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Then, I took myself and Frida to bed. Without our last walk of the night, both of us too exhausted to care.
The cold, wet nose nudging my arm let me know what had finally roused me from the steamy dreams.
Turning, I saw Frida seated next to the bed, eyes expectant.
“You gotta go, huh?” I asked, rolling to a sitting position, and grabbing my glasses.
A glance at my phone said it was barely six in the morning.
“Give me two minutes to get dressed,” I implored, rushing into the bathroom to throw myself somewhat together, before rushing out to slip her leash on. “Okay, let’s get moving,” I said, trying not to stop and stare at Kylo’s door.
Even though I tried to fight them back, blood-soaked memories flooded my vision as I walked Frida as the unyielding humidity started to make my shirt stick to me in under five minutes.
I was slick with sweat and moisture from the air by the time a panting Frida and I made it back to our apartment where she promptly plopped down in front of the air conditioning vent as I prepared her breakfast, then took myself into the bathroom for a cool shower.
After, I French braided my hair down each side behind my ears, wanting it out of the way if it was going to be one of those ultra-sticky days.
Because I had no choice.
I had to go out.
I had to go check on Kylo.
My stomach wasn’t going to unclench until I knew how he was.
I mean, if he didn’t make it, I was sure there would be an entirely different sort of uncomfortable sensation to deal with, but the uncertainty had my nerves feeling all frazzled.
I’d overheard the paramedics telling the police which hospital they were going to, so after feeding Frida, and checking her water bowl, then turning on the TV to keep her anxious self company, I set off in that direction.
Each step had my anxiety ratcheting up, but I tried to fight it back as I moved into the hospital, then requested to see Kylo. Mybrother.
I wasn’t a good liar.
But the hospital staff seemed too busy to worry about trying to confirm my statements, as they gave me a visitor’s patch, and sent me in a direction.
To the intensive care unit.
Intensive care.
That, I knew, meant things were very serious.
But it also meant he wasalive.
Alive was good, even if he had a really long road to recovery.
“You’re his sister?” one of the nurses asked, dubious.
And, yeah, you had to admit that the two of us looked nothing alike. I was fair, he was dark-haired. He was tall, I was short.
But genetics didn’t mean that much in the days of hair dye and mixed family units.
“Half brother,” I clarified. “We only have each other,” I added, hating the way the lies tasted in my mouth, but knowing they were the only way I was going to be able to see him. Or get information that might help lessen my anxiety. “Is he okay?” I asked.
To that, the nurse pressed her lips together as she reached up to tighten her brown ponytail.
“Your brother was in surgery last night,” she said. “There has been… extensive damage. I think you’d better wait to talk to the doctor about that.There was a lot of blood loss, and some complications from that. He hasn’t woken up yet,” she said, seeming to choose her words carefully.
Was he in a coma?
