Waiting for the helicopter, Jake was reminded of the time he had torn his ACL back in high school. He was a junior and dreaded each football game. He hadn’t been sad he would miss the rest of the season that year.
He held his hands over the makeshift tourniquet and pressed down with firm pressure. The bullet had hit his mother in the torso. Jake’s slow tears dripped on his mother’s face as she wiped them from his face with a weak hand.
The old ACL injury hadn’t been too bad. Jake remembered his mother nursing him back to health. Now that the tables were turned he didn’t know if he could be as strong as she had always been.