by Angel Payne
Not a great occurrence when attempting to forget a car accident.
The scene consumed my mind again. That car, resembling a soda can doomed for a recycling bin. The smell of burned rubber. The chaos of police lights. Twisted steel and glass littering the highway, so many destroyed pieces. Somebody’s life, now in a million little shards.
No. No.
Fletcher’s office wasn’t even near that intersection.
But he hadn’t been bound for the office. Meagan’s voice careened through my head, confirming it.
He didn’t show up to his first appointment…
What if…?
“My God.” Again, a true plea now. I almost dropped to my knees as I repeated it. I sure as hell clenched all fingers together, turning it into my lame version of a heartfelt petition. “My God…please…no.”
It had looked so much like his car. How many Alpina B6’s were there really, in this city?
“Please,” I rasped again. My stomach churned. In the same rumble, it reminded me and thanked me for not eating yet this morning. My nerves all clenched in prayer, too. My heartbeat was frozen.
Waiting.
Waiting…
My cellphone chimed again.
I bolted the chair forward and reached for it.
When I observed the number, an unfamiliar caller with a Chicago area code, my stomach stopped roiling—and jumped straight into a bile bath.
“This is Drake Newland.” My voice shook.
Right before the nightmare took over.
I’d never forget the moment I practically lip-synched the words as the other voice began. I had no idea why. It was like I’d seen this conversation take place in a dream, or maybe another life all together. Either way, the ghost of it had caught up with me. In horrifying spades.
“Mr. Newland. I’m so glad I reached you. My name is Andy, and I’m the admissions nurse at Memorial Hospital in Chicago. A man has been brought in through the emergency room. He’s…not in great shape. His personal identification had your name written in as emergency contact.”
For one second, I closed my eyes. Talia made us do that. One day she’d insisted we all write ‘Emergency Contact’ on the back of our own business cards and stow them in our wallets with our drivers’ licenses. Fletcher’s wallet had my card. Talia’s had Fletcher’s and I had Talia’s in mine. Then we promised one another other we’d never have a reason to use them.
You broke the promise, Fletcher.
But if this guy is calling, then you’re still alive.
Thank. Fucking. God.
“Mr. Newland?”
“Yes. Sorry. I’m…I…” Well, for starters, I was suddenly a bumbling idiot. Pull. It. Together. “Wh-what?” I finally stammered.
“I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in at one time, but are you able to get down to the hospital?”
“Of-of course.” I jerked to my feet. Stopped short. “Why? He’s all right, isn’t he?”
Weird images flashed to my mind. That wreckage again. All that glass again. But weren’t there YouTube videos of people in accidents just as bad, who’d walked away with nothing more than scrapes and bruises?
“Mr. Ford is being prepped by the trauma team. There will be paperwork and decisions to make. Since your name was in his wallet, I thought you would want to be here.”
“Right. I’m on my way. Memorial, you said? Where do I go?”
“You can just come in the front door. A docent will help you. We have senior volunteers on hand to help in times like these.”
“Times like these?” I all but bellowed it. “What the hell? Is he dead? Or going to die?”
“No.” Andy’s voice wavered, acting like a mirror back to me. I didn’t like what I saw. Don’t alienate an ally, shit for brains. Get your shit together. “As I said, he’s not in great shape, but under the best of care. We’re doing everything we can for him. Our facility is one of the finest—”
“I don’t need a god damned commercial. I just need the fucking truth, Andy. If this isn’t it, I’ll hunt you down when I get there.”
So much for that shit being together.
“Mr. Newland, threats aren’t necessary. I’m being straightforward. Mr. Ford’s injuries are numerous, and we’re handling them in order of priority…”
Andy went on and on but I couldn’t admit I was too freaked the fuck out for comprehending a single word. Finally, I just had to cut him off again. “I’m leaving now.” I was lethally calm about it. “I’m downtown, so I should be there within a half-hour.”
But before I got into the car, I needed to call Talia.
It would be the worst phone call I’d ever made.
