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Right over his thundering heart.
“Fuck. Layla.”
He starts shaking uncontrollably and despite being wooden and solid, he cracks as if some inner part of him he never allows the world to see is made of glass. His arms encircle my back and then he’s hugging me fiercely, his face in my neck, unable to catch his breath. Tears soak into the shoulder of my scrub top as he cries into me, his hands balling the fabric on my back.
“Are you okay?” he rasps, his voice hoarse, wrenched in grief.
God. This man. He’s so fucking strong in so many ways, but I think this makes him the strongest person I know. Who thinks of others when their life is falling apart around them?
“That should be my question for you,” I counter.
“I’m not okay.”
“I’m not either.”
He nods because he already knows and because he knows and because we’re both not okay, he squeezes me tighter. For a moment, that’s all this is. All we can do. We take comfort where we can—in each other.
But then that moment ends because it has to, and he releases me and steps away.
“I need to get her home. I don’t want her to wake up here. She won’t understand. She’s six.” He sucks in a breath. Then another. Wipes at his face. “She knows this hospital as the place I work. Not the place where…” His eyes cinch tight, and he takes more deep, steadying breaths. “I have to get her home. I have to call my parents. I have to call Willow’s parents. I have to call my friends.”
I reach into his pocket and slip his phone out. He watches me do it, bewildered as I unlock it with his face and then program my phone number into it with the initial L as my name.
“You don’t have to use it,” I tell him. “But it’s there if you need it. For anything. Anytime.”
I hand him back his phone and he stuffs it in his pocket, and then he’s all business. Picking up the sleeping little girl in his arms, he cradles her securely against his chest. His lips and nose plant in her hair and he breathes her in, unstoppable tears on his face, and then he walks out without another word.
Mechanically, I count to twenty to make sure he’s gone and then I go gather my things and leave the hospital. I climb into my car and drive to my sister and Oliver’s house. It’s not even that late. Just a little after eight, which feels bizarre that it’s still early and life is going on all around me as it should. The lights are on and there’s so much sound coming from inside as I park my car in the garage.
Music.
My nieces are listening to Taylor Swift, no doubt having a dance party, and on any other night, I’d go inside and join them. But tonight isn’t any other night.
Shutting off the car so I don’t asphyxiate, I text Amelia, asking her to come out to the garage. A minute later the back door opens, and her inquisitive head pops out. She searches around and when she spots me sitting in my car, she frowns and then heads my way, opening up the passenger side door and climbing in.
Her hand immediately cups my face, her thumb dragging along my puffy eyes, her features lined in worry. “What is it?”
For what feels like the tenth time today, I break down. Unbuckling my seat belt, I reach across the console and hug my sister fiercely. “Thank you,” I mumble to her.
“What?” She emits a mirthless laugh. “That is not what I thought you were going to say. Why are you crying and thanking me?”
“Because when Mom and Dad died, you dropped everything in your life, left school, left your boyfriend, and came home to take care of me. And I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you for it, but fuck Amelia, I’m thanking you now because you are the bravest, strongest, most caring person I know, and I love you. I love you and I’m so eternally grateful for you.”
“Oh, Layla. Jesus, don’t do this.” Amelia starts crying and then we’re both crying and hugging each other. Her hand runs down my hair, soothing me as she’s always done, ever the big sister. “I wouldn’t change it. Not for a second. Being there for you was the best thing I ever did.” She pulls back and cups my face, her gray eyes piercing into mine. “What brought this on?”
I tell her about Callan. About his brother and sister-in-law and his niece. About how he’s my professor and I work with him.
“I knew it was him,” she says softly, almost sheepishly. “I mean, how many Callans are there in Boston? I didn’t say anything about it because I didn’t remember he worked in the emergency department of MGH, and I hadn’t realized he was going to be your professor. I’ve only met him a handful of times along with his former bandmates, and those were all at Abbot Foundation events. Are you okay?”
I shake my head and then shrug, wiping my face that feels miserable and raw as hell. “I’m not sure I ever really cried about this on a deeper level, so to that point, I’m okay and I might have needed it more than I realized. But my heart hurts for him and for that little girl, Meils. I know what they’re going through.”
“So do I. It’s the worst, and there are no words and there is no comfort. My heart breaks for all of them and I’ll tell Oliver when we go inside.” She holds her hand up when I start to protest. “Not about you and Callan. Obviously. That needs to stay quiet, but he’ll want to know about what happened to him tonight.”
I fall back against my seat, my eyes closing. “I just wish there was something I could do to help.”
“I know, but I’m not sure there’s anything to do for him right now.”
I nod absently, my mind spinning.
