“Afghanistan?” he asked, his grey-blue eyes looking me up and down as he sat.
“Yes, sir,” I said, nodding. “Hip, most of the leg. But they were able to save it.”
He grunted and nodded. “So, you’re Mack’s man? Aren’t you a medic?” he asked.
I nodded again, solemnly bracing for whatever he was going to say. “Was, sir.”
His eyes softened as he looked at me.
“Don’t ‘sir’ me, boy. I work for a living,” he grunted at me. “Mack was a great man and a great soldier. I was holding out for an invite to your wedding, son.”
I felt my eyes tear up unexpectedly. I’d braced for a lot of things, but not this. Mack had not been ‘out’ to many people, including most of his family. To find this man knew about us, about me, was a huge surprise.
“He was a good man and a good pilot, sir, but I don’t know if he qualified as a ‘great’ soldier,” I said wryly. “More like a ‘great’ pain in the ass.”
Martinez laughed and leaned back as far as the uncomfortable chairs would allow.
“I think even Mack would agree with you on that, Devereaux,” he agreed, running his fingers through his hair. “So, your brothers, eh?”
“Yes, sir. The police aren’t telling us much, but they said they think it was an accident, a hit and run…?” I let my voice end on an up note, a hint of question in it.
Something about the cops story just didn’t seem right, but I'd been too distracted by taking care of my family and worrying about my brothers to really think it through.
“Hrmpff. I don’t know about ‘accident’,” he said, pausing for a moment, his gaze holding mine. “Are your brothers gay?” he asked, again taking me off guard.
“I’m not sure what that would have to do with anything…” I began, hedging. The twins were out, yes, but that was their information to share, not mine.
“Shit, boy, I don’t care who they fuck,” he said, taking in my hesitation. “I’ve got a man at home myself,” he said, winking at me and a tiny tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks. “I don’t know you, or your brothers, really, but I did know Mack, and I owe him for saving my ass more times than I can count.”
I held his gaze with my own. Whatever was going on had to be serious for Martinez to be responding like this. A random hit-and-run wouldn’t have caused this kind of a response from a man like him.
Something in my gaze seemed to give him whatever he was looking for, because Martinez leaned under the table and pulled out a crumpled piece of gray paper from a battered medic bag, much like the one sitting under my own bathroom sink. He laid it on the table, and I couldn’t help but see the blood spatters on the paper: My brothers’ blood.
“This trash has been bothering me, but I could get in deep shit for it,” he said, setting the paper face down on the table. “Medics work very closely with law enforcement and I don’t like the idea of anyone, or anything jeopardizing that relationship.”
I reached for the paper, but as my fingers touched the paper he didn’t lift his hands to release it.
“Anything,” he repeated, his gaze holding mine as he raised an eyebrow at me.
“I have no idea where it came from, sir,” I said solemnly.
“Good man,” he said, nodding at me and taking his hand away from the paper, settling back in the chair.
“We found these scattered around the sidewalk where we found your brothers. The cop who showed up didn’t say anything about it, but I noticed while we worked that he was busier picking them up and stashing them in his car than he was assessing the scene,” he said, nodding at the paper.
“The main thing though is…” he continued, his voice dropping, “Son, you may want to keep a close eye on the rest of your family. The driver that hit your brothers would have had to have driven off the road, around a dumpster and then away. With no skid marks, no damage to the building, and no damage to the car.”
I turned the paper over and looked down at the paper in front of me, the hateful speech pouring across the page, pictures of crosses and Bible verses blaring in the blood-smeared ink.
Martinez’s voice seemed to come from a great distance.
“This was no accident.”
Fuck.
29
Lee
Throughout the morning, Mason had been a rock. He’d fetched and carried so much coffee that he had to have been exhausted. Hell, just after the events of the previous night he should have been a wreck. I tried to talk to him about his panic attack at the community center, but he kept putting me off, turning the conversation back to the boys, saying we could talk about it later.
We were sitting there waiting for news from the docs on Sonny’s leg when my phone beeped.
WEAVER: Hey bro, any news?
ME: Nothing yet. They said it would probably be another hour or two.
WEAVER: Fuck. Working on ER leave. Probably won’t be approved until tomorrow though.
ME: Nothing you could do here anyway, hon.
WEAVER: I know, just feel so damn helpless. How’s our psychic?
ME: Psychic?
WEAVER: Your new boy toy. He kinda nailed it last night, right? Didn’t he freak out about the fam or something?
I’d forgotten Mason’s insistence that I check on the family last night, chalking it up to some kind of self-calming ritual.
