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“Listen to me, Indie. Those boys are eighteen years old. They are no longer kids, and they threw your brother to the wolves. Even though he didn’t retaliate, even though he didn’t rat on them, they still came after him. What does that tell you about their character, Indie? What does that tell you about this having any other ending?”
I stare at him. I know he is right, but I can’t swallow it without choking. Then I look at the raw skin across Roman’s knuckles starting to scab over. I’d asked him last night when we were in the shower what had happened, and he simply said he has a few brother issues of his own. I’d raised my brows at him and questioned, “Liam?” Then he told me all about his night, about the contract out on him, about his brother's confession that he’d confronted me yesterday, and about his total loss of control when he thought about Liam’s hands on me. I appreciated his honesty, and, as difficult as it was to hear, it was also enlightening.
This beautiful controlled viscous man has ordinary problems like the rest of us. It softened him, softened the perception I’d of him. It also made me grateful that, in the middle of his own family crisis, he made mine, his priority. I had always been too wrapped in my pain to consider if Roman had any of his own. He told me about his mother, how she kept him grounded, and that with her gone, he lost who he was. “Until you”, he’d whispered so softly I’d have missed it if I hadn’t been paying such close attention to him.
After Roman’s disclosure, I kissed the broken skin on his hands, kissed the tattoo of his mother's face over his heart, and then worshiped him with my mouth on my knees. It was such a powerful moment for me, seeing the utter pleasure on his face, the pleasure that gave him. The sight of such a formidable man at my mercy is one I will not soon forget. Now though, the look he is giving me is devastating. Its truth wrapped with no pleasantries. Those boys will die for their actions, and there’s nothing Roman or I can do about it. All I can do now is hope my brother does not join them.
I feel Roman's hand on my shoulder, offering silent support as we enter the hospital. Our conversation in the car still laces between us with a heaviness. I don’t want to be mad at him when I know deep down, he is right.
Roman tells me to wait while he gets more information on Austin. We don’t know if he is in the emergency room still or has already been admitted.
“He’s in surgery,” Roman says when he returns a few minutes later.
“Surgery?” I gasp. “Why? What does he need surgery for?” Panic floods me. I feel like someone has ripped out my insides, and I can’t fucking breathe.
“His spleen ruptured, and he has internal bleeding along with stab wounds that they need to repair.”
The walls inch closer and closer around me. I close my eyes, trying to breathe, trying to block out the noise around me. The sounds of tragedy, death, and trauma.
“Come, sit down.” Roman’s hand guides my back to the row of seats across from us. “I am sure he’s going to be okay. I’ll make a few calls and get him a private room arranged for when he comes out and the best team of doctors for his recovery.”
“Roman, I don’t have insurance.” Panic etches every word. “I could never afford it.”
“He’ll be covered under your employee medical insurance. So don’t stress.”
I go to open my mouth in protest, but he cuts me off. “And before you start, there are no strings attached.”
I don’t have the energy to argue with him, and surely after last night, he wouldn’t add this to be debt too. Although, in reality, it’s a debt I owe him either way. His eyes speak of good intentions, but if I’m honest, there’s a shred of doubt in mine.
We sit in the waiting room of the hospital for four hours. I nearly go crazy as time slowed. I know I fell asleep at one stage because there was a little wet patch on Roman's shirt, and it wasn’t from my tears. Ordinarily, in different circumstances, I’d be mortified for falling asleep and drooling all over my boss, but I’m to wound up about Austin to care.
Finally, a doctor comes out of the double doors that I have been staring holes into. He’s wearing a surgery gown, his face drawn and weary-looking. I stand immediately as he comes over to us. Roman takes my hand in his, and I squeeze it hard.
“Miss Johnson,” the surgeon asks, and I nod back.
“The surgery went as well as expected. Austin has been moved to the ICU floor and will be monitored closely. He has substantial head injuries which has caused cerebral oedema.”
“What is that?” I interrupt him.
“Swelling of the brain.”
I suck in a sharp breath as though he’d just pricked my heart with a scalpel.
“We’re treating this with IV Fluids, medication, and a respirator. The goal is to assure that his brain is receiving enough blood and oxygen.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then we may need to take him back into surgery. But let's cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. He’s young and strong, but I must tell you, he’s still in a very critical condition. The next forty-eight hours will be crucial. He’s unstable, and you need to prepare yourself for all outcomes.”
My knees buckle a little, yet I remain standing, thanks to Roman’s hand holding firmly on my arm.
“He’s in Room Three if you would like to see him now.”
My heart races as I approach the hospital room where Austin lies. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the corridor, contrasting sharply with the anxiety that grips me. I hesitate for a moment before gently pushing the door open. Austin lays there, a mosaic of bruises painting his face, an unwelcome testimony to the violence he’d endured. Roman drags a chair from across the small room, the creaking sound echoing in the quietness, and places it next to the bed. I sit down and take Austin's hand in mine. A surge of emotions overcome me. Anger at the perpetrators, concern for Austin, and a profound sadness that my brother had to endure such brutality.
The white starkness of the room mixes with the smell of disinfectant and disease that’s unsettling my stomach. Tubes cover his swollen face and trickle over his chest and arms. I barely recognize him.
“Still feel bad for those boys?” Roman asks, but he’s not looking at me. He’s taking in the damage to Austin.
