Page 46 of In Their Hearts
Then I see it.
Paint cans have exploded, rolling and spilling across the floor. Shelves tipped—tools scattered like candy.
“Clay!” I scream.
Nothing.
What the fuck is happening?
With my ears ringing, I scramble up, panic already clawing at my chest. I can’t see him. I can’t hear him. My eyes fly to the back of the store, and my stomach drops as the roof in the stockroom has collapsed, beams crushed inward like they were made of sticks.
No. No, no, no.
“Clay!”
I run toward the back, my feet slipping, my breath coming in sharp, useless gasps. Smoke fills the air, thick and blinding. I can’t see more than a few inches ahead of me, the closer I get.
Why did this happen?
Why now?
The smell hits me next. Fire.
Fear accelerates through my veins. I turn and run, my hands shaking as I grab a fire extinguisher. Someone must have called 911. Someone, please call.
Sirens wail faintly in the distance, and hope flares for a second.
I force myself into the space, my eyes and lungs burning. Dread clawing at me.
Then I see him.
Clay is on the floor. My husband. Still. Too still.
“No,” I choke, dropping to my knees beside him. My hands hover, terrified to touch him, terrified of what I’ll feel. “No, please, no.”
It should’ve been me. Not him.
“I can’t lose you,” I whisper, my voice breaking apart. “I can’t… please. I fucking won’t lose you.”
The sirens grow louder, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat and the sickening question pounding through my head. Why? I don’t understand.
The sirens are deafening by the time they reach us. Red and blue lights slice through the smoke, through my thoughts.
Hands pull me back, voices shout instructions I can’t process. Someone asks me his name. Someone else asks me to step aside. Everything is happening so fast.
“My husband,” I keep repeating. “That’s my husband.”
They load him onto a stretcher. I follow too closely, tripping over my own feet, terrified that if I let them take him without me, he’ll disappear.
The ambulance doors slam shut, and I’m inside before I remember climbing in. My fingers are wrapped around Clay’s hand. Cool, dusty, and not squeezing back.
I talk anyway. I tell him to stay with me. I tell him I love him, like maybe that will be enough. It has to be enough.
The ride is a blur of voices, jolts, and numbers I don’t understand. Blood pressure. Oxygen. Pupils. Every word feels like a verdict I’m not ready to hear.
At the ER, everything explodes into motion. Doors fly open. Hands take him from me.
“No,” I protest, my voice cracking.
