Chapter 31

31

ZACH

I stepped off the plane with just my backpack and carry-on in hand. I was wearing shorts and flip-flops, which was ridiculous for January in Nebraska, but I hadn't taken the time to change. At least I'd been wearing a UCLA hoodie when I got the call.

After frantically packing, one of the guys from the team who had a car on campus took me to the airport while Clayton searched for flights with remaining seats that could get me to Omaha. Now, at nearly one a.m., I stepped outside into the cold, my breath coming out in little puffs in the frigid night air. Jason's truck pulled up to the curb moments later, and before I could move, he'd thrown it into Park and hopped out, leaving the door wide open as he came around the front of the truck and scooped me into his arms.

Tears pricked my eyes, and for the first time since I'd gotten the news that my sister had been in a bad accident and was life-flighted to a hospital in Omaha, I felt myself starting to break. Before I could stop it, a sob escaped me. Jason's arms were like a vice around me, and I clung to him just as hard, but when I felt a tremor wrack his body, I realized he was crying too.

I pulled back, putting my hands on either side of his face to get a good look at him. His eyes were red and puffy and tears ran unchecked down his rosy cheeks. He'd been there at the scene, I remembered. He wasn't just dealing with the knowledge that his sister had been injured. He'd actually seen it firsthand. I couldn't imagine what that had done to him—was still doing to him.

"Come on, baby. Let's get in the truck. Do you want me to drive?"

"No," he said, his voice shaky. He took another breath, swiping at his eyes as he tried to steady himself. "No," he said again, with more authority. "I can drive."

We loaded up my suitcase and backpack and drove toward the exit. He pointed his truck in the opposite direction from Astaire or Brinkley, and I was grateful, knowing that meant we were heading toward the hospital here in Omaha, where they'd been taken to a trauma unit.

"How are they? Has there been any change?"

"No change."

I didn't miss the clench of his jaw or the way he gripped the steering wheel. I rested my hand on his thigh and didn't move it for the next twenty minutes until we pulled into the hospital parking lot.

We parked, and I followed Jason inside and onto the elevator. He punched the button for the third floor, and I didn't question it when he laced his fingers through mine, as if he were drawing strength from the connection.

He released my hand as we arrived on the third level, leaving me feeling empty, but I took a deep breath and followed him down the short hallway to the ICU waiting room. As much as I wanted to cling to him, to draw strength from him just as he'd drawn from me, now was not the time for a coming-out conversation with our families. Our sisters were our focus. They were the priority.

There were three people in the waiting room when we walked in. Jason's parents were sitting in two chairs, side-by-side, gripping each other's hands, much like Jason and I had just done on the elevator. Jason made a beeline in their direction, asking for an update in soft murmurs. I saw Mrs. Whitt shake her head, then dab at her eyes with a mangled tissue as Mr. Whitt whispered into her hair.

My eyes flicked to the other occupant in the room. My father, still dressed in business attire, stood a short distance away, staring out the window into the parking lot below. It wasn't much of a view, but I wasn't convinced he was actually seeing any of it. He hadn't so much as moved when Jason and I entered. Either he hadn't heard us, or he'd chosen not to acknowledge the interruption.

I hesitated a moment, my heart thumping in my chest. For whatever reason, Dad and I had come to something of a truce in the last several months, but that didn't mean I had gotten any better at reading him. I took in his appearance. He was wearing a suit, not unusual for him, even if most of the corporate world no longer dressed that way. There were little wrinkles across the back of the jacket from where it had creased when he sat, the only sign of imperfection in his otherwise impeccable appearance. Except that wasn't true. As I took a few steps closer, I noticed cracks in his armor. He was still wearing a tie, but it had been loosened, the collar open at his neck. And his hair, dark like mine and usually styled to perfection, was mussed as if he'd run his hands through it. He did so now, fingers gliding through the strands, and then he turned, catching sight of me.

The raw vulnerability in his eyes had me stopping in my tracks. He looked…older, somehow, as if life had worn on him like a boulder eroded by the elements. Ice and rain and snow and hot summer sun battering its surface. He tried to pull himself together, to pull on the mask he'd worn almost my entire life, the one he'd donned like armor in the wake of my mother's death, but he failed, his face crumpling in anguish. I did the only thing I could think of. I crossed to him and pulled him into my arms.

