Tara’s words should’ve soothed, but they didn’t. Summer kept hearing the argument with Rick from the afternoon repeating in her head...kept seeing the anguish on his face when she said what she did about Dunk. It was like an acid eating away at her insides.
“I was so hateful with him this afternoon, and all he did was try to give me what he thought I wanted. He said he wanted to be my hero, and I threw that back in his face like it wasn’t worth anything.”
“You were angry and upset. He knows that. We say things we don’t mean...do things we shouldn’t do. We’re human.”
“Rick’s not. He’s an angel. The most perfect man I’ve ever known.”
Tara knelt in front of her, covering Summer’s hands with her own. “He’s not perfect. A month ago, you had a whole list of his faults you bombarded me with every day.” She tilted her head lower to catch Summer’s gaze. “You remember what was at the top of your list? His stubborn streak. And that stubborn streak is going to keep him alive. He’s not one to give up.”
“He lost so much blood.” Summer’s eyes blurred as she looked down at her blood-soaked costume, evidence of her futile efforts. She’d wadded fistfuls of the fabric, trying to staunch the flow of blood from Rick’s chest until Ginny showed up and took over. “Thank God Howie got back to camp safely and alerted y’all. He tried so hard, bless his heart. But didn’t it seem like it took the ambulance forever?”
Tara stood and squeezed in beside Summer in the large chair. Her arm fell across Summer’s shoulders, pulling her close. “They got there faster than I thought possible, considering the remote location.”
Fast...but maybe not fast enough. The swell of emotion broke again as it had time and again for the past six hours. Summer could only hold it for so long, and then it was like tears filled every available space in her body, and she had to let them out.
Had she cried when it happened? She couldn’t remember. She remembered screaming. And trying to stop the blood. But no matter how hard she pushed, it wouldn’t stop. It kept coming and coming.
She told him repeatedly to hang on. Held his hand...felt it grow colder as the blood ebbed away from his extremities.
“Don’t let go, Summer,” he’d said, and she’d answered, “I won’t.”
But what if he let go?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the antiseptic scent filling her nostrils, burning her raw throat. None of this was make-believe, and Rick wasn’t Superman. This was real life and real bullets.
And the real-life hero was in there fighting for his real life.
Why? Why did he always have to be the hero? Anger pounded in her temples, throbbed in her jaw.
Yet, when she was facing the desperation of Howard Gerard’s rage, who had she wanted to come to her rescue?
Rick Warren, the hero. The kind of man she and everyone else in this country depended on when the job had to get done.
He hadn’t asked for the role—it had been thrust upon him. But he accepted it and gave it his all.
She loved them both—Rick Warren the hero, and Rick Warren the man.
Tara stiffened beside her, and Summer’s eyes flew open, expecting to see a doctor. Instead, she focused on three people standing just inside the doorway. A man, a woman and a younger man who looked enough like Rick to make her stomach do a somersault.
His family.
Summer stood and moved toward them on wooden legs, evaluating the degree of grief on their faces as she approached, trying to determine if they knew something she didn’t.
“I’m Summer Delaney.” Her hand shook violently as she held it out. “I’m one of the camp counselors. You’re Rick’s family?”
“Oh, Summer. Rick speaks fondly of you.” The woman took Summer’s hand and covered it with her other one in a kind gesture.
The kindness would evaporate once they heard the whole story...how this was her fault. A few seconds more and Gerard would have driven away. But...she remembered the look in Rick’s eyes when he saw her face. He’d gone after Gerard because of her. He’d gotten shot because of her...might die because of her.
The ripple effect she’d caused expanded wider and wider as emotion stopped her breath.
“I’m Nolan Warren, Rick’s dad.” The older man’s voice was deep and smooth. Controlled. “My wife, Babbs. Our youngest son, Luke.”