Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I cranked my wheel, skidding into the first spot I saw in the ER parking lot. As I shoved out of my car, I couldn’t help but notice I’d parked way over the line, basically taking up two spots. Oh well. No way would I waste one second fixing my rushed parking job.
A few onlookers stared at me with open curiosity as I raced across the parking lot like a madman. Were we all there for the same reason? Was every poor bastard here because their life was falling apart, and someone they loved was suffering in that stark brick building? Any other time, I might have spared a few feelings for them, wondering about their stories. Now all I cared about was getting to Alex.
The double doors parted with a hiss, admitting me into the loud, bustling ER waiting area. Frantic, I turned in a full circle, whipping my head back and forth as I searched for Kenny.
“Ryder.”
I jerked and spun left to find Kenny hovering by two empty chairs. He looked like shit in an oversized faded black hoodie and baggy jeans despite the summer heat. His skin was even paler than the last time I saw him, and his eyes seemed to have sunken into his gaunt face.
“Where’s Alex?” I ran to him, grabbing the sleeves of his hoodie. It took every ounce of strength I had not to shake the words out of him violently.
“Um…” He glanced at a second set of double doors, this pair leading back into the bowels of the ER. “They said they’re working on him back there, but they won’t let me see him.”
“Working on him?” I whispered, searching Kenny’s bleak eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He shook his head, face blanching even whiter. “I don’t know. They said someone will come talk to me when they can.”
My shoulders slumped. Fuck, this was torture. Absolute torture. I released Kenny and dropped into a chair. It crunched and whistled beneath my ass as air leaked from the cracked vinyl. We sat in heavy silence for what felt like ages. Hundreds of questions bombarded me, but I couldn’t give voice to them. I didn’t scroll through my phone, listen to music, or people-watch. I stared at the double doors, willing someone, anyone, to walk through and give me a crumb of information about Alex. With each passing minute, my anxiety ramped up until I was practically vibrating in the seat next to Kenny, who sat much the same as I did without any attempt to distract himself from the worry.
I have no idea how much time passed, but it wasn’t quick. If you pressed me, I’d guess at least two hours before a man in navy blue scrubs and a matching cap strode through the double doors. My breath caught as it did every time those doors had opened over the past few hours. So far, my hopes had been dashed every time.
“Family of Alexander Morgan?” he announced, scanning the room.
I launched out of the chair like I’d hit an ejection button, with Kenny hot on my heels. “Here!” I shouted as I lifted a hand and ran to the doctor. “Is he okay? Can I see him? Where is he?” A huge part of me had clung to the idea that he’d be wheeled out in a chair, bitching about the policy and begging to go home. My eyes filled, and my chest tightened. There went my hope that Kenny had overreacted about Alex’s condition.
The doctor lifted a hand, quieting my bombardment of questions. “You’re family?”
I nodded. “This is his brother. I’m his boyfriend and emergency contact.” After my father’s stroke, we’d officially made each other the primary contact with work and our insurance companies, should something happen. I never thought I’d need to use it, but my father’s stroke taught us that crazy things could happen at any time. The decision no longer felt like the flex it had when we’d talked to my lawyer, but I was so grateful I wouldn’t have to battle privacy laws to see Alex. “Please tell me Alex is okay.”
“Alex suffered a brutal beating and significant injuries.”
“Oh God.” My knees threatened to give out as they’d done in the elevator, but I locked them out, forcing myself to remain upright. “Is he…” No way could I finish that sentence. I didn’t even know what I wanted to ask.
The doctor gave me a sympathetic shoulder pat. “He has significant soft tissue damage, basically a fancy way of saying severe bruising on his face and torso, mostly, with some on his legs too. He sustained a fracture to his eye socket, which we repaired surgically. He also has multiple rib fractures and suffered a pneumothorax, or a collapsed lung, during the ambulance ride.”
Broken bones? Surgery? Collapsed lung? This was done to him by another person? I was going to vomit.