Page 20 of Little Pieces of Light

Emery

I walked away from Xander with Tucker and his friends, each step more painful than the last, and arrived at the bonfire just in time to see my brother pull his hand out of the flames.

What am I looking at…?

It felt like a dream—or a nightmare. Jack held up his smoldering fist as if he were holding a torch. But the torch was his own hand. Then he fell to his knees and began to laugh.

A scream tore out of my throat. I shoved people aside as I rushed to my brother and fell to my knees beside him.

Immediately, two sensations flooded my senses: the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of Jack’s moans.

His skin was blackened in some places, angry red in others, and his hand locked in a tight clench.

I put my arm around his waist, and he held his injured arm out of the way so it wouldn’t touch anything. “Jack, what happened?”

His answer was a strangled cry of agony. Murmurs and whispers came from all sides.

“Did anyone see it?”

“I think he fell in.”

“I think he was pushed…”

I glared up at Tucker, standing stupidly, mouth hanging open.

“Do something!” I screamed at him and the onlookers. “Someone call an ambulance!”

“I’ll drive him to the hospital,” Dean Yearwood said, he and Harper appearing by my side. “It’s faster than waiting.”

I nodded mutely as Dean took hold of Jack from the other side.

The two of us dragged my brother across the sand, then the asphalt.

Harper jogged in front of us, pushing through students to create a path.

It took all three of us to get Jack into the back seat of Dean’s car.

Immediately the stench of the burn—sickly sweet—mixed with the scent of alcohol from Jack’s breath filled the interior.

I was glad he was drunk. Maybe it kept him from feeling all of the pain.

Jack moaned a constant keening wail, but I had to wonder how much was for his hand and how much was for his heart.

Because he kept talking about Grant.

“It’s all bullshit, Emery,” he said, half crying, his head lolling on the back of the seat. “For years, they tell us… But it’s lies, you know? They killed Grant. They killed him…”

“Shh, it’s okay, Jack,” I whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

But looking at his hand, that felt like the worst lie.

Dean dove into the driver’s seat, and Harper sat on the other side of Jack.

The two of us sandwiched him in, holding him steady while Dean tore out of the parking lot.

Castle Hill didn’t have a real hospital, only a medical center, and it was closed for the night.

Dean sped north, to Newport. I held Jack and talk soothingly into his ear, hoping to take his mind off the pain and charred nightmare of his fist.

Finally, Dean screeched up to the hospital’s emergency room entrance. He threw the car into park and jumped out. “Help us! Someone help us, please,” he cried, waving his arms.

Medical personnel came pouring outside.

“What happened?” a doctor asked while carefully extracting my brother from the car.

“We were at a bonfire at the Castle Hill Lighthouse,” Dean said, shooting me a glance. “I think he fell. He’s pretty drunk.”

The doctor nodded grimly as they loaded Jack onto a stretcher. Once he was secure, the team hustled him inside, and then he was gone.

In the waiting room, I sagged against the wall. The adrenaline that had been coursing through my veins bottomed out, and a flood of tears swamped me. Dean and Harper helped me to a chair.

“You want us to call your mom or dad?” Dean asked.

“I’ll do it.” I pulled out my cell phone, and it fell out of my shaking hands. Harper picked it up and handed it back to me.

“Emery,” Dean said before I could dial. “I didn’t know what to tell the doctor, or if Jack might get in trouble or something, but you should know. He didn’t fall.”

Harper nodded. “He said something about a train and then he reached into the fire.”

My eyes fell shut and I thought I was going to be sick all over again.

Oh, Jack.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay. Let me just…I’ll tell them.”

Dean and Harper moved away to let me call my dad.

He answered on the second ring with a curt, “Yes?”

“I’m at Newport Hospital. It’s Jack.”

“What happened?” Dad asked with a slight tinge of urgency in his tone.

“His hand… We were at the bonfire and…he burned his hand. It’s pretty bad. He needs help, Daddy. He needs—”

“Was he drunk?”

“What—? Daddy, just come, please. Newport Hospital.”

“Calm down, Emery, and don’t say anything to anyone. I’ll be right there.”

The line went quiet, and I let the phone fall to my lap. Harper sat with me while Dean talked to the nurses at the front desk.

“Do you want some water?” Harper asked. “Coffee?”

“Water, please,” I rasped. I felt as if I’d been lost in a desert. Harper returned quickly with a paper cup. “Thank you for helping tonight.”

“Of course.”

