Handful by C.R. Grissom

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kirsty

Faith and I drive to brunch together. Watching Everest and his teammates after the game last night was an education. How they defer to him in all things. He’s a force on and off the field. The guys treat me with respect and with an unspoken tone of friendship.

Because of Everest and the fact that we’re together. I guess that’s as close to a definition about us that I’m willing to make.

The long table—set with an oatmeal-colored linen tablecloth bordered with lace—sparkles with silver and bright crystal champagne glasses waiting to be filled with mimosas. Pink roses in short, square vases add color and match the pale pink of the cloth napkins folded into pleated-shaped fans. Sunlight slants through the French doors adding a bright glow to the room.

Agnes and her boyfriend James stand beside Alan and his wife Molly near the unlit fireplace. A basket containing an arrangement of colorful fresh flowers fills the space instead of logs.

Gavin and Grams reach us first. “Well, now. Don’t you look gorgeous.” She leans down to press her cheek against mine. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Thank you. It’s good to see you, too.”

Grams and Gavin are besotted with each other. Yes, it’s an archaic word from my favorite Regency romances, but it’s also apt here. I can all but see the hearts in their googly eyes. They’re still newlyweds and haven’t hit their first anniversary.

Everest gives Grams a soft hug. “You get prettier every time I see you.”

“Have a care, lad, that’s m’ wife, ye ken,” Gavin remarks, his tone teasing.

“This one’s a charmer,” Grams states winking at me and pointing at Everest.

“You say it like it’s a good thing,” I remark, rolling my eyes.

Everest barks out a laugh.

Grams giggles, patting my arm. “Come on, let’s say hello to the rest of our party.”

We join the group at the fireplace. Agnes smirks at me. “You show excellent taste.”

She’s obviously talking about Everest. The senior set is always hell-bent on matchmaking. “I know, right. It was on sale, too.” I point at my dress.

“When I was your age—”

“You were too stubborn,” James finishes for Agnes.

She bares her teeth at him. “You got me there.”

Listening to James and Agnes bicker and flirt with each other, I realize I want to be Agnes when I grow up. She’s all attitude and wisecracks, and deep down she’s an amazing person with exceptional advice. She’s probably around the same age as Granny Kay, but the two women are polar opposites in outlook.

I loved Granny Kay, but she had such a definite opinion of right and wrong. At times she could be exhausting, especially her opinions about Mom’s college pregnancy. How many times did I want to wave my hands in front of her face and yell, “Hello? You’re speaking to Mom’s college pregnancy. I am that mistake!”

Everest places his hand in the space between my shoulder blades and rubs. When I glance up at him, he mouths, Are you okay?

“Yes, sorry to fade on you.” I huff out a breath, embarrassed to be caught tuning out. “Just a deep dive into my head.”

“Would you like a mimosa, maybe some ice water?” he asks, his concern plain.

My heart pinches. He takes such care, and it scares the crap out of me. At the same time, I’d like to learn to accept his behavior as part of the package. The benefit of dating the mountain. If I’m honest, he’d act this way if we were just friends. It’s hardwired into his DNA.

“Yeah, a mimosa sounds great. Thanks.”

“Be right back.”

Faith pulls me aside wrapping her arm around my waist. “Okay?”

I rest my head on her shoulder. “Yeah. Just thinking about Granny Kay. Hard not to compare Agnes and Grams to her.”

“I see it,” she agrees. “Granny Kay had sass.”

My lips curve. “Fueled by her definite views. You couldn’t budge her with a cattle prod once she made up her mind about something.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Faith teases.

I turn to face her, dread filling my belly. “Would you say I’m closed-minded?”

She glances at me sharply. “Not at all. What’s this about?”

“I don’t want to be like her.” I shrug pretending her answer doesn’t matter. “It’s okay to stand firm, but I don’t want to close myself off to differing opinions. Granny Kay was a bully when she wanted her way about things. I guess I’m worried I’m like that, too.”

The itchiness in my throat a surefire sign my eyes are about to well up. Dammit. Not now.

“Kirsty.” She makes eye contact with me. “You’re strong, and yes, stubborn, but not in a way that slams the door on possibilities. You’ve never been a bully. It’s not in you to roll over people to get what you want or to recklessly hurt others.”

I swallow. “Thanks.”

Faith pulls me into a hug. “You always use your power for good. And payback.” She laughs. “I wouldn’t have survived puberty and our asshole classmates without you.”

