Page 40 of Hearts of Wealth

“John, you have to stay awake,” I pleaded, my voice firm. “You can’t leave Catherine like this. You have to fight.”

To my relief, John stirred slightly, his hand reaching out to grab hold of my shirt. “Promise me, Timothy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

“I promise,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. “I’ll take care of her, John. I swear. But you’re going to be fine. Just stay awake. The ambulance is on the way.”

I could hear Luke talking into his phone as he paced back and forth. The silence was terrifying. The only sound was Luke’s low voice providing information to the dispatcher. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as we waited. Every breath John struggled to take told me things were dire.

John’s eyes were losing focus, his grip on my shirt slackening. I knew we were running out of time.

“No, John,” I said, my voice shaky despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “Stay with me.”

His lips moved, but no sound came out. I leaned in closer trying to catch what he was saying, but I couldn’t understand a word. His grip tightened once more on my shirt, the desperation in his eyes clear as day. And then he was out.

“John!” I gently shook his shoulder. “John! Don’t you dare! You stay with me. Catherine will kick my ass if you die on me! Wake up! John! Fight! Fight for her!”

A faint wail in the distance told me the cavalry was coming. Soon, the wailing was replaced by tires on gravel. Two paramedics rushed to John’s side, taking over where I had held vigil, their practiced hands making quick work of checking his pulse, starting an IV line, and fitting him with an oxygen mask.

I stepped away, allowing them to do their work, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. Luke stood next to me, his hands shaking as he ended his call to the dispatcher. “Holy hell, Timothy,” he breathed, running a trembling hand through his hair. “This is so bad.”

“I know,” I replied, my eyes never leaving the flurry of activity around John.

There was an agonizing sense of helplessness as we watched the paramedics work. Every passing second seemed to stretch out into eternity. John lay there, his face ghostly pale against the stark white sheets they’d spread under him.

I felt Luke’s hand on my shoulder. “They’re doing their best,” he said quietly. “John’s tough, he’ll pull through.”

He was trying to offer comfort, but his words didn’t reach me. My mind was spinning. “I have to call Catherine.”

“Maybe you should go to her,” Luke suggested quietly. “She probably shouldn’t drive.”

“What do I tell her?” I asked.

I honestly didn’t know if John was alive or dead. The paramedics were frantically working. John lay perfectly still. I didn’t know if he was breathing.

“Let’s go!” One of the paramedics said as they raised the stretcher and rushed past us.

“Call her,” Luke said. “I have a feeling every minute matters.”