She and Dean sat on either side of me as we waited. Finally, my father arrived with Colin, his driver and unofficial bodyguard.

I rushed to him, then stopped when I saw no one else was with them. “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s indisposed,” Dad said tightly, glancing between Dean and Harper, who flanked me. To them, he said, “This is a family matter. You may go.”

“Daddy!” I cried, mortified. “If it weren’t for Dean, we’d still be at the beach waiting for an ambulance.”

My father offered Dean his hand. “I appreciate your quick thinking, son, but this issue is a private one.”

“Sure, sure,” Dean said, and glanced at me. “Keep us posted, okay?”

I nodded as Harper gave my hand a squeeze, and then they headed out.

Dad glanced around. “Who is the doctor in charge?”

“I don’t know. They’re working on Jack. They took him back somewhere and told us to wait.”

Grayson Wallace was not about to wait. He went to the nurse’s station with Colin and started making demands. I sank back into my chair and waited for what felt like an eternity before a doctor appeared.

“Wallace family?”

I jumped up. “Yes.”

My father indicated a quiet corner where we should talk. “What’s the situation?” he asked once we were out of earshot.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” the doctor said. His badge read Baker . “Jack has sustained second- and third-degree burns over approximately eighty percent of his left hand and wrist.”

My dad stiffened. “What does that mean? Does he keep his hand?”

Oh God…

The doctor nodded. “He will. It’s a matter of how much damage—if any—was done to his tendons, nerves, and muscles. I estimate he’s facing at least one skin graft surgery and rehabilitation. The burn specialist, Dr. O’Connell, will do a thorough assessment tomorrow morning.”

“How is Jack?” I asked in a small voice.

“He’s sedated and resting with painkillers.” Dr. Baker turned to my dad. “I have to tell you, sir, his blood alcohol content was .15 percent, which is extremely high and extraordinarily dangerous.”

My father’s lips made a thin line. “So he fell. He fell into the fire like a drunkard.”

I started to protest. “That’s not—”

“Accidents like this happen when one is that careless,” he snapped.

Dr. Baker’s eyes went between us, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we have him on antibiotics to prevent infection, but I think he has a long road ahead of him.”

“Fine, thank you. Let’s go, Emery.”

I stared. “We’re leaving ?”

“You heard the doctor. We can’t see him right now. He’s unconscious or sleeping it off. We’ll come back in the morning at a reasonable hour.”

I stared helplessly at Dr. Baker, who shot me sympathetic look. “He’s sedated,” he told me gently. “He’ll be better suited for visitors tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, because he was giving me permission to leave without being eaten alive by guilt.

I followed my dad to the parking lot. Colin held open the door to the sedan, and we climbed inside.

“Daddy,” I said into the quiet before Colin started the car. “I heard that maybe…maybe it wasn’t an accident. He didn’t fall. I think Jack…” I swallowed hard, my voice shaky. “I think he needs help. Since Grant died, he needs—”

“We do not speak of that,” my father replied. “But yes, I agree. Your brother needs help. Perhaps at a rehab facility or boarding school or military academy, where he can get his head on straight.”

“No, Daddy. I meant—”

“Be silent, Emery. I’ve had enough for one evening.”

I snapped my mouth shut, anger flaring. He’s had enough? He didn’t see Jack’s charred hand. He didn’t smell the burnt flesh or…

I squeezed my eyes shut and vowed to be at the hospital first thing in the morning, with or without my dad.

My phone buzzed with a text; it had been buzzing all night. I had at least twenty missed messages. Each was more disgusting than the last—just people eager for gossip and drama.

Except for one. Xander.

You don’t have to answer, but I hope Jack is okay. And that you are too.

I smiled and turned away from my father, toward the window, where the night was as black as ever, and typed a reply.

It’s not good. Probably needs skin grafts. We’ll know more tomorrow.

Xander’s follow-up text was instant. How can I help?

I smiled. You just did. Just being there helps .

Do you want to talk?

I glanced at my dad. Can’t now. But thank you.

The rolling dots came and went. Then again. Xander was wrestling with what to say. Finally, a new text popped up.

I wish I’d been there for you tonight.

My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes. Before I could reply, he sent another.

I wish I’d been there for you so many nights. I probably shouldn’t say that, but I feel like we lost seven years.

I quickly replied, “I do too.”

My dad heard my sniffling and glanced my way.

I have to go. Goodnight, Xander.

Goodnight, Emery.

And before I knew what I was doing, I sent a red heart emoji and then tucked my phone away.

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