I stormed out of my office, down the hall to my project manager’s office. Ducked my head in and growled, “I’m leaving. Fletcher’s been in an accident. The hospital just called.”
Before I could leave, Jim stood to his full height, grasping my shoulders. “You want me to drive you over? You look like hell.”
“Yeah. No. Fuck it, I just have to go. I have to call Tolly. Then I have to go.”
Mr. Bumbling Idiot, reporting for duty.
I had to get it together. Why couldn’t I just pretend the Range Rover was a Humvee, I was in the middle of some desert shithole, and I was sprinting to be at the side of a battalion brother?
Because this was my brother.
Because if anything fucking happened to him, I couldn’t lay down in my rack and dream of leaving the war behind. This was the war.
In the parking garage, I stared at the controls like a dumbass.
“Start the fucking car,” I ordered myself in a mumble. “Now, seat belt. Reverse. No. Fuck. Wait. Call Tolly first.”
I pulled back into the parking space. Had barely gotten the car stopped and idled before banging my palm on the steering wheel so hard the horn sounded. I did it again, exactly the same way, taking violent delight in the blares bouncing against the cement, pounding against the air, unleashing my own enraged shout.
“Fuck this!” Bang. Honk. “Fuck him!” Bang. Honk. “God damn you, Fletcher Ford. I’m going to fucking kill you if you live through this!”
I shouted it at the windshield, continuing to beat and honk, emotions trampling my nerves like a fucking wild mustang stampede. I let the ponies come, stomping every square inch of my senses, until my fury was spent enough for my thoughts to clear.
Finally, with shaking fingers, I punched the Speed Dial for Talia’s number.
She picked up on the first ring. “Drake? Did you find him? Did he call you? I’m telling you, I’m going to throttle him for worrying us like—”
“Natalia.”
Her babbling halted at once. My tone left very little confusion about the purpose of my call. Something bad had happened.
No. Secrets.
“Drake. Wh-what is it? You…you’re…scaring me.”
No. Secrets.
“I’m coming to pick you up, baby.” I pushed my forefinger and thumb into my eye sockets, telling the tears to take a fucking hike. “Be out front in ten minutes, okay?”
“But—”
“Fletcher’s been in a car accident.” I barreled over her gasp, needing her to hear the determination in my voice. The very little strength I could impart right now. “Memorial Hospital just called me. I’ll pick you up.”
“No.” Her reply was immediate and stringent. Too much so. Already, I could hear the manic threads of her composure, and they were unraveling fast. “No, Drake. Go straight there. I can drive myself.”
“I don’t want you driving, damn it. You’re already too upset. I’m coming to get you.”
“Damn it!” She all but screamed it. “You’re wasting time, Drake. Get to him—you must get to him.”
“And you think you can drive?” I bellowed back. “In that condition?”
“You don’t understand.” She was broken now. Sobbing. “Drake…we’re losing him. I-I can feel it. I can feel him…slipping. I can feel it all in my bones.
Please…just go to the hospital.”
I almost begged the mustangs to come back. My jaw ached from gritting so hard. “Fine,” I finally growled. “But I’m going to call Killian. He can have the SGC driver bring you. Swear to me you will not get behind a wheel. Swear it, Natalia.”
“Okay. All right. Okay. I’ll wait for Mr. Stone to find me. Please be safe.”
“I will be.” I should have hung up but took a huge pause, letting her listen to my weighted huff. “Thank you, Talia—for relenting. I couldn’t bear it if—”
“Hush,” she admonished. “I’ll be safe. I’ll see you at Memorial. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
After disconnecting with her, I immediately dialed Killian. His assistant, Britta, answered in her pleasant and professional manner.
“Britta. Drake Newland.”
“Well, good morning to you.”
I normally spent time in good-natured ribbing with her. We were both Walking Dead fans, so Monday mornings were exceptionally ripe times for casual conversation. Not so much today. “Is he around?” I demanded at once. “It’s an emergency.”
“One moment. He’s in a meeting, but for you he’ll want to be interrupted.”
