Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
But fuck. It was worse than he’d imagined. Rhys’s boss, Martin, was in the waiting room when he arrived. His wrists were still caked with mud—though his hands looked cleaner as if he’d speedily washed them—and his fingers were shaky.
“What the hell happened?” he asked in a rush.
“Rhys was doing a free climb with Jill…” Martin trailed off, as if reliving the scene in his mind.
Suddenly a heated discussion between Emerson and Rhys arose in his memory, and he recognized the term. It meant the climber used a line to secure himself to the mountain with little other equipment to guide him. The idea was that he was unrestricted—free—to find his own way up, using whatever natural hand and footholds he found. Rhys explained you could climb the same cliff and have a different experience each time based on where you began your ascent.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Emerson had asked Rhys at the time.
“You’re thinking of free soloing, the kind of climb you hear about on the news when people fall from the side of a mountain because they didn’t use any equipment or protection. I’m not that adventurous—or dumb,” he’d scoffed. “Though I get why it would feel exhilarating.”
He zeroed back in on Martin, hoping that Rhys had still taken some precautions. His climbing partner too.
“Is Jill—?” Emerson looked around, hoping she wasn’t in a hospital room too.
“She’s fine,” he replied. “A bit shaken. She was able to get out of the way of the debris. Rocks came cascading from the summit—we suspect they might’ve been kicked up by some animal—and one hit Rhys square on the head.”
Emerson’s stomach bottomed out. “Was he wearing a helmet?”
“Thankfully, yes. Put a crack in that sucker.”
Emerson sagged against the wall. It was like his worst nightmare come true—all the little fears he’d imagined over the years when Rhys would go climbing or cliff-diving or jumping out of an airplane. He’d gotten better at subverting his anxiety, but after his parents’ accident, he’d become a bit of a basket case again, and Rhys had avoided the topic for a long while, probably recognizing how upset it made him.
“Then what happened?” Emerson held his breath, almost afraid of the answer, but maybe he’d already heard the worst of it.
“He lost his footing.” Emerson’s hand slammed over his mouth. “The line was anchored and caught his fall. But he hit the side of the mountain pretty hard, which means his body took the brunt. So between that and his head…”
“Holy fuck.” Emerson straightened. “I need to see him. Can I see him?”
“Of course.” Martin steered him through the double doors, past the nurses station, and then to his room in the ICU.
As soon as he saw him, Emerson screwed his eyes shut and propped his hand on the corner of the table near his bed. His head was bandaged, as were his arms, most likely from abrasions or…hell if he knew. He was hooked up to an IV and some other machines that were beeping.
As he approached the bed, the nurse fiddling with one of the apparatuses turned to greet him. “Don’t worry, he’s resting comfortably.”
Rhys was asleep, so Emerson couldn’t even see his eyes and read the emotions in them. Or maybe Rhys was too out of it to even understand the gravity of what happened yet.
He reached out to touch his hand, to feel his warm skin, the only indication that his friend’s blood was still pumping inside him. He refused to think of that other memory, of the sterile lab and the cold metal table.
“Has he said anything yet?” he asked, hoping the situation wasn’t graver than it appeared.
The nurse threw him a sympathetic look. “He’s sustained head trauma, so rest is most important now. We’ll know more in a couple of days.”
Holy shit. He sat down hard on the chair behind him. Seeing Rhys in an unresponsive, vulnerable state was gut-wrenching.
“Rhys, I’m here,” he said to him, even though he was pretty sure he couldn’t hear him. Still he persisted. “Your mom is on her way.”
Suddenly, he remembered he needed to bring Rhys’s mother up to speed.
“I gotta call Mrs. Lancaster,” he said to Martin as he swept by him to the hallway.
He caught Mrs. Lancaster as she and Carl were on standby for a flight. He hoped they’d be able to board it. He tried to lighten her burden as he gave her the information that Rhys was resting comfortably and being taken care of. No way did she need to be a nervous wreck on the plane.
“They’ll fill you in better on his condition once you get here.” Emerson knew she was a worrier too, but she sounded steadier now, possibly because Carl was with her. She thanked him for the call and said she would see him in a few hours.