I hug her back. “We’re sisters—capable of burying bodies at a moment’s notice—skilled at plotting revenge, among other important skills.”

She grins. “Damn straight. I am glad bail money hasn’t ever been necessary.”

“Truth, but I like the idea in theory.”

Everest steps over to us, carrying two champagne flutes filled with mimosas. He passes one to me and then Faith. “Cheers.”

“Thanks. Where’s yours?”

“I’m good for now. Champagne isn’t my thing. I’ll stick to one beer while we eat, or I’ll need to order up Rides.”

“Of course.” I touch my glass to Faith’s.

“Saluti,” Faith adds.

“To us.” I lift my glass. “Like the power of stretch denim, our friendship retains its shape, exhibits remarkable elasticity, and overall endurance.” I grin at her when she coughs on her bubbly.

Realizing she’s missing her normal accessory I ask, “Where’s Caleb?”

“He had to go to the car for his phone.”

TJ and Phoebe step into the room. They beeline over to Grams and Gavin first to greet them, then wander our way.

“Hey.” Phoebe smiles while wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Good to see you.”

“We missed you last night at the post-game gathering.”

Everest had a house full of teammates, preventing us from participating in mattress athletics. The man makes love like he plays football: with stamina and inexhaustible energy. I wonder what he’s like in bed without a bum knee? The thought heats my face.

Phoebe spares a glance at Everest. “I’m sure you wanted more people in your way,” she murmurs to me.

Smothering a chuckle, I whisper, “Hush.”

“I’d be jealous of you, but I have Tiago,” she says under her breath. She pats her chest.

I interpret the move correctly to mean her heart went pitty-pat just thinking about Tiago. “It’s like they drink some kind of elixir that turns them all into savage-hot man candy,” I offer as a potential explanation, my voice low.

“I know, right?” She snickers.

Everest’s eyes narrow. “What are you two giggling about?” His tone is playful.

I slap my hand over my chest in an exaggerated move. “We never giggle. We snigger. Possibly hoot, but giggle? No.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

My cell chimes with Mom’s ringtone—Stewie from The Family Guy whining, “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…”

I reach into my purse to grab my cell. “Yo, Mama.”

“Kirsty,” her voice filled with tears, Mom utters my name.

“What? What is it?” I plead, my heart bouncing into my throat. Something is wrong. Terribly wrong for Mom to sound this way.

Her indrawn breath speaks volumes. Like she’s trying to breathe around shards of glass. “It’s Collin.”

My heart fucking stops. “What’s wrong?”

Faith’s head snaps toward me. She’s next to me in an instant. Wrapping her arms around me. Dipping her ear next to mine.

“He’s been hit by a car,” Mom says her voice filled with terror. “We’re on the way to the hospital. He couldn’t stop—” she cries. “Bottom of the hill—” she’s breathless “—into oncoming traffic. Driver couldn’t stop. Didn’t swerve. Jesus God, he might not make it. He’s already stopped breathing once.”

“Collin,” I croak, my voice gone. My vision tunnels, I can’t draw a breath, and Everest wraps his arm around my waist, steadying me.

Mom’s still talking: “I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’m coming home.”

She heaves out a breath. I don’t know if she’s relieved or resigned. Her next words are clipped: “Charge a flight. They’re taking him to Newford General, but they’ve already told us they’ll likely transport him by Life Flight to Boston Pediatric Hospital.” Her voice is almost unrecognizable.

“Mom, I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

She’s already disconnected our call and I have no idea whether she heard me.

“Kirsty, what happened?”

I focus on Faith’s face and drawing oxygen into my deprived lungs. “Collin’s been hit by a car. It’s bad.” Saying it out loud makes all the blood drain from my head.

She hiccups. “He’s going to be okay.”

No, he won’t.Mom’s words swim in brain. He stopped breathing once. Collin not being able to stop. His bike. I wasn’t there because I’m here. Guilt curdles my stomach. The shaking begins in my knees, traveling up my torso across my chest and down my arms and into my fingertips.

Everest wraps his arms around my shoulders, holding me tight. I’m so fucking cold. Collin, my baby brother. If I’d stayed in Newford would this have happened? Perspiration beads on my lower back and pops on my forehead.

I have to get home. I can’t believe I’m here, all the way across the country when he needs me most.

Faith says, “I’m calling the airline to get you on the next flight. We’ll swing by the dorm to get you a bag and get you over to the airport. Let’s go.”

