Lucy stood on the lawn in the downpour, watching the ambulance speed off with Frank and Beverly inside, on their way to the hospital in Primrose Valley.
She’d called Beverly as soon as she got off the phone with the 911 dispatcher. If it had been Vick trapped in a burning building, she’d want to know. She’d want to be by his side as soon as possible.
Thinking of Vick, she glanced over her shoulder. She’d lost sight of him in the commotion. The last place she remembered seeing him was in the backyard.
Her gut wrenched when she rounded the house and saw the smoldering remnants of the barn. The entire roof had caved in, and burnt timber and ash littered the ground. Thankfully, with the help of the storm, they’d been able to put the fire out quickly, before the entire building was engulfed in flames.
She found Vick sitting on the top step of the back porch, barely protected by the overhang. He was bent forward, shoulders hunched, gasping for air.
Panic gripped her chest. He’d inhaled too much smoke! She should’ve made him ride in the ambulance with Frank. He needed to be checked out by a doctor.
She rushed over to him, trying not to sound as frantic as she felt. “Come on, you need to go to the hospital.”
He didn’t answer.
His eyes looked wild, and he fidgeted with his left hand, his fingers trembling.
It was even worse than she thought.
She sat beside him, fear creeping into her throat. “Vick, what’s wrong?”
He continued to tap his fingers against his thumb, inhaling and exhaling in ragged breaths.
She grabbed his free hand, lacing her fingers through his, and pressed their palms together.
The contact seemed to snap him out of his trance.
He met her gaze, and her heart broke at the sorrow reflected in his eyes.
“Please, Vick. Tell me what’s going on.”
He glanced down at their entwined fingers, staring in silence.
Waiting with agonizing patience, Lucy prayed he’d respond.
Something about Lucy’s touch soothed the tremor in Vick’s hand.
He’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone who cared this deeply, a partner in life’s most soul-wrenching moments.
Someone worthy of his trust.
Lucy was that person and so much more.
He drew in a breath—steadier this time—and met her gaze again, finding comfort in her eyes.
“I’ve never told anyone this before…” He hesitated, realizing he’d never even said the words out loud.
“I was diagnosed with PTSD.” The detestable letters escaped through clenched teeth and tasted bitter in his mouth. He hated the sound of the official diagnosis. Even inside his own head, he avoided calling it what it was. It made him feel weak.
“Oh, Vick. I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand, fervent compassion etched into every feature.
He closed his eyes, still plagued by unbearable heat, choking on toxic fumes, as though caught in a merciless loop.
“We were on patrol in this run-down village surrounded by opium fields. Things seemed fairly routine until, out of nowhere, bullets rained down on us from every direction. I told my buddy Hodge to duck behind an SUV for cover.”
His throat went dry, and he suddenly found it impossible to swallow.
You have to get through this….
He forced another breath, trying to block out the horrific memory.
“I swear I had no idea—” His voice cracked, and the panic rose in his chest, pressing against his rib cage until he nearly cried out in pain.
Lucy looped her arm through his, scooting closer as she offered support with her presence.
His breathing slowed.
“What happened?” she whispered, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“A car bomb.” Guilt, remorse, and shame tumbled inside, overwhelming him with grief. “He never saw it coming. And it was my fault. If only I hadn’t—”
“It’s not your fault,” she interrupted, gentle yet firm. “You couldn’t have known. And you shouldn’t live with that guilt. I don’t think your friend would want you to.”
He nodded, still wrestling with the bereavement and self-reproach.
Deep down, Vick knew Lucy was right. But on some level, the guilt helped him cope. He wanted to put the blame somewhere, and a random terrorist was too nebulous to carry the weight. There was so much about the war he still couldn’t reconcile. He didn’t know if he ever would.
Even as the thought churned in his mind, he knew Hodge’s death alone wasn’t what caused the PTSD. The news he got the next day had pushed him over the edge. But he wasn’t sure how much more misery he could share in one sitting.
Leaning against him, Lucy rested her head on his shoulder, her silent tears sinking into his soaked shirt.
She didn’t say another word, didn’t offer any hollow platitudes or trite sayings. She merely clung to him, and her company said everything he needed.
“Thanks, Luce.”
“For what?” She sniffled, tilting her chin to glimpse his face.
“For being here. For listening. For being someone I can trust. It’s not easy to talk about my feelings. But you inspire me to put myself out there when it counts. I may not be vulnerable with everyone, but I want to be with you.” He felt a sense of relief as he spoke, as though he should’ve said the words a long time ago.
He never thought he’d have this deep of a connection with anyone. And he never wanted to lose it.
“What do you say we head to the hospital and check on Frank?” he asked, wanting to make sure he was all right.
“I’d like that. But you’re sure you’re okay?”
He glanced at their hands again, perfectly molded together.
And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he could honestly say that he was.
Lucy gripped Vick’s hand, anxiously awaiting an update as they sat in the hallway of Mountain Crest Hospital.
Her entire body ached from emotional exhaustion, especially her heart. She so badly wanted to take Vick’s pain away, but she didn’t know how. Helpless and out of her depth, all she could do was be there for him and pray it was enough.
Now, they restlessly waited for a verdict on Frank’s condition.
Considering she’d visited this very hospital a few weeks ago, she couldn’t wait to escape the harsh fluorescent lighting and pungent smell of sickness and cleaning chemicals. But she wouldn’t dream of leaving until they knew Frank was all right.
Lucy thought about calling Cassie and the others, knowing they’d want to be here, too, but she decided to hold off until she could ask Beverly, in case she found it overwhelming.
As if on cue, Beverly emerged through the swinging door, her features pale yet calm. “He’s going to be fine.”
Tears of gratitude stung the backs of Lucy’s eyes, and she sprang from the seat. “Praise God,” she breathed, gathering Beverly in the kind of hug that said far more than words.
“Do they know what happened?” Vick asked, standing beside her.
“Like a stubborn fool, he decided to roast on his own.” She dabbed her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief, her words softened by her intense relief. “He slipped on some spilled beans and dislocated his hip when he fell. He tried crawling to the machine to shut it off, but couldn’t make it.”
“I’m guessing it overheated, causing the fire, and Frank passed out in the smoke,” Vick concluded.
Beverly nodded tearfully. “If you two hadn’t arrived when you did, he might not be here today.” She squeezed their hands, and Lucy breathed another silent thank-you that Vick had offered to go with her. She had no idea what she would’ve done if she’d been alone.
“I’d better get back to Frank. The doctor said he can have regular visitors tomorrow. I know he’d love to see you.”
She hugged and thanked them both again before disappearing through the swinging door.
Lucy turned to Vick and smiled through her tears. “I’m so glad he’s going to be okay.” All the energy seeped from her body along with her pent-up fear and anxiety.
He reached for her, and she leaned against him, relishing the weight of his arm around her.
“Hungry?” he asked.
Earlier, food had been the furthest thing from her mind, but now? “I’m famished,” she admitted with a sheepish grin, regretting that their lunch from the diner had been ruined in the rain.
“Come on, let’s change out of these wet clothes and get something to eat.” With his arm still slung around her shoulders, they headed for the exit.
That’s when she heard someone call her name, and her blood ran cold at the familiar voice.