Is she going to be okay?”

And God, sometimes I forget how fucking young and sheltered he is.

“She’s gonna be okay,” I say, though I have no way of knowing it. “Just need the doc here to take care of her.”