Faith grabs my purse and her own.

Everest turns to Tiago. “I’m taking Kirsty.”

He nods. “Of course.”

Phoebe leans down to hug me tight. “I’m sorry, Kirsty. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

I squeeze her back.

Tiago also hugs me quickly. “Be safe.”

My breath stutters in my lungs. I can’t draw enough oxygen to breathe. Everest leans down and makes eye contact with me. “Slow down your breathing or you’ll hyperventilate. Breathe in, hold. Now, let it out slowly. And again.”

I stare into his navy-blue eyes. His utter calmness helps me to breathe properly.

I pat the air between us. “I need…”

“We’ll get you where you need to go.”

Agnes and the others crowd the entry of Alan’s home. Molly passes me a prescription bottle. “It’s an anti-anxiety medication. Low prescription. Don’t take it before you board your flight. Take only one pill or a half dose to help you relax on the flight.”

“Thank you.”

Agnes leans down to kiss the top of my head. “Godspeed to you. We’ll pray for your brother.”

I nod.

Grams presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Prayers for brother and your family.”

I’m too choked to reply.

Faith’s on her phone clicking through the airline’s website to get me a seat. Caleb follows us out of the house. Everest helps me into his Baja by lifting me up to the seat, clipping my seat belt. Neither one of us questioned whether I’d drive with him or with Faith and Caleb.

He shuts the door and hurries to the driver’s side to climb in. “We’ll get you to the dorm quickly. You’ll pack. Faith will get you a ticket. You have to stay focused on a positive outcome for your brother. Anything else is unthinkable.”

I nod. Words back up in my throat. I can’t speak over the terror gripping me. I look down at my hand and realize I’ve got Molly’s prescription bottle clutched so tight my knuckles are white.

I can’t think. Images of Collin flip through my mind. The first time I held him after he was born. He’d been crying so loud my ears hurt. I remember grinning at Dad. “Nothing wrong with his lungs.”

He’d settled at the sound of my voice. His eyes opened and fixed on mine. “Hey, little man.” The first thing I said to him. I fell for him hard. I loved him from the first moment.

The first time I’d changed his diaper—the second air hit his weenie—an arc of pee landed on my arm. I’d yelped in shock, covered his offending penis with a clean diaper, and laughed like a loon with Mom. Jumping in the shower as soon as I’d finished cleaning him up.

Tears splash on my clenched fist. The fist holding the orange bottle of pills that will help blanket the pain spearing through my heart. Hold on. Please God, I begin. I can’t lose him. He’s so young. Not much older than a baby.

We pull into the dorm parking lot. Everest pats my hand. “Stay, I’ll help you out.”

He comes around to open my door. When he reaches for me I wrap my arms around his neck. “I can’t lose him.”

He holds me tight. “You won’t. Kids are resilient. We’re all going to think positive thoughts. Let’s get you inside and packed.”

Faith runs to join us. “I got you a direct flight to Boston. It leaves in ninety minutes from San Jose. We have to hurry.”

“I’ll pay you back. Promise,” I say running toward the entrance.

“Stop that. It’s the last thing you need to worry about,” Faith admonishes.

We reach the entrance and Faith has her card key out before I find mine. The elevator was open and waiting like a sign from God that I need to hurry.

Inside our suite I rush into my room. I’m grabbing my suitcase, stuffing clothes inside. Leggings, jeans, underwear, bras. I grab a couple of hoodies because it’ll be colder back home. Faith sets my toiletry kit inside my suitcase. I reach into the back of my wardrobe closet for my puffer jacket.

We stuff more long-sleeved T-shirts into my luggage. I look down at the dress I’m wearing. I have to change. Kicking off one of my shoes, I hobble to the dresser. Noticing the move, Everest leads Caleb out of the room to give me privacy. I snatch another pair of leggings from the drawer. I kick off the other heel. Faith tosses me a Gladiators T-shirt and one of her zip-front hoodies.

“You’ll want layers for the plane trip.” She wipes her dripping nose with her sleeve.

I throw some ankle socks into my case, slip a pair on, and shove my feet into Keds. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

Faith zips my suitcase closed. “He’s going to be okay. I’ll pray so hard.” She hiccups on the last word.

I nod. I’m going to lose my shit soon, and I can’t afford to fall apart, not until I’m on the plane and headed home.

She hugs me hard. “I’m going with you to the airport. I’ll stick with you through check-in and the security checkpoint. They won’t let me go farther than that.”

