Page 26 of Hushed

He shakes his head and drops his voice. “Levi, you’re undoing me.” He points his toe and touches my heart with the tip of his shoe.

“Good.” I reach my arms out. “Come down now.”

“Give me a second to enjoy the moment. The view is the best part,” he says. He looks at me, and then twists to regard the boulder behind him like it was an old friend. He scans the forest, turning to both sides. And then he freezes, his gaze on something I can’t see.

“What is it?” I ask, trying to follow his gaze.

“Help me down,” Bastien says, reaching out his arms without looking at me. His voice sounds tense.

I clasp him to me and he slides down my body until I deposit him gently on the earth. I kiss his forehead. But he’s still looking in that same direction. He glances at me and then moves toward the edge of the trail. “Hello?” he calls.

I peer into the undergrowth and see a flash of bright blue.

“There’s someone there,” Bastien says, already moving faster than me. He pushes aside branches and stops short. “Oh, merde.”

I catch up and see what’s brought him to a halt. An older man, maybe in his late sixties, is sprawled half-hidden beneath a fallen log. He’s wearing a navy running jacket despite the heat, and it’s now almost black with sweat. His face is an alarming shade of red, his gray hair plastered to his forehead. He’s not moving.

“Sir?” I say, dropping to my knees beside him. “Can you hear me?”

The man’s eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t respond. I press my fingers to his neck and feel a pulse—too fast and too weak. I look at his face again. “He looks familiar.”

“Familiar how?”

“I don’t know. He just does.” I let it go, because it doesn’t matter. “He’s alive,” I tell Bastien. “Call 911.”

Bastien already has his phone out. “Pas de réception,” he says, his voice tight. I don’t even think he realizes he’s spoken to me in French.

“Fuck.” I look at the man again. His skin is hot to the touch but dry—not sweating anymore. That’s really not good. “This is heatstroke, maybe worse. We need to cool him down and get help.”

“I’ll run back to where we had service,” Bastien says, already calculating. “You stay with him.”

“No,” I say. I know exactly how far I can run at top speed in this heat, and I can bank on it being farther and faster than him. “You stay here. Keep him stable while I run for help.”

Bastien kneels beside me without even a second’s hesitation. I shed the backpack and dig through it.

“Pour water on his wrists and neck—not his face, he could aspirate,” I tell him, handing him our water bottles. “Loosen his clothes. Keep him in the shade. If he wakes up, small sips of water only. Do you understand me?”

Bastien’s hands are steady as he takes the water. “Got it.” He looks up at me. “I’m going to check his wallet. Maybe he has some kind of card to show if he has any kind of medical condition.”

I nod. “Good call.” Already I’m thinking ahead. If he’s had a heart attack, things are looking grim at best.

Bastien rifles through the man’s jacket pockets and his pants before pulling out a worn brown leather wallet stamped with the words US HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES. He glances at me for a second and opens it. He passes me a business card. Raymond Kessler, United States Representative, 7th District, Ohio.

Well, that explains where I saw him. At the Pentagon, members of the House were constantly on TV in the background. I turn to Bastien. “Okay, baby boy. I’m going to call for help. You okay here?”

“Yeah. I know CPR if he stops breathing. Go.”

I take off running back down the trail at top speed, holding my phone in front of me. The second it shows bars, I pull to a stop and dial 911 and inform the operator that we’ve found Raymond Kessler so they can get the ambulances out faster. Because even though, on paper, he should get the same priority as anybody else, that’s not the way this town works.

I make it out to the parking lot and wait, gasping for air as I listen for the sirens.

I pull out my phone to call Bastien so I can reassure him, and then realize that I never actually got his number. We’ve been joined at the hip since the moment we met, so why would I? I stare at my phone in frustration, calling myself out for being so boneheaded that I wouldn’t have covered the basics. It’s only after a good thirty seconds of heart-stopping rage and panic that I realize that he wouldn’t have gotten the call anyway.

Still, I ache to see him again. He shouldn’t have to go through this alone. What if the worst happens and he’s all alone?

I bounce on my heels, adjusting my cap as the EMTs pull into the parking lot, sirens blaring. Right behind them is a news truck that screeches into the parking lot and starts unloading gear. This is a news story.

“Where is he, son?” the man at the head of the ambulance team says as they pull a gurney out of the ambulance.