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So, here we were in the surgery waiting room. Sitting on too-hard plastic seats, under too-harsh fluorescent lights, with way too much time and space to imagine all the worst-case scenarios. Anyone who knew the Renners knew their story. Brett loved Maddox and Owen like they were his own. I would never have suspected otherwise if Liss hadn’t told me the story. It was like one of those heart-warming articles you read in the news, acts of unconditional love and selflessness. It was amazing how Brett stepped up and I knew how much both boys appreciated it. But I also knew that Brett told anyone who commented that it wasn’t a decision he’d had to make. The day they’d entered his life, they’d become his family and you took care of family.
Reno was tough. I’d spent years convinced he was impenetrable. But if Brett didn’t come through the heart attack, it would destroy him. Chewing on my lip, I let my eyes stray to him. He alternated between pacing the narrow space to sitting on the edge of a chair, leg bouncing impatiently, eyes flickering over every surface and back again. Sliding my lids closed, I breathed in and tipped my head back.
I know I probably don’t deserve your time, and I know I shouldn’t bother you for favors when you’re probably busy answering prayers from all the people who did put in the legwork, but it’s important, so I’m asking you, anyway... please get Mr. Renner through this. Please. They love each other, and they need each other. So yeah... please. Amen.
“I gotta try O again.”
He said it without looking at me. I nodded. He didn’t see.
“Hey, do you want to stay?” I asked, jumping up to intercept him. “You stay, I’ll try Owen.”
He halted but said nothing, his eyes hovering somewhere over my shoulder. Then he offered a curt nod and sat back down. Leg bouncing, fingers tapping. My chest ached and my heart pinched. He thought caring made him weak. He didn’t want me to see him like that. He didn’t know it made me love him even more. I’d tell him when we got through this.
“Can I get you anything? Soda? Coffee? Anything to eat? You didn’t eat at lunch.”
His gaze swung to and then straight past me without stopping. “No. Thanks.”
I sighed, gazing at him a while longer. The way his muscles tensed across the shoulders and his jaw quirked, I could tell he knew I was watching him and that it made him uncomfortable, so I turned and left.
“Where are you, Owen?” I muttered as his voicemail answered yet again.
Shutting the screen off, I pocketed my phone, my eyes drifting up at the blaring sound of a nearing siren. I’d walked around the parking lot a little to get a better signal and must have wandered to the ER entrance. Shivering in my light sweater, I wrapped my arms around myself. It was mid-January, too cold for just a sweater, but I hadn’t bothered to grab my jacket on the way out of school.
My eyes surveyed the now inky sky. It had been hours and nothing. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. I didn’t know what they were doing, or how long it should take. Rubbing my hands up and down over the thin cotton covering my biceps, I turned back to the automatic doors. The noise from the approaching ambulance suddenly became deafening, and I paused, turning as it screeched into view and stopped in a bay beside me.
As soon as the wheels stopped spinning, there was a flurry of activity. Paramedics jumped out of the vehicle, the rear doors swung open and a gurney appeared, shadowed by another EMT holding what looked like a clear bag. I couldn’t really see the person on it. Bloody gauze covered their chest and an oxygen mask obscured most of their face. I followed behind unthinking, my feet propelling me forward. A man in scrubs, stethoscope hanging around his neck, met them just inside the door. The EMT began reeling off information in response to his questions.
“Twenty-year-old male. Multiple stab wounds to the abdomen, neck and chest.”
My brows drew down as they continued detailing the extent of the injuries using terms I barely understood. I heard them mention internal bleeding and shuddered. It was so formal, so routine. Clipped and efficient. God, this was their job. They fought to save lives—fixed stab wounds, treated heart attack patients—every day. They stared death in the eye. Sometimes they fought it off, sometimes not.
I needed them to win today.
“Name?”
“Owen Renner, he...”
My head filled with white noise, their voices distorting as dread gripped every inch of my body. A loud pounding suddenly throbbed against the confines of my skull. The gurney whizzed through the doors away from me. The gurney carrying Owen. Reno’s brother, Owen! Jolting back to reality, I raced to catch up, my chest heaving and my stomach bottoming out.
Owen Renner. No. It couldn’t.
I almost slammed into the paramedic, unable to stop my forward momentum. My hands braced against the bed and I watched as a head drooped lifelessly to the side. The mask slipped. A face came into view.
“Hey, miss—”
Whatever they were saying, I couldn’t hear it.
Owen.
My heart pitched into my throat, choking me. “Oh my God, Owen!” I gasped, practically falling onto the moving bed. “Owen! Oh my God, oh my God.”
“Miss.” Hands gripped my arms, and I fought against them, protesting this reality.
“No! He’s... oh my God, he’s my... I don’t... Owen!” I could taste saltiness on my tongue. My face felt wet and my eyes burned, unfocused, as my gaze spun around helplessly.
“Miss, are you family?”
“I... no, I’m... he’s. Oh, my god!”