“I know,” I rasp, my throat slamming shut.

Faith plucks the suitcase off the bed. Grabs my backpack and stuffs my little purse inside. “I checked your wallet for ID.”

“Thanks.”

She nods, shoves the wallet into the front pocket of my backpack and slings it over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

I glance over my shoulder, etching the room into memory. The feeling of doom is pervasive, like I won’t ever see our dorm suite again.

Faith locks the door. Everest is at the elevator holding it for us, and I’m grateful.

We’re not far from the airport. Everest gets us there fast. He pulls up to departing flights. Faith and Caleb followed us in his car. I jump out of his SUV as soon as he pulls to the curb.

He joins me at the curb, and hugging me hard says, “I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

“I know.” My breath catches. “Thanks, Eric.”

He leans down to press a kiss to my lips. “Safe journey, Kirsty.”

I press my hands to his cheeks to hold his face. “Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

Caleb hugs me hard. “Take care.”

I hug him back.

Faith grabs my hand. She wheels my luggage behind her. She’s got my backpack slung from her shoulder. She leads me to the kiosk to self-check my bag. She handles everything for me, including printing my boarding pass. We head to the counter. I flash my ID. Faith places my bag on the scale. The airline employee places it on the conveyor belt behind her.

“Gate twenty-four, you’ll board in thirty minutes. You’ll need to hurry—the security checkpoint is backed up.”

“Thanks,” Faith mutters, grabbing my hand to take me upstairs. At the top of the escalators we get our first look at the line. I might be fucked. I let out a whimper, and get in line.

“You’ll make it. Don’t worry.” She hugs me hard. “Please text me when you get through security and find your gate.”

“I will.”

“Safe journey. Hug Collin for me.”

“Faith, I’m scared shitless.” I step forward as the line moves.

“Me, too. Stay calm. Stay focused. Take the pill when you get on the plane. Chill out during the flight.”

People start to move. “I gotta go.”

Tears track down her face. I turn to keep pace with the line. I have to glance away. I can’t fall apart, not yet. Not until my ass is in the seat and I’m that much closer to Collin.

I make it through security in twenty minutes. I have ten minutes before we board. I find my gate, and the nearest restroom. When I’m done, I fill the empty Fortis water bottle Faith stuffed in my backpack with water from the filling station outside the restroom.

My flight is boarding. I wait for my row to be called. I join the line, breathing a sigh of relief as I make my way down the Jetway to the plane. I send a quick text to Faith:

Boarding. I’ll text when I land.

She adds the like reaction to my text. Then she sends:

He’s strong, like you. I won’t stop praying.

I add the love reaction to her text. Send one to Mom:

Boarding. Due to land at 9:12. Any news?

Mom doesn’t reply before I take my seat and have to turn on airplane mode. I’m sick in my heart and my stomach hurts. At least I’m in a window seat. No one joined me. A small miracle happens when everyone boards and I have the row to myself.

I rummage through my backpack, searching for the pills Molly gave me. I manage to get the childproof cap off on the second try. I take out one of the pills and replace the top.

I twist off the cap of my water bottle, fill my mouth with water, tip my head back, drop the pill into my mouth, and swallow. It’s my strange way of taking meds. If a pill touches my tongue, I gag. More often than not it doesn’t stop there, and I’ll barf. This method works for me.

I shove my water bottle into the seat pocket in front of me.

A few minutes later, one of the flight attendants goes through the safety information. My eyes start to droop as we taxi into position for takeoff.

I lean against the window feeling the air from the vents on the floor of the plane. We bump down the runway as we get closer to taking off. We stop for a few minutes. My eyes close. The engines rev and we bullet down the runway. It’s the last thing I remember before dropping off.

*

Someone taps myshoulder. “Miss, we’ve arrived. You’ll need to gather your things and disembark.”

“Sorry.” I jolt, scrubbing my hands down my face. Unlatching the seat belt I reach under the seat for my backpack, and shove the water bottle into the side pocket. Collin. I need to move my ass and get to the hospital. I scoot out of the row and pull my phone from the pocket of the hoodie Faith loaned me.

I flip airplane mode off while fast-walking down the aisle to the Jetway. Trying to clear out the cobwebs from my brain. My body acts on the adrenaline now coursing through my veins. I head toward baggage claim at a run. My phone starts chiming madly, but I don’t want to look at my texts until I’m at the carousel waiting for my luggage. No time to stop and read now. I shove the phone back in my jacket pocket.