Jason and I dozed in fits and starts, curling up in awkward positions in the ICU waiting room. Mandy had suffered a broken leg and had some internal injuries that had required surgery and was also being treated for a concussion. A surgeon had come out an hour ago to let us know Mandy was out of surgery and resting comfortably, but because of the internal bleeding, she would need to remain in the ICU for a few more days for monitoring. Mrs. Whitt had gone back to sit with her, but Jason had stayed in the waiting room with me. I thought maybe he wasn't ready to see her just yet.

In addition to a broken wrist, Drea had a couple of broken ribs, which led to a collapsed lung. They'd inserted a chest tube to reinflate the lung, but because of multiple contusions and a lot of swelling, they'd placed her on a ventilator for the time being. This required her to be sedated, and it would likely be several days before the swelling would come down enough that they could take her off the medication and remove the ventilator.

Dad had gone back to sit with her shortly after I arrived, when the doctor came out to let us know they had her stabilized. And since Mr. Whitt had left a short time ago to go home and pack a bag, I'd stayed with Jason in the waiting room, not wanting to leave him alone. I sat up in my chair, tilting my head from side to side, trying to work out the kinks in my neck. Jason followed suit, standing and reaching his arms to the ceiling in a full-body stretch. He was still wearing his uniform, the black tactical pants and button-down fitting his body perfectly. Under different circumstances, the sight would have me shifting positions to allow room for my growing erection, but at the moment, I couldn't do more than admire him with a sort of appreciative detachment, much as one admires a work of art in a gallery.

"You wanna go see if we can find some coffee?" He held his hand out, and I took it, rising to stand in front of him.

We made our way out of the ICU, quietly walking hand-in-hand, as we navigated the hallways in search of the cafeteria. I should have been more concerned about someone seeing us holding hands, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It was amazing how much comfort could be drawn from two hands clasped together. I wasn't willing to break that connection.

It was a little after four in the morning when we entered the cafeteria. At this time of day, there was only a limited selection of food items pre-packaged in a refrigerated case, but I could hear the bustle of folks working in the back, starting on the prep work for breakfast.

We grabbed cups and poured our coffees, paying a sleepy-eyed gentleman in cash before taking a table near the windows. It was pitch black outside, still several hours from sunrise.

We sipped our coffee, and I grimaced at the bitter taste, wondering how long it had been sitting there and debating if I could persuade someone to make a fresh pot. Jason let out a heavy sigh, pulling my attention away from my coffee. He rubbed his hand through his short crop of hair, then down over his face, scratching at the stubble along his jawline. He seemed to be working himself up to saying something, so I waited while he sorted through his words. "I wonder…I wonder if maybe I'm not cut out to be an EMT."

"What?" I took his hand in mine, squeezing gently. "What makes you say that?"

"I lost it tonight. When we pulled up to the scene…" His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily and blinked several times. "When I saw your car…and I realized it was the girls…I just…I lost it. I took off running and…and it's all kind of a blur after that. They had to pull me away from the car after I cut my hands on the window glass."

He held up his bandaged hand, the one I wasn't currently holding. "It took three guys holding me down and Chief threatening to have me handcuffed before I calmed down enough to see that I was only making everything worse." He bit back a choked sob. "I'm no good to anybody like that. I can't be panicking in an emergency situation. I need to be able to keep a clear head."

His tone was becoming more agitated, so I got up and stood behind him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. "It'll be different when it's not your sister. You just had the horrible luck of having your first call involve someone you know. With training and experience, you'll learn to put those feelings aside and do the job."

He was sobbing now, his big body shaking with the emotion of it all. I held on, murmuring nonsense in his ear, trying to calm the storm and soothe the panic brewing inside him. I wasn't sure how long I stood there, holding him together while he let it all go, but eventually, the tears subsided, leaving him sniffling.

I kissed the top of his head, then released him, moving back to the other side of the table, ignoring the coffee that had now run cold.

"Thanks," he said, wiping his nose with a napkin.

"No thanks necessary."

"I hate that this happened, and I hate that you had to drop everything in LA, but I'm glad you're here." He took my hand in his once more. "I don't know if I could do this without you."

"I'm glad we have each other."