“Get what?” Tyler asks.
“It was never about the money, Tyler,” Jackson finishes. “Look, I appreciate the effort you made here, but I’m going to have to decline.”
Now, I’m holding my breath. What’s he going to say about all the things Tyler just confessed about me? He can’t just ignore them, act like they didn’t happen, can he? I can’t reply, or say anything on my own behalf, without sounding like I’m choosing sides.
Well, in a way, I am. If I’m asked to choose a side, it will be my brother’s. It has to be, because it’s just him and me. Tyler has everything he could ever want, and being denied one thing, one girl, can’t possibly be as devastating as he’s made it out to be. But for Jackson to lose me to a dispute they had years ago…that’s unforgivable. I want Tyler; I want him more than anything. But what kind of person would I be if I choose him?
“Wait,” I try, but Jackson is already turning to leave.
He doesn’t even flinch, not for a moment, and I feel like the walls of my chest are crashing down around my heart. Tyler tried for something, and he failed. I have to leave with Jackson.
“Jackson, stop,” Tyler insists, reaching out after him and grabbing his wrist to turn him around.
That flips a switch, and Jackson’s posture goes rigid as he jerks his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” he snaps. “We’re done here.”
“No, we’re not,” Tyler says, which enrages Jackson immediately.
“I say we are,” he says through a tight jaw.
“Jackson, calm down,” I say desperately. “And Tyler, you have to understand that you can’t just buy your way out of everything.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know,” I begin, but Jackson begins talking loudly enough over me that I’m pretty sure my reply is lost.
“Oh, weren’t you?” Jackson challenges.
“Of course not,” Tyler replies. “Why would you think that?”
Jackson tosses his hands up angrily. “Maybe because it’s what you always do! You think you can just get whatever you want because you have the money for it, and guess what? It’s not true. Money isn’t everything.”
“I never said it was,” Tyler says calmly. He’s trying to diffuse Jackson’s temper, to bring about a rational discussion, but I know Jackson enough to know that Tyler’s cool, unfazed attitude is only going to make him angrier.
“Tyler’s trying to be different, Jackson,” I interject. No matter how enraged Jackson is, he’d never turn his wrath on me. “Can’t you give him a chance?”
“Mel’s right,” Tyler agrees. “I’m just asking you to give me a chance. To be your friend again.”
“You burned that bridge, buddy,” Jackson says coldly. “You had your chance to be a good friend to me, and you stabbed me in the back. There’s no coming back from that.”
I wish I could take Tyler aside and tell him that Jackson will calm down, eventually. He always does; his forgiving nature prevents him from cutting people out of his life completely. If Tyler just lets him win this one and allows him to sleep on the thought, he’ll probably text him by the end of the week asking him to go out for drinks. Persistence is the key with my brother, but it’s next to impossible to win the argument on the first try.
Years of experience have left me adept at navigating Jackson’s stubborn nature, but Tyler is too aggressive; there’s no way he’s going to back down from the argument until he thinks that Jackson has seen his point of view. Helplessly watching as they fight, I nearly cry out in relief when Jackson turns and walks out—it’s what he needs, a walk to clear his head.
Tyler doesn’t see it that way, and pursues him, the table he reserved forgotten. He strides after Jackson as he storms out, and I can do nothing but follow, trying to stop one of them or the other before someone gets hurt.
Chapter 21
Tyler
I call Jackson’s name twice, but he ignores me both times as he stomps out of the restaurant. People might be staring, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m not a man who settles for anything less than exactly what I set out to get, so I don’t back down, even as Mel clearly tries to stop both of us.
“Stop following me, Tyler,” Jackson spits, turning a hostile gaze on me.
“Not until you agree to hear me out,” I maintain.
We’re out on the street now, the air warming from spring to summer. The heat from the sun has left everything uncomfortably muggy, even several hours after it set.