My stomach revolts at the thought of bad news. I convince myself that if I wait to read my texts downstairs, ready to grab my bag and leave, that nothing life-changing will have happened during my flight.

I’m out of breath when I finally skid to a stop inside baggage claim. Checking the board for my flight I head to the correct carousel and wait for my suitcase.

I take a deep breath, and another. I pull out my phone praying all the while I scan texts, beginning with texts Mom sent hours ago:

Collin’s in surgery. Compound fracture of the tibia. Radius bone fracture on left arm, Ulna fracture on right. He’s bleeding from his spleen. They hope to repair it.

The next text was sent two hours later:

He’s still in surgery. No word.

Her last text, sent an hour ago reads:

Out of surgery. In a medically induced coma to help him heal. Too much more to type. Call me when you land.

He’s alive. I sit on the floor in the middle of baggage claim when my legs give out. I drop my head between my knees and breathe. Everything else we can deal with—please God—the most important fact is that he’s alive. Tears track and I don’t give a fuck about the spectacle I’m making of myself. I breathe deep. Inhale. Exhale.

I wipe my face on my sleeve and stand when I feel strong enough to do it without keeling over again. Bags are winding around the carousel. I keep an eye out for mine while I call Mom. It goes straight to voicemail and I leave a message:

Mom, it’s me. I’m at the airport. As soon as I grab my bag, I’ll head out to the rideshare lot and I’ll be on my way to Boston Pediatric. Love you. See you soon.I press the icon to end the call.

My hand shakes when I create a new message to send to Faith and Everest:

Landed. Collin had surgery. He’s in a medically induced coma. I’ll give you an update later when I know more.

I hit send.

People make room for me when I spot my bag and weave through the throng. Probably giving a wide berth to the woman who sat on the filthy airport floor to fall apart.

Grabbing my bag, I fast-walk to the rideshare lot. I open my Rides app and request a ride to Boston Pediatric. I’m quoted five minutes for my ride to show up. I should have gone to the restroom inside the airport. Now I’ll have to hold it until I reach the hospital. Crap.

I check my phone for an update on the Rides car. The car is outside the airport, five minutes my ass. I open the Messages app. I have texts from Faith and Everest. They didn’t reply to the group text but sent individual texts.

From Faith I receive:

Hug your parents from me. I’m praying hard for Collin.

I type:

Thanks.I add the hockey stick emoji, hit send. It’s our emoji-speak for a hip-check. It’s our unity symbol, showing synchronicity with each other. One we adopted once she transferred to Fortis. It stuck. We still use it even though we’re roomies. She’ll know I feel her here with me, and that I’m drawing strength from her even though we are thousands of miles apart.

Everest sent:

I’m here anytime you need me, and especially when you don’t think you do.

There’s so much I want to say but can’t. Not now. I add the love reaction to his text. It’s the best I can do.

I have texts from Phoebe, Tiago, Dallas, and Beau. I’ll read them all later. I know Faith and Everest will share updates with them, but it’s damn nice to have friends who care.

My phone chimes, signaling the arrival of the Rides car. I check the info the company sent with the license plate, and confirm I’m not going to climb inside a random car driven by a serial killer. I check the box to notify Faith—she’s on my account and can follow my progress. She’ll be copied in on the driver’s info in case of trouble. I’m notified anytime she takes Rides, too.

I send another text to Mom letting her know I’m on my way. Still no answer from her, which ratchets my anxiety. I’m sweating at my hairline. Yet, my hands are freezing and my feet are numb.

The ride seems endless on this last leg before I can see my brother for myself.

Please, God. Please heal Collin.

Tears drip off my chin and I swipe at them impatiently with my sleeve.

“You want Emergency?”

“Yes, please.”

He pulls into the circular drive. I grab my backpack. The driver pops the trunk so I can remove my suitcase. I press down to close it. “Thanks.”

He lifts his hand in acknowledgment and drives away.

I send Mom another text:

Here.

I wheel my suitcase behind me. The doors whoosh open. I glance around, unsure of where to go. There’s a crowd of people waiting. I join the line of people waiting to talk to the nurse. If Collin is out of surgery, he’ll be in the main part of the hospital. I don’t want to waste more time waiting to speak to the nurse. I glance around and see a directory. I follow the yellow line toward the main hospital.