I engaged the Bluetooth on my phone to take the call over the car’s speakers. Stone Global’s Hold button music was a strange injection of Zen in the midst of these harrowing minutes, filtering through the Range Rover as I put it into reverse for real.
“My brother!” Killian’s exuberant voice was a burst of excitement after the green-tea-and-eucalyptus tune that’d been massaging my ears. I winced, turned the volume down on the system and began the strange ordeal of finding the right place to start this horrible tale.
“Kil.” Fuck. “Killian.”
“Damn.” His subtext was a scratching record, yanking him from swaggering to serious in two-point-five. “What the hell is up, man?”
“I need your help. Right now. Fletch—he’s…he’s been in a car accident.”
“What? Fuck. How? Where?”
“I don’t know. Memorial called me about ten minutes ago.”
“How can I help?” He was suddenly the Killian Stone familiar to the entire corporate business world. Granite composure. Steeled resolve. Self-control matching his last name to the iota. “Tell me and it’s yours.”
“Talia’s at work today—but I’m scared to death to let her behind the wheel.”
“I’ll bring her myself.”
“Not necessary. I was thinking one of the company drivers—”
“Fuck you,” he growled. “I’m bringing her myself.”
I clenched my jaw harder—mostly to stave off more ridiculous tears. Fucking Killian. He knew, as only a friend and a brother would, that I needed more than just wheels for my girl. I needed him. Stone Global’s fiscal year end was approaching, which meant he likely had back-to-back meetings clear into the night, but at this very second, as I listened to his fingers clacking computer keys in the background, he was clearing them all in the name of our friendship.
Fucking Killian.
“Thanks, Kil. I—” I love you, man. “I just—owe you one.”
“You owe me about twenty-one, but who’s counting.”
“Dick.”
“Uh-huh.” He inserted a fast, wry laugh. “See you in twenty.”
As I disconnected, I realized I was already halfway to the hospital. My speedometer read eighty-two. As tempted as I was to just keep it there, I needed to slow my shit down. No sense in two of us being fucked.
“I swear to God,” I muttered, hating the new crawl at sixty-two. “I’m going to kill him for this.” Again, the windshield was my new best mate.
The miles seemed to creep by. Finally, I pulled into the hospital’s parking lot. I swung into a spot marked ‘Physicians Only’, threw the Range Rover into Park and was on my feet, sprinting for the main entrance. The loafers I’d slipped on a few hours ago did nothing to improve my pace.
The elderly folks milling around the counter inside the front door saw me coming but were unfazed. It occurred to me that they’d probably seen my panicked look and frenzied charge before—on a dozen other people each day.
Stay calm. Stay calm.
The mantra marked my steps toward a little woman who looked like the love child of Betty White and Yoda. “Can you please help me?” I entreated. “My brother—my friend—was brought here not long ago. He was in a car accident. They called me and told me to come here. Said you’d tell me where to go.”
Yeah, I sounded like an idiot. A full-on, beyond-control, babbling straightjacket case. But the woman smiled as her kind eyes found mine. “Okay, young man. Let’s just see what we have here.”
She eased her frame into a chair in front of a computer screen. I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to lean over myself and scroll through their database. She was trying to help. Worse, if I bit her head off as I had Andy’s, I’d likely be escorted to the trauma unit with a bar of soap jammed in my mouth.
“Now. What is your brother’s name?”
“Ford. Fletcher Ford.” Now wasn’t the time to explain how the word ‘brother’ was used very figuratively in our household.
“All right,” she stated. “Here we go. According to the computer, he is being prepped for surgery in the trauma suites.”
“Where’s that?” I barked it, wincing when her wrinkled gaze shot up. “Apologies, ma’am. I’m freaking out here. I shouldn’t have—can you point me toward that unit, please?”
She gave a brief nod, accepting my contrition. “Just take this elevator to the fifth floor. Follow the signs to the trauma unit. Someone will be able to help you from there.”
I took off at a run toward the elevator then remembered Talia. I skidded across the floor, fighting to change directions, moving faster than physics wanted to accommodate in slick-bottomed loafers.
“Fuck!”