“Enough!” Jackson snaps, stepping into the crosswalk. “We always have to do things on your terms,” he shouts, turning his back to the street to glare at me, “and I’m sick of it!”
“Jackson!” I hear Mel screech, and I have no time to react before I see what she’s screaming about.
In seconds flat, Jackson goes from standing in the street, angry and yelling, to flat on his back, several feet ahead of where he’d been standing.
The bus stops.
The driver jumps out and yells, panicking. “Oh, God, I swear I didn’t even see him there; I thought I was clear to make the turn!”
Mel falls to her knees, next to her brother in the crosswalk. Pedestrians are gathering round in a circle.
“Don’t just stand there,” I say. “Call an ambulance!”
The bus driver whips out his cellphone and dials 911, and his voice trails off as he walks shakily back toward the bus.
Crouching next to Mel, I see that Jackson is in bad shape. Even in the low light of evening, I can see that he’s bleeding from multiple abrasions. His hands are a wreck, scraped to hell from where he tried to brace his fall, and his clothes are torn and dirty from hitting the ground.
“Is he…?” Mel trails off, afraid to finish her sentence.
I reach out and press two fingers to Jackson’s neck, sighing in relief when I find a pulse, weak but steady.
“He’s alive,” I reassure her, and she immediately bursts into tears. “He’s going to be okay, Mel. I swear.”
She strokes his hair, choking up when he starts to wince in pain, a clear sign that he’s regaining consciousness.
“I think he’s coming to,” I murmur, shrugging out of my suit coat and putting it over him.
“Mel?” Jackson rasps weakly. “What happened?”
“Shh,” Mel soothes. “Don’t try to speak. You’re okay.”
“Everything hurts,” he moans, his eyes fluttering shut again.
“No, no,” she objects. “You have to stay awake.”
“An ambulance is on the way,” I promise.
Jackson rolls his head toward me as if noticing for the first time that I’m even here. “I’m still pissed at you,” he reminds me.
I can’t help but chuckle. “I know,” I say. “Be mad later. For now, just focus on keeping your eyes open.”
His eyes flutter again, this time taking much more effort for him to pry them back open.
“I think I’m gonna sleep,” he mumbles.
Mel taps at his face, which he winces at.
“Stay awake,” she commands, taking a more authoritative tone than I’ve ever heard her use. She must be terrified. I know I am.
“Can’t,” he whispers. “Sorry.”
Mel pales when his eyes fall shut. “Jackson?” she tries, shaking his shoulders lightly. “Don’t do this,” she pleads.
I gradually become aware of sirens and flashing lights as the ambulance arrives. The paramedics show up prepared with a gurney and back brace, moving us out of the way.
“What hospital are you taking him to?” I ask one of the paramedics who is not currently busy trying to load Jackson into the ambulance.
The EMT pauses in front of Mel and me. “Are you family?” she asks, and I reflexively nod.
“I am,” Mel speaks up. “I’m his sister.”
She nods. “UCSB Medical Center, on Camino Cordero,” she replies.
Mel glances at me. “Meet us there,” she tells me, starting toward the ambulance.
; “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the paramedic says, stepping in front of her. “Only parents of injured children are allowed to ride in the ambulance.”
Mel looks as if she might cry. “Please,” she reasons, “what if he wakes up? He’ll want someone with him—”
“We’re going to take good care of him,” the paramedic replies. “You can meet us at the hospital.”
Jackson, by this time, is already loaded into the ambulance, so the paramedic hops into the back and slams the door, leaving Mel and me standing in the street. The tear stains on her cheeks glow red in the lights of the ambulance.
“Come on,” I say gently. “I’ll drive.”
I put a comforting arm around Mel and lead her to my car. She’s shaking, so I pull her close and give her a reassuring squeeze. I’m not parked far from the crosswalk—just around the corner—so I don’t let go of her until we’re at my car.