It’s late. Nearly eleven o’clock. Once I cross through the connecting corridor to the main hospital I find an information desk manned by a security guard.

“Can you help me? I’m trying to find my parents. My baby brother was brought in earlier today. He’s had surgery. He was hit by a…car,” I manage to finish on a croak. I swallow, try again. “His name is Collin Durnin.”

“Spell the last name for me,” he asks, his voice even.

“D-u-r-n-i-n.”

He keys in each letter. Glances at me. “ICU, fourth floor. Use the elevators marked A. They’re around the corner to your right.”

“Thank you.”

I hurry to the elevators he indicated. Darting inside the first restroom I find, and nearly wet my pants trying to get my suitcase to fit inside the stall. When I’m done, I wash my hands and go to the elevators.

Dread makes my heart drum in distinctive beats. Bong. Bong. Bong. I take a deep breath. I don’t want to lose my shit around Mom. She’s had enough to worry about today.

I exit on the fourth floor. I see a nurses’ station to the left. I step over and wait for the woman in penguin scrubs to finish her conversation with a colleague who wears scrubs with swans on them. Weird choice. I shiver. Swans are asshole birds. I had one chase me once and knock me down when I was Collin’s age. Dad ran toward it waving his arms. The damn thing stood its ground ready to peck me, until Dad reached down on the run, and hurled a rock near it.

I don’t know if Dad meant to miss or if it happened that way, but the bird moved back into the water without further bloodshed. My knees were scraped and we were both shaken. I’ve hated the damn things ever since.

I wouldn’t have considered myself superstitious, but now I hope her scrubs aren’t a bad omen. When swan lady moves away, I wait for penguin lady to notice me. “I’m Kirsty Durnin. My baby brother, Collin, had surgery earlier. I understand he’s on this floor.”

“Yes, he’s in room 4322. However, only two people are allowed to visit at a time.”

“I understand. I flew in from California. I can’t reach my mother on her mobile. My parents don’t know I’m here.”

She nods. “Just a moment.”

She picks up the phone and calls someone. “Iris, we have another visitor for Collin. We’ll need to inform the parents.”

“Thank you,” she says hanging up the phone. “They’ll send someone to notify your parents. Please wait here.”

I nod. A few minutes later, Dad comes around the corner. I leave my suitcase behind and run to him. “Daddy.”

He sweeps me up in his arms. He’s sobbing into my hair. “Kirsty,” he manages in a strangled voice. He sets me down.

“How is he?” I ask.

“He’s a tough kid, but to look at him.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “It’s hard, baby. He’s hurt.” A tear tracks down his cheek to roll off his chin.

The last time I saw Dad cry was when Mom found the lump in her breast and had to go to an oncologist. His tears hurt me in a way I’m not prepared to face—like jagged-edged cuts. “I need to see Collin.”

He nods. “Come with me. Your mother won’t leave his side.”

“I understand.” I do. Mom’s never been overly superstitious either, but this is a prime reason to start. I step back to grab my suitcase and follow Dad down the hall.

He stops outside room 4322. “He can’t have more than two visitors in his room at a time. You go on. I’ll take your suitcase to the car.”

He looks like he’s aged five years since I last saw him. I press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you, Daddy. He’s going to be okay. Like you said, he’s tough. He’s a Durnin.”

He nods, turning away from me. Rolling my suitcase behind him as he walks down the hall toward the elevators, his shoulders hunched, and his hand fisted around the handle of my luggage.

I step inside the room. My gaze lands on Mom first. Her face is ravaged by tears, her eyes nearly swollen shut from them. “Mom,” I say softly to get her attention.

Her head snaps up, and she mouths my name.

I take four steps to join her at Collin’s bedside. Wrapping my arm around Mom, I glance down at Collin, and recoil once I get my first look at him. His swollen face is almost entirely purple from bruising. Both arms are in half casts. One leg is in a full cast. There’s a vinyl airbag thing inflating and deflating around his other leg.

His lips are sealed with tape around the breathing tube. It absolutely breaks my heart.

“Oh, Collin,” I whisper, afraid to touch him.

“Your father will have to explain. I can’t talk about this,” she says in a broken voice barely above a whisper. She squeezes me tight. The only real sign she knows I’m here.

I don’t blame her. Something inside me fucking breaks staring at Collin and seeing the damage for the first time. I’ll talk to Dad or the nurse out front to get the details. I stare at the drip bags, read Versed on one, and Fentanyl on the other. Another bag contains water with sodium chloride. There’s a feeding tube attached to his nose.