“Excuse me?” Yoda White admonished.
“Sorry, sorry. Two more people will be coming through those doors asking for Mr. Ford. Tall, good-looking guy with jet-black hair, escorting a beautiful young lady with eyes like chocolate. Can you send them there, too?” I turned then spun back. “Please?”
“Of course. Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Once inside the elevator, I mashed on the number five. When the lift doors closed, I caught my reflection in the stainless-steel panels. Thank fuck no one else was in here with me. I seemed certifiable. I felt worse. Like I was falling apart. I stared down at my feet, certain they’d be splattered with my spleen in a second.
On the fifth floor, I broke into a new jog. As the docent had told me downstairs, the overhead signs guided me correctly. Once I arrived at the trauma unit, a young red-headed man looked up from the nurses’ station computer.
“Mr. Newland?” He stood and strode toward me, hand extended.
“Yes. Are you the guy I spoke to on the phone?” I dragged an embarrassed hand through my hair. Shit. I’d treated him so badly on the phone. “Andy, right?” I injected it with respect this time.
“I am.” He smiled a little, acknowledging my overture. I wasn’t the first asshole he’d likely encountered in this job and wouldn’t be the last. Still, he said gently, “Let’s go down the hall a bit. There’s a private room there. We can talk.”
I nodded with as much composure as I could summon, before following him to a door. After we walked in, he flipped on the lights. Four blue upholstered chairs circled a basic wooden table. A box of tissues was the centerpiece, a lone flag of flimsy white flying from the box in surrender.
Fucking. Great.
I slid into one of the chairs. Andy lowered quietly next to me. “So, we need to be up-front about what we’re facing here.”
I swallowed. Then again. My sights seemed to tunnel, making the walls go fuzzy but a single striation of the wood sharpen. Less than a dozen words in, and I already sensed the agony ahead.
“Mr. Newland.”
“Stop.” Again, my voice was a damn drill officer. I honed my sights on my clenched fist, using it as an anchor to bring my tone down, too. “I’m sorry, Andy. Can we just…wait a minute or two? Our fiancée is right behind me. She’ll want to hear this, too—from a medical professional.” I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips, finally confessing, “I’m so jacked up right now. I’ll forget what you say, or miss something.”
“That’s fine. Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?”
“No, but thank you. My stomach isn’t the greatest at the moment.”
Because I’m living a god damned nightmare.
“That’s understandable,” Andy murmured.
I glanced up. “Just tell me, while it’s still you and me…how fucked-up is it?”
Andy laid his file and papers on the table. Squared his lean shoulders, while resting hands to either side of the pile. “Your brother is very lucky to still be alive,” he said. “The EMTs got to the scene quickly and made all the right decisions. Now, it’s up to the surgical team.”
Again, it probably wasn’t the right moment to explain our unique ties to one another, so I let him go on thinking we were brothers—although I’d just referred to Talia as our fiancée and Andy hadn’t skipped a beat. As soon as possible, I’d need to let Talia in on the little ‘engagement’ detail, too.
I knew she was coming before I heard Killian’s deep voice addressing one of the other nurses at the desk. Andy and I stepped back out into the hall, where Tolly all but leaped into my embrace.
“Have you seen him? Can I see him? Please, Drake. Tell me. What’s happened? Are they helping him?”
She was as frantic as a squirrel trying to cross the road. Darting, furtive, indecisive, unpredictable. Not good. Squirrels in the road got flattened.
I pulled back but kept my hands on her shoulders. Dug my grip in, forcing her to look me directly in the eyes. “Natalia. Listen to me. Look at me.”
She complied—for all of two seconds. Then her gaze went rogue squirrel again, racing between Andy, Kil and me. “I’m so scared. Drake, I’m so scared.”
“I know.” Fuck, did I know. It hurt to breathe. It was agony to think. It was infuriating to accept any of this as our new reality, when only twelve hours ago, Fletcher had been guiding Talia through one of the most incredible moments of her sexual awakening. He’d been that bold. That brave. Taking a risk even the big bad Drake Dom had shied away from.