I turn to look at her once we’re sat in the front. Mel looks dazed, staring down at her hands which she folds into her lap. I’m a little worried she’s in shock, having just seen something so terrible and not even being able to go with Jackson in the ambulance. As much as I can feel my own hands shaking, I can’t imagine how she must be feeling right now.
“Mel,” I say gently, wanting to make sure she’s at least stable before I set off.
She doesn’t look at me, shaking her head when I call her name again.
“I don’t want to talk,” she finally utters, her voice weak.
“You don’t have to,” I reassure her. “Just look at me for a second.”
Mel cooperates, looking up at me. The tears in her eyes spill over onto her cheek when she blinks.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say again. It’s a hollow promise; I don’t know—I can’t know. Somehow, though, the empty promise seems to comfort her, and she takes a steadying breath and nods.
“I know,” she says. “I have to believe that.”
Satisfied with the response, I pat her hand gently and start the engine.
“All right,” I announce, “let’s go.”
Chapter 22
Mel
I’m numb as Tyler speeds us toward the hospital. I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t feel my fingers; I can’t breathe; I can’t think. The accident keeps playing over and over in my head like a broken record, a movie that keeps starting over as soon as it’s ended. How can I possibly believe that he’s going to be okay after that?
“Mel?” Tyler asks, not looking over at me. He’s watching the road, and I’m glad for that, because he’s definitely driving over the speed limit. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” I reply sarcastically. I don’t mean to be snappish or cruel, and I know that he’s doing me a huge favor by driving me to the hospital, but I can’t help it. I’m terrified. Tyler could have gone home, told me that he didn’t want to deal with this and gotten me a cab, but he’s with me, trying to reach out and make sure I’m okay.
“You don’t have to be okay,” Tyler says, “I know you’re upset.”
“Of course I’m upset!” I exclaim, burying my face in my hands miserably. “My brother could be dying, and they won’t even let me ride in the ambulance with him!”
“We’ll be with him in ten minutes,” Tyler reassures me. “Less, if I make all the lights. I’m going as fast as I can.”
I know he’s doing his best, and I appreciate it, deep down. However, all I can think about right now is that it’s not enough, because I want to already be there, and instead, I’m stuck on the freeway with no information on how Jackson’s doing and unable to do anything to help.
“I just feel so useless,” I cry. The tears that I’ve been trying to hold back are spilling down my face, and I don’t care enough to wipe them away. Instead, they just drip down my chin, creating dark spots on my skirt and the interior of Tyler’s seats. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not trying to be bitchy. I’m just worried.”
Tyler’s hand reaches out and squeezes mine comfortingly. “You’re not being bitchy,” he reassures me. “Don’t apologize. You have every right to be angry.”
I can’t believe how tender he’s being. Tyler isn’t the kind of man that takes insult lightly, and yet, even though I’m saying things to him that I know that I’ll regret when I’m back in my right mind, he’s telling me that it’s okay. He’s trying to talk to me about my feelings, even though I know that’s not his forte. The effort is a bit clumsy, but I’m swept away by it, anyway. Someday, I’ll tell him that.
For now, I just take his free hand and squeeze it back.
I look up at the freeway, watching as it passes by quickly, but not fast enough. Traffic is light tonight, which is typical for San Bravado on a Friday night—people are heading into the party district of the city, not away from it as we are. Tyler drives as fast as he can, never taking his hand away from mine until he needs it to park in the hospital parking lot.
I sprint to the emergency department desk. I’m out of breath by the time the nurse asks me if I’m here with an emergency or to see someone.
“My brother was brought in by an ambulance,” I reply, trying to keep the frantic fear out of my voice. “His name is Jackson Page.”
The nurse types into his computer for a few seconds before he looks back up to me.
“Your brother is in the intensive care unit,” he informs me.
In that moment, I thankfully realize that Tyler is behind me, because he stabilizes me from the back as my knees threaten to buckle.
“Can we see him?” Tyler asks, and the nurse frowns.
“The ICU is immediate family only,” he says. “Who are you?”