He looks so little in the bed, and so unlike himself. Ordinarily he’s a bundle of nonstop energy. I assume the narcotic combo will keep him asleep until they back the meds off. My heart thuds in my chest. What if he doesn’t wake up after they turn off the meds? There’s so much I want to know about his injuries, and at the same time, don’t want to know.

In many ways, like Mom, I’m terrified about having the list of his injuries in my head. For the next twenty minutes we stand side by side at Collin’s bed in silence. Lost in our own private hells.

I touch Mom’s hand. “I’m going to step out for a minute and talk to Dad. Okay?”

She nods absently, her gaze never leaving Collin.

I have no idea whether he can hear me, but I have to acknowledge him. “Collin, buddy, I’m here. You need to get better,” I beg, my voice level. Not loud, but not a whisper, either. I need him to know somewhere deep inside his brain that he’s not alone.

Mom sobs quietly.

I step out of the room. Dad makes eye contact with me. “Tell me everything,” I plead.

“He rode his bike down the hill on Independence Avenue.”

“Jesus.” My blood turns to ice. The fucking hill three streets over from our cul-de-sac sits taller than the Kingda Ka roller coaster at Six Flags, where we visited in New Jersey back when I was in high school. It’s a freaking monster hill. One you don’t want to attempt to drive with a manual transmission unless you want to total the car.

He’s forbidden to ride his bike out of our cul-de-sac. The hill is way too steep, absolutely dangerous, and crosses a main thoroughfare. Riding a bike down that hill amounts to a death wish for adults, much less a five-year-old boy with his training wheels removed months prior.

“The driver of the car that hit him slammed the brakes, pulled the wheel, but the car still side-swiped him. Witnesses say he flew about ten yards before hitting the pavement.”

Dad wipes his streaming eyes with his hands. “It’s my fault. I was watering the lawn. I took my eyes off him for a beat of time. When I glanced up, he wasn’t on our street anymore. I called his name. Then I took off running.”

My body goes numb. “Dad, don’t blame yourself.”

“When I turned the corner, I saw him pedaling fast down Bleeker.” His voice sounds low and full of horror. “I screamed his name, but I don’t think he heard me. His legs pumped as fast as he could go.”

Dad fists his hands, knocking them into his temple. “I ran as fast as I could, shouting his name, screaming for him to stop.” He makes eye contact with me and his eyes are wet and pleading. “Kirsty, my heart stopped when he made the turn onto Independence. I kept running, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to save him. It was a waking nightmare,” he sobs.

I step into his arms holding him tight. “Daddy, don’t blame yourself.”

“Who else do I blame? Certainly not the driver—she had to be sedated on scene. They took her to a different hospital. She wasn’t hurt, she was traumatized. When I ran up, saw Collin, I thought he was dead. I thought my baby was dead on the street.” His chest heaves. He’s almost hyperventilating.

“Daddy, you need to breathe. Take a breath. Hold it. Let it out slowly. Another. Breathe with me.”

Dad never loses his shit. I need to be strong for him. Help him gain control and not lose my own again. I remember how Everest helped me breathe, and I do the same for Dad.

When he catches his breath, he continues in a broken voice. “Someone had already called an ambulance. When I got close, I could see he was breathing, but shallowly. I didn’t want to touch him because of his injuries. I could see his leg bone poking through the fabric of his pants…” He trails off. Shakes his head.

I swallow the bile that hits the back of my throat.

“They’re keeping him in a coma because they want his brain to rest. He was wearing his helmet, thank Christ, but it cracked down the center into two halves on impact.”

“Oh, my Jesus.” My vision wavers at the thought, and I will myself to breathe in and out.

Dad shudders. “He has a concussion among all his other injuries. They repaired the tear to his spleen.”

“That’s good.” I swallow. “Did the surgeon speak to you after Collin’s surgery?”

He scrubs his hands down his face. “Yes. They set the fractures. Not all of them, his collarbone will have to heal on its own. He stopped breathing a second time during the MRI. That’s when they intubated him. The next forty-eight hours are the most critical for him.”

“I know.” The hair on my arms rise and my scalp feels like it’s shrinking. Depending on how long he stopped breathing, Collin could have brain damage, a much higher risk since he coded twice. “Do you know how long before he started breathing again?”

He shakes his head wordlessly.

