Page 66 of Holding On

The phone is right where I put it. I’m shaking so hard with cold that it’s hard to text. It’s impossible to place a call out here. But I send a text to SOS—Colton Security. It fails.

At some point on the walk back, it will cue and send.

“Salty, come here, boy,” I say, my throat stinging as I coax the horse. He steps over and sniffs my pants pocket.

“No apples, guy,” I say, teeth chattering. “Come here.”

Holding my breath, I lean over and help Maya to her feet.

I can’t remember what I sent to Finn or if I even hit the send button. I can’t remember if GPS works out here or not.

“Salty, you be a good boy,” I say and breathe into his nostrils. But my breath is cold, not warm. And I smell like the ocean, not myself.

Pain sears from my throat, down my left side, and all the way to my calf as I lift Maya onto Salty’s back, leaving my right arm around her lower back, just in case she starts to slip.

“Steady, boy. You got this, my man,” I say as evenly as possible.

Salty doesn’t flinch or balk. I swallow hard and force phlegm and something else back down my throat.

This is as hard for him as it is for us.

But he’s making it look easy. That’s what I have to do.

His back foot stomps, and he starts to move backward.

I suck in another painful breath, trying not to gasp as searing flames flash down my side. I touch the velvet of his nose and then breathe again. His sigh is loud, but he makes a step toward home.

The lead is in my hand somehow.

We walk about twenty yards, and then the phone vibrates in my hand. I look down and press the SOS into action.

Salty nickers.

I can’t breathe because it hurts so bad. All I can do is take small, quick breaths. Something warm runs down my side.

Maya starts to slip. On his own, Salty stops and paws the ground again. He’s nervous, but he’s waiting for us, sensing what we need. I hold her still, adjust her weight, and we start again. She leans forward, her body slumped against his neck.

Every step is tooth-jarring pain. Maya starts to slip again, but she rights herself this time and adjusts her head on Salty’s mane.

There are lights on the beach.

Blue lights.

I’m afraid Salty will shy, bolt.

I lick my lips. “Steady, guy. We need you.”

I see people. The blue lights are getting larger.

He nickers softly against my shoulder but holds steady even as the lights blaze.

Thank God.

***

I never really passed out, though Mateus assures me I did. They tracked us via the phone. Luke and his brother, the fire chief, David Keller, ran their ATVs lit up like Christmas trees. Maya and I probably only walked a hundred yards before the SOS pinged Finn and all of Colton Security. I’m not sure what the scene was—I do remember being incredibly exhausted and knowing those blue lights on the beach meant I could let go.

“That’s when you hit the ground, dude. Very dramatic,” Jackson said before he left me sitting bare-assed in the ER.