ME: Dunno. Hadn’t thought about it.
WEAVER: Well, think about it. Seems kind of weird to me.
ME: Weave, what are you trying to say? That Mason did it? Because that’s bullshit. He was with me. ALL night.
WEAVER: ACK! No, please, I don’t need the visual. :P I just meant, maybe he knows something?
ME: I doubt it, but…I’ll ask.
Mason had just brought another round of coffee and food no one was going to eat. He sat down next to me and handed me back my phone. He’d asked if he could make a few phone calls, since his own phone was broken, so, of course, I let him. I watched as his fingers brushed over the now-taped screen of his broken phone, and I saw the band aids I’d insisted on across his own fingers. I knew it was a comfort thing for him, so I just sat there with him a while as he stroked it.
I put my arm around him and he snuggled into me, as much as the hard chairs of the waiting room would allow. He’d seemed especially touchy-feely since last night. It was like he couldn’t keep his hands off me if we were within touching distance. Like he was soaking up all the affection to revisit later, which made absolutely no sense.
I played with his hair, running my fingers absently through his curls. The flyer Martinez gave me felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as much as I probably should have, because while I was gone the doctors had come out and said we were finally able to see Hicks and I didn’t want anything taking my focus away from him.
Martinez had shared more details of the scene when they had arrived. He told me that Hicks had been unconscious. Sonny had been awake, but not really aware. Neither of the twins remembered the accident, or at least they hadn’t when they’d been brought in. Sonny had been in too much pain from his leg to really be questioned and Hicks was so confused he didn’t even know what day it was. He literally didn’t know what hit him.
They had both been thrown against the outside wall of the store. Martinez had told me he thought Hicks had probably taken the brunt of the impact. When they’d been found, he had been cradling his brother’s body, keeping pressure on the wound in his leg. He was showing signs of a traumatic brain injury, dizziness, confusion, vomiting and memory loss. He kept insisting he had to save Sonny. Hicks had somehow managed to use his belt as a makeshift tourniquet on Sonny’s leg, otherwise he might have bled out before anyone even found them.
Mama K and Mama D had just come out from their first visit with him. When they came out, both of my parents’ eyes were red from crying. I wrapped my arms around them and just held them as they cried. After a few minutes they stepped back, then sat down in one
of the chairs. I sat next to them, with Mason next to me.
“Lee, why don’t you go in and see him?” Mama D said, her arm wrapped around Mama K. “The… the doctor said his CAT scan showed some bleeding in his brain. He said they have to wait a few days to do an MRI, but right now they are going to keep a very close eye on him. You’re the only one of us with any real medical experience. Can you go take a look at him, then tell us what you think?”
I nodded, taking a deep breath and snagging Mason’s hand as I stood. I didn’t know that I would be able to add anything to what the doctor was telling us, but I would do anything for my parents. A volunteer with kind eyes told us what room he was in and opened the doors to the ICU for us.
As we walked into the ICU unit, the beeps, chirps and hissing noises from the various medical equipment flashing me back to the days I’d spent in the hospital in Germany after Mack died. The same plastic smell clogged the back of my throat and I had to swallow hard to get myself to walk through the doors of the unit. Mason just gripped my hand more tightly.
We found Hicks in the bed the volunteer had directed us to. He lay quietly, his eyes closed, skin pale. One arm was wrapped in an air cast and the other had an IV running into it. His hair, which he normally tied back from his face in a perfect tail, was spread around his head like a halo. I’d half expected that he would have a bandage wrapped around it, but all I saw was a tiny cut on his forehead with dark blue bruising around it. As we stopped next to his bed his eyes flew open, confusion filling them.
“Lee?” He asked, his eyes jumping from me to Mason. A divot appeared between his blond eyebrows. “What are you doing here? Where am I?”
I felt a pressure in my chest and couldn’t talk for a minute, but I felt Mason’s arm tighten protectively around me and drew strength from it.
“Hey C.B.,” I said, gently squeezing his shoulder on his good side. “You’re in the hospital. You and Sonny had an… an accident,” I managed, though I was pretty sure at this point that it had been no accident.
“Accident? Where’s Sonny?” he asked, looking around and trying to sit up, but wincing as he put pressure on his injured arm.
“Sonny’s in surgery,” I said, confused. Surely my parents had told him this already.
“I need to get to him,” he said, his eyes opening wider and his heart rate starting to pick up. “I have to take care of him!” He jerked upright despite the pain, eyes darting around the room, as if he was looking for a way out.
