Page 137 of Now and Then

Family. We may not be married yet, but Hunter has been family from the first moment we met him.

“She’s his girlfriend,” Luke says, “and he’s my best friend.”

The receptionist eyes him. “Close enough. Come on back.”

Navy squeezes my shoulder. “Go,” she says softly. “He’ll want to see you first.”

Luke stays close as we walk, his arm brushing mine like he’s making sure I don’t disappear. The hallway narrows as we make another turn in the maze. Machines beep behind closed curtains. Nurses move with quiet purpose, their shoes whispering across the floor.

Tears prick my eyes as I remember the room my dad stayed in, the machines he was hooked up to, and the constant stream of nurses and doctors. I’ve stood in a place like this too many times before. But this time I’m here for Hunter.

My best friend. My everything.

We reach an open curtain, and my breath stutters when I see Hunter. He’s lying shirtless on the stretcher, feet hanging over the end, blankets draped across his lap, IV lines trailing from the inside of his elbow. His shoulder, forearm, and pectoral are wrapped in clean, white dressings, the skin red and puckered at the edges. A temporary cast covers his left wrist.

His eyes are closed, but his chest rises slowly and steadily. The heart monitor beeps softly beside him.

All I want to do is run to his side, but my feet won’t move. Like if I step any closer, it will make this real in a way I’m not prepared for.

“Excuse me, Doctor?” Luke’s voice cuts through the silence.

The doctor looks up from the chart. “You’re here for Hunter?”

“Uh, yes,” I nod, my throat tight. “I’m his girlfriend, Sutton.”

“Luke Bradley. Best friend.”

“Hi, I’m Dr. Winters.” She shakes each of our hands. “He’s got some burns. Mostly second-degree on his shoulder, a few third-degree patches on his chest and forearm. There’s no internal trauma, but he does have a clean fracture to his radius. Overall, he’s pretty lucky.”

My knees nearly give out. I’m grateful he’s okay, but I don’t like seeing him injured in any way. Luke tries to steady me, but I shrug him off with a half-attempt at a smile. I got this, I communicate with a glance.

Dr. Winters explains that although the burns have been treated, they’ll continue to burn deeper over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I take a deep breath to steady myself when she mentions he’ll have to come in every few weeks to remove dead skin.

“Do you know what happened?” Luke asks.

“It appears Mr. Michaels was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Dr. Winters says. “Mr. Donnelly was with him when the ambulance brought him in.

“Oh, I’m sure Hunter loved getting to ride in the ambo,” Luke says with a faint smile.

The doctor laughs. “He was in and out of consciousness, but he made it very clear no one was to know about that part.”

I glance at Hunter’s sleeping form, and I swear there’s the slightest hint of a smile.

“But what happened?” I ask.

“He and Mr. Donnelly were investigating the fire at the lumber mill when debris fell. Mr. Michaels pushed Mr. Donnelly out of the way. Hunter attempted to catch himself, but . . .” She gestures toward his arm. “The burns came from where he landed on heated metal drums.”

Luke clears his throat. “Sounds like him. Always ready to play the hero.”

“He’ll be out of commission for a while,” Dr. Winters says, placing the chart at the foot of Hunter’s bed. “He’ll need to take it easy so he can heal. We’ve got him on good pain meds, so he’ll be in and out, but I’m sure he’d love to see you.” She offers a small smile and steps out of the ER bay.

Luke puts his arm around my shoulder and kisses my temple. “He’s good, Sut. You won’t break him any more than he already is if you get closer.”

I step into the small space, my eyes taking in everything—the cast, the bandages, his torn clothing, the monitors, and the way his face looks both relaxed and in pain. I never imagined I’d ever see Hunter like this.

“You’re in so much trouble,” I whisper, fingers trembling as I brush hair from his forehead. “Scaring me like that.”

“The good kind, I hope,” he rasps. His eyelids flutter, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. My chest tightens at the sight. Even like this, he’s composed.