Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T #1)(93)

“You shouldn’t be here.” His words are more than a whisper across the unusually frigid air and this time, my body tries to react. To search for him, find where he is. But no matter how hard I force my limbs to move, I can’t.

I’m stuck. Frozen. I’m nothing.

“Where is here?” I give up fighting when the haze slowly lifts, and he’s there, standing in front of me.

“Hello, son.” He steps toward me, his face coming into the light. He looks different from how I remember him.

Younger. Brighter. Alive.

His salt-and-pepper hair looks as thick as the day I graduated high school and the groomed mustache he’d worn since the day I was born is still tidy and neat.

“How?” I close my eyes, opening them again to make sure I’m seeing things right.

How is he here?

Why is he here?

Where is here?

“You shouldn’t be here, Liam. You need to go.” Seeing him again splinters something deep and raw inside of me.

The change of his aim The discharge of his gun.

The fall of his body.

The agony of my screams.



“Son, you really need to get out of here before it’s too late.” His pained stare captures me as the black haze builds again, the brightness I noticed about him before dims.

How come he can move and I can’t?

“Too late for what? Where are you going? Please don’t leave,” I ask him frantically.

I’m not ready for him to leave. I only just got here.

Wherever here is.

“We don’t have time for this, Liam. Just promise me you’ll open your eyes.”

Open my eyes? What the hell is he talking about? My eyes are open.

“Why did you do it?”

“There is no time for this, Liam. Just rem–” He shakes his head, still caught up in what he wants to say.

Then as soon as he was there, he’s gone.

Darkness wins out again.





Thirty-Four





Liberty





“Family of Liam Hetcherson?” A short, older woman wearing blue scrubs steps into the private waiting room we've been moved into and closes the door.

At first, I thought it was a good thing when they herded us into the small room an hour ago. Then I remembered I once saw a movie where they moved the family of a car crash victim to another room to let them know he had died. I don't share my concern with anyone, though. Even if I want to, I can't. Hell, I can barely manage a whisper at this point. My voice is no longer mine, lost to the violent sobs that wracked me four hours ago.

Instead, I’ve sat quietly, tucked into Fox’s chest. Brianna to the left of us, Kota to the right.

“Yes, how is he?” someone asks, but I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s the older man from earlier, or maybe it’s Hart. Everything bleeds into each other. Faces. Voices. Time.

“He’s out of surgery and in recovery.” A collective sigh settles through the room, releasing an invisible band of tension that’s been restricting us all.

“Is my son going to be okay?” Brianna stands and steps closer. I want to follow her up, but I’m mentally incapable. Body spent, mind lost, I hold on to Fox like a lifeline.

“Your son is very lucky, Mrs. Hetcherson. The first bullet penetrated what we call zone 1.” She motions to the lower part of her neck. “And the second bullet entered what we call zone 2.” This time, she motions higher up her neck. “The first bullet penetrated his left common carotid artery. And while serious, we were able to reconstruct and repair the artery, using a vascular graft. Now the second bullet being higher was a little more complex. There was complete disruption of the internal carotid artery, as well as a small laceration in the internal jugular vein. The degree of the injury was such that to control the bleeding, the internal carotid artery had to be ligated.”

“What does that mean?” My voice croaks, burning raw, and even though I know no one can hear me, I still ask.

“What does that mean?” Fox asks the question for me, his voice vibrating against my cheek.

“It means we couldn’t repair the artery. Laymen’s terms, we tied it. Now, arterial repair is reported to achieve better neurological outcome and survival rate compared to ligation. However, patients like Liam who present with a normal neurologic examination can still have an excellent prognosis.”

“So, he’s going to be fine?” It’s Kota’s turn to ask.

“We won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”

“When will that be?” Kota presses. I can’t see her from my position, but I know she’s standing there, holding her mother’s hand, staying stronger than I ever could be.

“Right now he’s sedated and intubated. Over the next twenty-four hours, we will know more. In the meantime, I suggest you all go home, get some rest and come back in a few hours. He won’t be taking any visitors just yet.” There’s a flurry of movement, a few calls of resistance, but I stay sitting there, hiding.

“I’m not leaving,” I croak against Fox again, thinking he’s going to force me to leave. “Not until I see him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of moving ya, Lib. Hetch would kick my ass if I sent you home.” He rumbles against my back, and it’s the first smile that slips free. “Just don’t get too comfortable. I do have to give you back.”