Chapter 14

chapter

fourteen

Rylan’s truck was parked in the driveway under the shade of a tree, its windshield still covered with the overnight frost despite the bright morning sunlight, so he must be home, but the cabin was eerily quiet, the windows dark. An chill settled over Izzy as she pulled up behind Zak’s truck. He’d beat her here by seconds.

“Don’t like this,” Zak muttered as they met in driveway.

The morning may be bright, but it was still cold enough that her exposed skin stung in the slight breeze. She should’ve grabbed her jacket, but all she could think of was getting here, getting to Rylan.

Then she forgot all about the cold when she saw the front door open a crack.

“Really don’t fucking like this,” Zak said and drew a gun from under his coat. “Do you have a weapon?”

She shook her head. “I-I didn’t think?—”

“Get behind me.”

She’d known Zak was a soldier—save for Ellie Summers, all of the men and women of Redwood Coast Rescue were former military. But she had never really seen the soldier in sarcastic, laid-back Zak until now. He moved with precision and purpose, his stance low and controlled as he approached the door. Despite the slight limp from his prosthetic leg, there was no mistaking the lethal training that guided his every move.

Izzy followed close behind, letting him take the lead even though she wanted to burst through the door and turn the place upside-down until she found Rylan.

The knot in her stomach tightened with every step.

Zak paused at the threshold, his free hand hovering over the door handle. “Rylan! It’s Zak. I’m here with Izzy. We’re coming in.”

Silence.

With a quick glance back at her, he pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest.

“Rylan?” he called again.

No response.

They stepped inside and were immediately assaulted by the stench of stale alcohol and vomit. Izzy’s stomach turned as she took in the scene—empty bottles littering the floor, broken glass crunching under their feet. Rylan’s prosthetic arm lay in the middle of the floor like he’d taken it off and just let it drop. And he was…

Oh God, Rylan.

He was slumped on the couch, his skin pale and clammy, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Or at least one eye was. His other was swollen almost shut. A bourbon bottle lay on its side on the couch beside him, its contents soaking into the upholstery.

She rushed to his side and dropped to her knees beside the couch. “Rylan? Can you hear me?”

He muttered something unintelligible, his head lolling to the side. The sharp scent of alcohol on his breath made her eyes water.

“Jesus,” Zak said on a harsh exhale and holstered his gun. He paced a few feet away and braced his hands on his knees like he was about to throw up himself, then he straightened, and there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. “I thought he was taken or fucking dead, and he was just here on a fucking bender.” He swiped at one of the bottles, sending it flying to shatter against the wall.

“Hey,” Izzy snapped. “You, of all people, should know that getting angry at him won’t help.”

Zak’s jaw clenched, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides like he still wanted to hit something. For a moment, Izzy thought he might argue, but then his shoulders sagged.

“You’re right. I just… fuck.” He groaned and shook his head. “I should’ve seen this coming. How did I not see this coming?”

“You can beat yourself up about it later. Right now, he needs to get this shit out of his system.” She wedged a shoulder under Rylan’s, but he was too heavy for her to move on her own. “Help me get him into the shower. We need to make him throw up.”

“Looks like he already—” When Zak broke off, she glanced over at him. He stood at the end of the couch, staring down at something on the floor. She followed his gaze as he nudged the mostly empty pill bottle with his boot. Slowly, he bent and picked it up. “Ambien. Who the fuck would prescribe him this?”

Izzy’s heart seized in her chest. Ambien. Mixed with alcohol, it could be lethal. How many had he taken? How long ago? They had to get him to a hospital now .

“Call 911,” she ordered, voice shaking, but Zak already had the phone pressed to his ear.

“Yeah, I need an ambulance at 4782 Sherwood Drive. Possible overdose. Alcohol and sleeping pills...”

Izzy turned back to Rylan, her fingers trembling as she checked his pulse. It was thready and weak, but there. “God, Zak. He’s covered in bruises.”

Zak glanced back at her as he headed toward the door, the phone still to his ear. He studied Rylan, then said to the 911 operator, “Potential head trauma, too. It looks like he fell. Yeah, someone’s with him. I’m headed outside to flag the ambulance in. The driveway’s hard to see…”

Zak’s voice faded as he strode out onto the porch, and she returned her attention to Rylan. His eyelids fluttered, and he mumbled something she couldn’t make out. She smoothed his damp hair back from his forehead.

“Stay with me, Ry. Help is coming. Just hold on. Don’t do this. Don’t you dare do this to me.”

The ambulance arrived in a blur of flashing lights and urgent voices. Izzy stepped back, numb, as the paramedics lifted Rylan onto a stretcher. His face was so pale under the ugly purple bruises, his body so still. Tears streamed down her face as she watched them load him into the back of the ambulance.

“BP is 90 over 60 and falling,” one of the paramedics called out. “O2 is falling. We need to intubate…”

The doors slammed shut, and the ambulance spit gravel as it sped out of the driveway, sirens wailing.

Izzy stood frozen, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t draw in a full breath. Couldn’t?—

Zak’s hand came down on her shoulder, startling her. “Come on. We’ll follow in my truck.” His voice was gruff with emotion. “You’re in no shape to drive.”

She looked at him and saw his dark lashes spiked with moisture. “And you are?”

His laugh sounded more like a choked-off sob. “Not at all. But I’m not shaking like you are.”

She was shaking, shivering so hard that her teeth clacked together. How had she not realized it?

“He’s going to make it,” Zak said like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. “Rylan’s too damn stubborn to check out like this.”

What she didn’t point out was that Rylan’s stubborn streak might be precisely what led him to this point. How long had he been struggling in silence, too proud or too ashamed to ask for help? She thought of all the times recently when he’d seemed distant, distracted. The dark circles under his eyes that never seemed to fade. She’d chalked it up to the demands of his job, the emotional toll of helping other veterans battle the same demons he’d faced.

She'd been so focused on earning back his trust, on proving she could be relied on again, that she hadn't stopped to consider that maybe her betrayal had ripped open wounds he'd never fully healed from. That, in trying to protect his sister and keep his team’s demons at bay, he'd been slowly sacrificing himself piece by piece until there was nothing left over…