Page 73 of Halo

“Matt has an EpiPen.” Leah grabs my shoulder. “It's an adult dose—”

“It'll work.” I haul Grady into my arms. He's heavy, limp, fighting for air that won't come. I press my cheek to his fevered temple. “C’mon, partner … hang in there. Breathe. Please keep breathing …”

The sirens scream closer as bright red lights strobe in my periphery. The ambulance honks a horn, coaxing people to pave the way to get to us.

Grady's movements turn lethargic, his hands dropping limp to his sides.

No.

He can't do this.

I can't do this.

I clutch him tighter, my fingers digging into his ribs. “Please, Grady. C’mon, partner. Stay with Daddy, okay? You have to stay with me—” My voice breaks, ugly and desperate. “You're supposed to dance in the Nutcracker some day, remember? And we haven't read your new dinosaur book yet … C’mon, damnit … You have to fight, partner, you hear me?”

His eyelids flutter. The struggle's leaving him, leaking out with every shallow breath.

“Nick!” Leah pushes through the crowd, the EpiPen clutched in her fist. Matt and Declan barrel behind her, their faces white.

I snatch it from her.

Pulling Grady's lifeless thigh toward me, I find the thickest part of his muscle through the pants of his costume, then plunge the needle deep. He doesn't even wince as I push the medicine into him.

“C’mon, partner. Just breathe,” I whisper. Cradling his body, I press my forehead to his as a lone tear slopes down my nose and pools onto his blotchy skin. I hold my breath, counting seconds that stretch into minutes, waiting for a single gasp—a gasp that seems to never come.

This can't be happening.

We just met.

“Just breathe. Just—”

The whisper of a shudder catches my attention. His ribs faintly compress, briefly rising again beneath my arm.

Then comes the faint rattle of a gasp.

Grady's body jerks.

Suddenly, he coughs and sputters. He gulps air frantically, desperate for air as color floods back into his swollen face.

“That's it,” I choke out, my vision blurring. “Keep breathing.”

His beautiful dark eyes blink open, instantly finding mine.

“Hey, there, partner …” My fingers brush over his face, tracing his tiny features before finding his hand to hold.

A moment later, his fingers curl around my thumb. His grip is weak, but it's there. He knows where he is. He knows he's safe.

A sob tears out of me, my forehead dropping to his shoulder. I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of his breathing wash over me, each ragged inhale stitching my shattered heart back together one breath at a time.

“Are you Dad?” A paramedic kneels beside me, his partner already reaching for the oxygen bag. “I'm Kris, and this is Brock. We're with Gulf Waters EMS, and we're going to take good care of your son, okay? Let's get him loaded up.” They lift my boy from my arms, the sudden emptiness painful. “C’mon with us.”

They carry Grady into the ambulance, hooking him up to oxygen and monitors.

I climb in beside him, taking his hand again as the doors slam shut behind us. I wipe at my eyes with my shoulder before brushing my thumb over his tiny knuckles.

“We're gonna be okay now, partner,” I whisper. “We're okay.”

***