Page 51 of Fractured Hearts

We get him into the lukewarm bath easier than I was expecting. Jo runs out of the room the moment Ezra is settled, but I’m too focused on him to ask where she’s going. His lips are blue, but he’s not shaking, which I’m pretty sure is bad. I watched a lot of random medical dramas with Belle while we were on tour, but I doubt they’re medically accurate.

Ezra used to talk about moving far away from the ocean. We grew up in a beach town and the man hated sand. Hated that it got everywhere and you’d be vacuuming it up for weeks after a single afternoon spent in the sun. It didn’t help that during the hottest days, the sand would feel like lava on your feet, but the ocean was still the temperature of an iceberg. I understood his disdain, so we would dream up our lives away from the beach. Maybe in an artsy city or a small mountain town. Sometimes it was a villa in Tuscany where he could work on his photography, and I would learn to make wine. Always just the two of us and maybe a cat. Neither of us wanted kids. We never wanted to share each other.

“Got them,” Jo yells, startling me. I was too busy watching the rise and fall of Ezra’s chest to pay attention to anything else.

“Got what?” I ask as she shoves a thermometer into Ezra’s mouth. Well, that answers that question. I watch her throw a silver cord into the water that’s attached to something red in her hand. “What is that?”

“Meat thermometer.” She grabs the medical thermometer out of Ezra’s mouth when it beeps. “Eighty-four. That means he’s moderate, which explains why he’s having trouble staying awake,” she says, more to herself than me.

“Is that why he’s not shaking?”

“I think so,” Jo says, showing me what she has pulled up on her phone. “Hopefully Darren will get here soon.”

“Should we have called an ambulance?” I ask, trying to loosen the grip I have on Ezra’s hand so I don’t hurt him.

“Darren said the closest one is thirty minutes from town, which makes it almost an hour from here. He was a better bet.”

I watch Jo as she keeps track of Ezra’s temperature and that of the water, slowly draining and refilling to increase the temperature. By the time Darren arrives with a flustered Martha on his heels, Ezra is up to ninety-four degrees and shaking so violently that the water is mostly out of the tub. Jo doesn’t even flinch as she continues to monitor Ezra and the water while discussing the next steps with Darren.

“You should let go of his hand or you both might end up hurt,” Darren says.

“Can’t,” I rasp, my emotions clogging my throat. My clothes are soaked, both from the rain and the tub. At least the water from the tub was warm. A towel appeared around my shoulders at some point, which I suspect was courtesy of Martha, since I could hear another woman’s voice. My eyes haven’t moved from Ezra long enough to check.

Once Ezra’s temperature reaches ninety-eight, we get him out of the tub and into dry clothes. He’s able to walk on shaky legs with my help to his bed. Or my bed I guess. There’s no way I’m putting him in the basement on an air mattress. I petitioned to put him on the couch since there were no stairs, but Darren insisted he be in a bed so that he could set up an IV with less risk of it being pulled out.

The moment I have Ezra situated and Darren is finished, we all head down to the kitchen where Martha has made tea and cookies. We must have been in the bathroom longer than I thought if she managed to bake cookies in that time. Looking out the window, I realize that not only is it dark, but the sun is rising again. I’m hit with such a sweeping wave of exhaustion, I have to sit down before my legs give out. I plop down on one of the stools at the island and let my head slam onto the granite.

“Jesus, Maverick. Can we deal with one head injury at a time, please?” Jo says, sitting on the stool next to me with far more grace, but when I turn my head to look at her, I see the same level of exhaustion there.

My head flies up as I register her words. “Ezra’s head was bleeding on the cliff stairs.” I pause, not remembering seeing any blood after that. “I think.”

“He had a small laceration beneath his hairline. It didn’t need stitches, and I suspect any blood there may have been washed away in the tsunami that was your bathroom.” Darren smiles at me and grips my shoulder. “He’s going to be just fine. He’s lucky you found him and helped him when you did.”

I nod because that’s all I can manage with the sudden lump in my throat and burning behind my eyes. With one more squeeze, Darren lets go and turns to Jo.

“You have my number. Call me if anything changes overnight. I’ll be back in the morning to take out his IV.”

“Thank you,” Jo says, giving Darren a hug and then Martha.

“Call us if you need anything anytime, dear,” Martha says, patting Jo on the cheek.

I watch them both put on their shoes and jackets before leaving. The moment I hear the click of the door closing, I let out a sob. Jo is immediately there, holding me in her arms. Keeping me together like she always does. Or she always did, anyway.

“He’s okay, Maverick.” I nod into her shoulder, letting her warmth and the familiar scent and feel of her soothe me. “Why don’t you go to bed? You’ll be right next to Ezra if he needs you.”

Lifting my head, I search her face, not sure what I’m looking for. All I see is concern and sincerity in her eyes. “Okay,” I whisper and kiss the top of her head. It was an action made of habit, and I hate the way she stiffens from the contact. I’m too tired to think about that and still too worried about Ezra to stay away from him any longer. I leave the warmth and safety of her arms and make my way upstairs to the man I almost lost again.

forty-nine

EZRA

I don’t remember my body ever hurting this much. Every single inch of me is sore. My eyes slowly blink open. I’m in my room. Maverick’s room now. Light streams from behind the curtains. Lifting my arm, I see an IV attached. Then I remember the beach and the podcast. Before I can spiral again, something next to me moves. Turning, I see Maverick asleep next to me, and my breath catches in my throat. I want to reach over and brush the stray hair from his face, but I don’t, scared that this is a dream and touching him will wake me up.

I don’t know how long I watch him. Minutes, maybe hours, but too soon he opens his eyes. The warm honey color meets mine, and he smiles. My chest feels like it’s about to explode from that beautiful smile being directed at me.

“You’re awake,” he says, voice gravelly from sleep.

“What happened?” I ask. My voice is raspy and my throat is dry.