“Yeah,” I croak. “W-what happened?”
“It’s about your kid brother,” the older one says. “He was found a little while ago.”
“Found?”
“On the sidewalk off Cypress,” he explains. “Looked like he was trying to get home but didn’t quitemake it.”
My mouth goes dry. “Is he—”
“He’s alive,” the younger officer jumps in, seeing where my train of thought was going. “Paramedics got him to the hospital. But he’s in pretty bad shape, sir.”
They say something else, but I’m not listening, already heading for my truck.
The older one stops me with a hand on my shoulder, with real sympathy on his face. “Why don’t you let us give you a ride, son?”
Machines beep steadily, too loud in the quiet hospital room while Alex is lying there, in that damn bed.
It hardly even looks like him.
His face is swollen and red, and his lip is split, clearly from a punch. Or a few. His arm’s in a cast, propped on a pillow, and bruises bloom all the way up to his shoulders. His chest rises and falls, slow and shaky, ribs wrapped up.
There’s a nurse writing something on a chart at the foot of the bed, but she doesn’t say anything to me. She doesn’t have to. I know enough. The detective told me on the way here.
Beaten.
Evidence of sexual assault.
I’m sitting in this shitty chair, elbows on my knees, staring down at my useless hands. I can’t even bring myself to touch him, scared I’ll hurt him worse. “Alex,” I croak, “Jesus, buddy, what happened?”
Guilt, rage, and fear all grip my heart.
I should’ve been there.
Should’ve known something was wrong when he wouldn’t meet my eyes, wouldn’t say where he was going. I should’ve answered the fucking phone when he called me.
“I’m so goddamn sorry,” I whisper. “I should’ve been there. Should’ve kept you safe.” I drag in a shaky breath, tears falling from my eyes, dropping onto the hospital blanket. “I’m so sorry.”
Seeing him like this makes me think about him as a kid, trailing after me with sticky hands and curious eyes. Teaching him how to tie his shoes and how to throw a football. How to be a good man.
Now he’s lying there, broken in ways I can’t even begin to imagine.
My hands clench into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat if I could.
I’d doanything.
Alex has been in and out all morning, never fully waking up.
He groans, a broken, painful sound that cuts right through me every damn time and moves around a bit, like he’s trying to get away from the pain, but can’t.
Liz is perched on the side of the bed, resting a hand on Alex’s leg. Ben’s here too, silent in the corner, while I’m in the chair by his side, his hand in mine, waiting for him to wake up.
God, let him be okay. Please, let him be okay.
After what feels like a lifetime, Alex’s face twitches, his brow creases like he’s trying to fight through the pain, and the eye that isn’t swollen cracks open. “Hey, buddy,” I rasp, leaning in so he can see me. I hold back a fresh round of tears when he squeezes my hand hard. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”
His lips part, and at first, all he does is pull in ragged breaths. Then, hoarse as hell, he mutters one word.
“Jason.”
