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“Yeah,” I said, looking to Dad. “Tommy’s flying in?”
Dad just nodded.
“What about the twins?”
“They were on standby for work, can’t get coverage in time. They’re coming next week.”
“Because he’s going to be okay,” I said, thinking aloud. My eyebrows pulled together as I continued to work on Abby’s neck. “But Tommy didn’t wait? That’s not like him.”
Dad didn’t offer anything more, but he couldn’t hide whatever he knew from his expression.
A man with a shaved head and baby blue scrubs pushed through the door while pulling the end of a gurney. A woman pushed from behind with one hand, pulling Trenton’s wheelchair with the other.
My brother’s eyes lit up for half a second when he saw Abby and me, but then the light dimmed.
I took over for the woman, her blond hair was pulled back tight into a no-nonsense, low ponytail. Her badge readStacy Z., and beneath that,Radiographer.
“Thanks for the help,” the man said.
“No problem, Julian. Want me to help with telemetry?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a bright smile.
Julian scowled at Trenton. “Only if he insists on tagging along again.”
Stacy breathed out a laugh as she headed for the door, her blue eyes sparkling when she turned to wave good-bye. “I think it’s sweet.”
Trenton’s jaw muscles danced beneath his skin, but he kept his eyes forward, a permanent frown on his face. His right arm was propped on his lap, a white hospital blanket used as a makeshift splint. A large ice pack peeked out beneath the thick cotton.
I grabbed the handles of his wheelchair, moving him out of the way while Julian positioned Camille’s bed, locking it into place.
Abby knelt in front of Trenton. “Hey,” she said, looking him over.
Bright red blood had seeped into the white of his right eye, and his face, neck, and arms were speckled with varying degrees of lacerations from the broken glass bouncing around in the Jeep.
I sat down in Abby’s chair, planting my elbows on my thighs.
Trenton looked away, his eyes glossing over.
Julian pressed the last button of Camille’s telemetry wires into an adhesive patch on her chest, nodding to us as he quietly exited the room.
“Trent,” I began.
“Not now,” he choked.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” I said, letting my empathy seep through to my tone.
“No, you don’t.”
I paused, trying to think of what words would help me if I were in the same position—if it were Abby lying in that bed instead of Camille. I thought about searching for her in the fire, and the sheer pain and fear that came with even the thought of losing her.
There was nothing. Nothing could make me feel better in that situation other than knowing Abby was okay.
I scanned Camille’s face. She was strangely serene for being so bloody, beat up and pale.
“You’re right. I don’t. This fucking sucks, brother, and I’m sorry.”
