IMOGEN
I was digging.
I was digging with my bloody hands, and I was screaming. Calling out for Jack and Beckett. Shouting into the pile of rubble, searching the spot where I knew Jack had landed on top of his brother on the sidewalk.
I spotted a leg. I threw more bricks and cement and debris away, ignoring the searing pain of my flesh.
And, then … a butt. Jack’s perfectly sculpted butt.
I’d never been so happy to see it.
I kept digging, calling their names, listening for any noise that told me they were still alive.
Jack grunted.
“Thank the stars,” I cried.
“Beck?” Jack’s voice croaked. “Beck, you there, you bastard?”
Beck groaned.
Relief flowed from every pore in my body. It mixed with the blood that covered my cracked, decimated hands.
We were going to be okay.
It was going to be okay.