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Chapter 14
Breckin
Iblow out a long breath. It feels like we’ve been here for hours.
I glance at the clock hanging on the wall for the hundredth time. Six forty-two. It’s only been ten minutes. Brendan’s pacing doesn’t help. He’s worried and beating himself up over it. Hell, I am, too.
She didn’t appear this sick this morning. I mean, yeah, she wasn’t into our conversation, but I thought that was her being upset with me, us. I didn’t think I was that bad at reading people.
“Fuck.” Running my hands through my hair, I glance at the clock again. Six forty-three.
“How long does that EKG thing take?” Brendan asks as he stops pacing.
“I don’t know.” At this point, I don’t know a single thing. I’m the guy that knows everything, takes care of everyone, always has a plan. This feeling of hopelessness guts me to the core.
Blowing out another breath, I raise both arms and scratch the back of my scalp. I turn in a slow circle. On the far wall, the clock taunts me, the opposite side, an empty, glass doorway. One bed and an empty space where Asra sat twelve minutes ago. It’s far too clinical. There isn’t a single place for me to look without my anxiety rising.
I need answers.
“It’s not your fault, bro,” Brendan states, patting me on the shoulder.
I nod, even though I don’t buy his uncharacteristic affirmation. There has to be something I could have done. Some sign I missed.
We stand in silence a few more tense minutes until they wheel Asra’s bed back into the room.
“Alright, Miss Romanescu,” another nurse enters before her bed is even in place, holding out a little, plastic cup, “we need a urine sample to check your coproporphyria levels.”
Asra stares blankly ahead at the wall for a minute before nodding and grabbing her IV pole. As the nurse helps her up and leads her to a restroom, I blink a few times.
“Did you catch any of that?” Brendan asks from beside me.
“Not really.” It’s nothing I’ve ever heard of. “They need a pee test to check something.” I reach for my phone to look it up, but can’t even remember the ridiculously long word the nurse used or how to spell it.
He bites his bottom lip and nods.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” the doctor in the white lab coat that greeted us when we first entered states, coming back into the room with a clipboard, “but unless you’re immediate family, we really do need you to leave.”
“We’re . . .” I want to push, stand my ground. Judging by Brendan’s crossed arms as he stands up straighter, he feels the same, but right now, we’re nothing. I don’t even know if Asra would consider us friends. We fucked up. Came on too strong and messed everything up.
Grabbing his arm, I nod and tug him out into the waiting room.
It’s not even a waiting room, just a long row of chairs in front of the check in station. At least there are a lot of windows.
While my brother paces back and forth, I stare out the windows, watching as the light sky fills with color, then fades to dark. I refuse to glance at the time, again. I try not to think about how long we’ve been here, or what could be wrong. Yet, scenario after scenario fills my mind.
“Do you think she’s sick? Like sick, sick?”
“No.” I state it with complete confidence even as my gut turns. I’m lying.
Asra’s sick. Not the she has a cold or a little bug type, the serious kind. The doctor knew her by name. They knew exactly what to do with almost no direction. This has happened before.
My gut twists tighter, like a vise slowly clamping down.
“You don’t think she’s . . .”
