Page 4 of Golden Ruin

“What?” I sit straighter in my seat, the words not fully registering.

“They’re at the hospital.”

“Which hospital? Are they okay? Are they–”

The words in my head won’t even leave my mouth. I can’t ask it. Can’t think it.

“The ambulance brought them downtown. We’re here now,” he says.

I’m already peeling out of the parking lot, ignoring the car horns blaring at me when I cut into traffic. All I care about is getting to them as fast as I can.

I push a hand through my hair, trying to block the images that flash through my head. This shit can’t be real. It can’t be.

I just saw them, just talked to them. Jax was safe in bed, talking about a stuffed frog, and now…

Now, he’s…

“They got them out,” Benny says, cutting into my thoughts.

That should settle my heart a little, but it doesn’t. It’s not enough.

“Was he… was he okay?”

“He was breathing. That’s all I know.”

My vision blurs when my eyes fill, and I brush the back of my hand across them. “And Lexi?”

I take a turn too fast. More horns. Headlights cutting across the windshield as Benny takes too long to answer.

“Lexi. Is she okay?”

“I don’t… I don’t know yet,” he admits, and the way his voice cracks breaks me. “They’re still working on her. She was in pretty bad shape when she got here. They said she… went back for him.”

Into the fire?

His words make my thoughts go quiet as I imagine it. Of course she went back. That’s the kind of mom she is.

I wipe my eyes again, pressing harder on the gas. The light turns red, and I make the split decision to run it. I have to get to them, have to know they’re okay.

“Please, just… get here.”

“I’m on my way,” are my final words before the call ends, but my voice sounds robotic, too calm and focused for how I feel on the inside.

I’m dialing West on autopilot, knowing this is what you do when things like this happen. Call family, call friends, sit at the hospital together while you pray for good news. Only, it was never supposed to be my son, wasn’t supposed to be Lexi.

The phone rings then goes to voicemail, so I dial him back until he finally picks up. I recite everything I know like a script, trying not to think or feel too much. Because if I do, if I let myself feel it all, I’ll fall apart.

When the call ends, I’m still clutching the phone, wiping my eyes again because the second I push the wetness away, it comes back.

There’s no way this shit’s happening. Not to my son. Not to Lex.

It’s like I’m living inside my own fucking nightmare.

I don’t even remember pulling into the lot, but I’m here, parked halfway over the line. My head’s so full, I almost forget to turn off the engine before rushing inside.

The lights in the entrance are too bright, too sterile, and there are so many signs and arrows. Eventually, I focus enough to spot the information desk for the Emergency Department. I head straight for it, shoving my keys and phone into my pocket.

“How can I help you this evening, sir?”