I hug Dad tight. I can’t hold back my tears anymore. We stand outside Collin’s room holding on to each other while we both sob brokenly.

*

Mom wouldn’t leavethe hospital, but she did promise to call if there was any change. Dad and I left just after three in the morning. Midnight on my body clock. I’m exhausted, emotionally spent, and worried sick about Collin.

When we get home, I wash my face, take another one of Molly’s pills, and fall into bed. I call Faith. She answers on the first ring. “How is he?” she asks immediately.

“He made it out of surgery,” I begin. Sharing all the information about Collin’s status including how he ended up on his bike flying down Independence Avenue.

“Holy Mother of God. I’m so sorry, Kirsty.”

“Yeah, me too. Listen, I know it’s late. I’ll call you tomorrow let you know if and when I have any updates.”

“I’d appreciate it. Take care of yourself while you take care of your parents.”

She knows me all the way through. “I will. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I end the call and contemplate calling Everest. Fuck it. I find the mountain emoji in my contacts and press the audio call button. My eyes droop and the room goes fuzzy. If he picks up we’ll talk, if not, I’ll leave a voicemail and call it good enough. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey. How is Collin?”

“About how you’d expect when a Chevy Tahoe hits a five-year-old riding a bicycle.”

He lets out a breath. “Poor kid.”

“The next forty-eight hours are critical for him.” My voice cracks and my chest hurts.

“I’m sorry, Kirsty. Sorry for your brother, for you, and your parents. Rough on everyone involved.”

The concern in his voice unravels me. “Absolutely. Since I’m vulnerable and overly emotional, I’ll tell you something certain to shock you and give your ego a boost.”

He lets out a short rumble of laughter. “Yeah, what is it?”

“I’m in bed. I’m exhausted, and I nearly rolled over to get some sleep, but I had to call you. I didn’t think I’d be capable of falling asleep without hearing your voice first.”

“Progress.” He sighs. “Thanks for sharing. Get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” The pill is working its magic. My eyes are closed. I probably couldn’t pry them open with a crowbar. “Good night, Eric.”

“Sleep well, Lilly.”

*

I startle awakefour hours later. I make my way, disoriented and groggy, to the bathroom I share with Collin. Glancing in the mirror while washing my hands, I notice my puffy, bloodshot eyes, and the knotted mess of my hair. Coffee first, then shower. If Dad’s awake, we’ll both want to get back to the hospital to be with Collin.

I splash cold water on my face.

Heading downstairs, I notice the kitchen lights blazing. “Hey, Dad.” I lean down to kiss his temple, then move to the cabinet for a mug.

Dad’s dressed for the day. “Morning,” he says, his voice like sand fills all the crevices inside his mouth. “I’d like to get to the hospital as soon as we can.”

“Of course.” I pour coffee into the mug. Add some French vanilla creamer, give it a stir, and take a long gulp. “Let me shower and throw on clothes. I can be ready to leave in less than thirty minutes.”

He nods, distracted. “Your mother called a few minutes ago. No change.”

Fuck.“Collin probably has an entire team of medicals treating him. We should write down all our questions and ask them all at once when they do rounds or whatever.”

“That’s a good idea. We’ll do that.”

“I don’t want to waste time. I’ll be down soon.” I go upstairs and grab my toiletry kit from my suitcase. I didn’t unpack last night—I didn’t have the energy.

I turn on the water to let it heat, down the rest of my coffee, and brush my teeth. Once the water gets hot, I climb in the shower, and wash my hair. After combing conditioner through, and rinsing it clear, I turn the water off. I slather lotion on my face and body.

Choosing a pair of leggings from my suitcase and a hoodie from my closet, I pull on my clothes. I slide on a T-shirt before donning the hoodie in case it gets hot inside the hospital. The outside temp will be cold today, so I take the puffer jacket from my suitcase, and head downstairs. Checking the time on my phone I see it’s only been twenty minutes. I’m relieved to find that I’m ready earlier than expected.

“Dad, we can go now.”

In the kitchen Dad hovers at the sink, his empty mug wrapped in both his hands. He cries silently, his shoulders shaking almost violently.

“Hey.” I rub his back. “We’re all scared. Collin will need to draw from our strength to heal.” I wrap my arms around him. “He’s such a tough little guy. He’s strong and determined.”

Dad swipes his sleeve across his streaming eyes. “You’re right.”

If I’m wrong and Collin dies, I don’t know how we’ll recover from his loss.