I stared at the screen. The photograph behind the call display showed Noah asleep on our couch with Marlowe sprawled across his chest. His hair stuck up at one side. His mouth was slightly open.
He would hate that I had used it.
I pressed the phone against my thigh.
“What happened?” I asked.
“A pipe came through the front of the van. Rescue crews had to stabilize the slope before they could extract him.”
I stopped breathing.
Deputy Alvarez continued in the careful tone people used around unexploded things. “The first responders reported that he was conscious briefly.”
“Did he say anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he in pain?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Callahan.”
“Reid.”
“All right. Reid.”
The hospital entrance was crowded with people sheltering from the weather. Deputy Kemp guided me through the emergency department while Alvarez spoke to a nurse at the desk.
I heard Noah’s name.
I heard trauma surgery.
I heard next of kin.
The nurse looked at me. “Are you legally married?”
“No.”
“Registered domestic partnership?”
“No.”
“We live together,” I said quickly. “Five years. I’m his emergency contact. His medical information is in the company records. He has a sister in Idaho. His parents are alive, but he doesn’t speak to his father and his mother—”
“Mr. Callahan.”
“I’m his family.”
The words came out harder than I intended.
The nurse’s face softened. “I understand. Let me find the trauma liaison.”
They put me in a consultation room with beige walls, a box of tissues, and three chairs that looked designed to discourage rest.
I stayed standing.
Deputy Alvarez brought me water. I held the paper cup until it collapsed in my grip.
A woman in navy scrubs entered. Her badge read DANA LEE, RN.
