Page 107 of Fallen Creed

Grand Island, Nebraska

Creed woke to an unfamiliar sound. Dim light cast shadows. He expected to see the cramped quarters of the trailer. His hand searched for Grace and found only bedsheets. Someone stirred, and his eyes darted to the silhouette sitting next to his bed.

“Brodie?”

“Grace is okay,” his sister told him, scooting the chair closer. Of course, she knew Grace would be the first thing on his mind. “She’s with Hank and Scout. Can I get you anything?”

He glanced around the hospital room, reacquainting himself with the space. He pointed to the tray on the other side of the bed. “Some water.” His throat felt like sandpaper.

She didn’t hesitate, moving with purpose as though she’d done this a few times. She handed him the oversized plastic jug, then she pulled the tray within reach.

He sipped while is other hand dropped to his side. The bandage was dry, no blood seeped through the thin hospital gown. He still wanted to peel it up. Take a look. Instead, he asked, “What day is it?”

“Monday. How do you feel?”

He thought about it before he answered. “Tired.”

They asked him that too often. Although, he didn’t really remember much. Snippets. Enough to know they were taking turns in the chair next to his bed. Brodie, Jason and Maggie. Hannah? No. If he’d seen Hannah, he would have known he was in terrible shape.

He tried to sit up, and a sting in his shoulder stopped him. Brodie pulled a remote from the side of the mattress. She pushed buttons and his bed started to move, adjusting. His fingers found another bandage.

“The bullet grazed you.”

“Right.”

This wasn’t the first time they had to remind him. As foggy as his mind was, he wished he could forget Ariel pulling the trigger. And now he remembered Libby. She had visited him, too. Sat quietly beside the bed when he was mostly unconscious. But he could hear her. He could hear most of them. He just couldn’t respond. It took too much effort.

He had listened to her confess. Apologize. And even cry.

“It’s not your fault,” he tried to tell her, but the words stayed in his head no matter how hard he tried to say them out loud. It was too hard to open his eyes.

The same thing had happened when Maggie sat beside him. It must have been the first night he was here. He could hear her talking to him. She was upset and worried. He wanted to tell her he was okay, but he was still in the barn. Visions of Ariel and Ruben imprinted on his mind. A movie reel played over those last moments. Ariel’s eyes. The spark gone, replaced by a cold resolve. He should have grabbed the gun. He could have saved her.

Sometimes they don’t want to be rescued.

Hannah’s words.

Beside him, he heard Maggie apologizing that she had waited too long. He wanted to tell her he could take care of himself. But that wasn’t what she was talking about. He tried to listen.

“I should have said it sooner. I love you, Ryder Creed.”

The movie reel began again, a gunshot. Ruben’s body jerking, but Creed grabbed onto her words and tried to hold on. He heard her laugh to herself, then tell him, “Real brave, huh? Finally professing my love when you’re unconscious?”

The reel took over. Ariel’s eyes, no longer fiery green. A second gunshot.

Later, when he did wake up, Maggie was gone. Jason had taken her place. This, Creed remembered because his young handler was quite blunt in his greeting: “You scared the hell out of us.”

Now here with Brodie, he realized how lucky he was to have so many people who cared about him.

“When can I get out of here?” he asked.

“Well, since I’m your next of kin,” Brodie said this with an exaggerated pronouncement of pride, “the doctor has been talking to me.”

He smiled. “So, when can you bust me out of here?”

“You know you lost a lot of blood?”

He remembered the bags hanging alongside him and glanced up. They were clear now. “I can rest at home,” he told her.