Tyler looks to me imperceptibly, allowing me to answer, though he could easily tell the lie he’d need to make up to be able to see Jackson. He’s waiting to see whether or not I want him in the room.
“This is my husband,” I lie. “Jackson’s brother-in-law.”
The nurse accepts this, and points down the hall toward the elevators.
“Second floor, take a left out of the elevator,” he instructs. “Mr. Page is in room 238.”
I thank the nurse and start down the hall. There, I press the elevator button, wait for a moment, and decide that it’s taking too long before throwing open the door to the stairs and running up them to the second floor. Tyler is right behind me the whole time.
I hesitate in the lobby of the ICU, so Tyler takes my hand and tugs me to the left.
“This way,” he says, and I follow him blindly. I was too upset to remember to listen to anything but the room number, and once again I’m glad that he’s here with me.
Finally, the numbers above the doors start to approach the one in which Jackson is being treated, and there is a doctor standing in the open doorway of room 238.
“Are you Jackson’s doctor?” I ask the woman holding the clipboard. It feels like a stupid question, but she smiles kindly, anyway.
“You’re his sister?” she asks, and I nod. “He’s only woken up twice—very briefly—but both times, he’s asked about you.”
I try to choke back tears. “Is he okay?” I ask.
The doctor motions Tyler and I into the hospital room. Tyler offers me the only visitor’s seat, which I take.
“Your brother is lucky to have survived,” she begins.
Tyler squeezes my hand as I swallow around a lump in my throat.
“So, he’s going to make it?” Tyler asks hopefully, and I watch a grim shadow overtake the doctor’s face.
“I’m going to be blunt with you both,” she begins, “his injuries are serious. Thankfully, he didn’t sustain any head trauma, but there was significant internal bleeding. He’ll be taken into surgery momentarily, and if a blood transfusion is needed, the surgeon will make that call.”
I sigh in relief. This isn’t the best news, but anything is better than the scenario I’ve been going over and over in my head since the paramedics whisked him away.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say. I need to hear
it out loud.
“Well, there’s one more thing,” the doctor adds, and I feel that crushing feeling grip my chest again.
“What is it?” I ask, barely managing to breathe past the lump in my throat.
“Your brother sustained blunt force trauma to the abdomen,” she explains, “and it severely damaged his kidneys.”
“Can you fix it?” I ask hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” she tells me. “Dialysis can keep him alive for the short term, but in order to recover fully, he’ll need a transplant.”
“Give him mine,” I say immediately. “How can I give him my kidney?”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” she replies. “Just because you’re a blood relative, doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re a match. I take it you’d be willing to be tested?”
“Of course,” I say. “How fast can you test me? And, if I’m a match, how soon can you perform the surgery?”
The doctor smiles patiently, despite the fact that my mind is moving a hundred miles a second. “We’ll test you as soon as possible,” she says. “However, we’d like to test as many people as we can. Do you have any other siblings? What about parents?”
I shake my head. “Our parents passed when we were teenagers,” I explain, “and we don’t have other siblings.”
“Test me,” Tyler says.
I look at him, unsure whether he even knows what he’s just offered, and he shrugs.
“I know the chances are slim, but it’s worth a shot.”
The doctor nods. “Any additional person increases his odds,” she agrees. “If you’re not a match, he’ll have to go onto the registry list, and that can be a long, arduous process.”
I swallow nervously, my mouth dry. “How soon can we be tested?” I ask.
The doctor shows Tyler and me out of the room and directs us to a lab downstairs. The basement lab is colder than the ICU. As soon as Tyler and I enter, we’re ushered into two cubicles side by side.
“Hi there, sweetie,” the nurse—a cheerful, shorter woman—chirps. The staff down here look a lot happier and more jovial than the people upstairs, and it lifts my spirits just a bit.
My Brother's Best Friend - A Second Chance Romance (San Bravado Billionaire's Club Book 8) Page 10