“Hey, hey, calm down, tiger,” I said, pressing gently on his body as he tried to sit up. “The best thing you can do right now is rest and heal up. You can’t do anything for him right now. The docs are working on him, and they’ll bring him right over here next to you when he gets out of surgery,” I said, nodding to the empty bed next to him.
“…Promise?” He asked, his voice for a moment taking on the lost sound of a child reaching out to his older brother to make the world right again.
“I promise, Hicks. Sonny has the best doctors working on him right now. We’re going to find out what happened and make sure those sons of bitches can never hurt another person, ever again,” I said, anger filling me as he looked at me, his face full of fear for his twin. “Do you remember what happened?”
He seemed to calm for a moment as my promise sank in, but then confusion washed over Hicks’ face.
“What happened?” he asked.
“The accident,” I answered patiently, keeping an eye on the various machines connected to his body.
“What accident?” He asked, confusion apparent in his voice.
The hiss of the blood pressure cuff around his good arm hissed as he glanced around the room, at Mason and then back at me, puzzlement plain on his face.
“The accident at the store,” I said, concerned as I saw his blood pressure start to spike. “You and Sonny were coming out of the store and were hit by a car.”
“Where is he?” He demanded, again starting to sit up. “I need to take care of him!”
Shit. He still didn’t remember.
I went through the same conversation with him twice more, my heart breaking as each and every time the terror and fear for his twin exploded out from him, before deciding it would be best to slip out of the ICU before his blood pressure went up further. We finally got Hicks calmed down by promising to send Bishop in soon, then left.
The tears I’d felt welling behind my eyes began to overflow and slip down my cheeks as we walked out the door of the ICU unit.
“Hey…” I heard Mason’s voice and the hands around me tightened as he tried to reassure me. “It’s okay. He’s young, he’s strong. He’s going to get through this.”
“That’s… that’s not normal, Mason.” I said, struggling to pull myself together before I went back into the surgery waiting area. “Fuck. I mean, some memory loss is normal with a traumatic brain injury, right? But I don’t think he should be having this much still. What if… what if it’s permanent?”
Mason gripped my neck and brought our foreheads together, staring into my eyes.
“He will manage. You will manage,” he said, staring into my eyes, his own the darkest I’d ever seen them. “He has an amazing family. You will help him recover, pick up the pieces, and move on from this.”
He sounded so confident, so sure, I was able to draw strength from his belief. I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my face before heading out to the waiting room. We sat down next to my parents as they clutched each other’s hands.
“What do you think?” Mama K asked, her normally cheery voice thick with emotion. Mama D looked up at me as well.
“I think… I think it’s serious,” I said, trying to soften the blow for my parents. “He seems to still be having trouble forming new memories. We had to tell him about the accident four times.” I sighed, and Mason’s hand squeezed mine. I sent him an appreciative look.
“They will keep him in ICU to keep a close eye on him, to make sure the bleeding in his brain stops. From there, it’s kind of a waiting game. We have to wait to see how well his body heals from the trauma of his at—” I paused and cleared my throat. I’d been about to say “attack” but I had no real proof yet. “…his accident.” I finished.
Both parents nodded. Their hands were clinging tightly to each other, and I took my free hand and enveloped both of theirs with it and squeezed gently.
“He’s young. He’s strong. He’s adaptable. We will just have to wait this out,” I finished.
They both nodded. “Thank you, sweetie,” Mama D said. “It makes us feel better knowing that you can check on him.”
We settled back into the routine of waiting for more news, but only a few minutes had passed when I saw a police officer enter the lounge. He was probably in his mid-to-late forties, about my height, but he was many pounds heavier. I wasn’t even sure how someone his weight could pass the annual physicals to police department required. His face was bruised, his eyes both sporting a raccoon mask of bruises indicating a broken nose. He was an attractive man, I supposed, but something in his eyes just left me cold. There was no emotion, no pity, no empathy, nothing. It made me shudder to see them. I'd seen men like that in Afghanistan, and they had all been sick sons of bitches.
His eyes seemed to pause on Mason and my family, but then skimmed over the rest of us and the other families in the waiting room. He spoke with the volunteer for a moment, and she pointed over to where our family was sitting.
“Devereaux family?” He asked, walking up to us. I felt Mason freeze next to me. I looked at him and saw his already white face go pale as a ghost. He had already looked worn out from lack of sleep and the panic attack from last night, but the terror in his face was plain to me. I just didn’t understand why.
Mama K and Mama D looked up and nodded.
“Yes, officer?” said Mama K.
“I’m Sergeant Dowling. John Dowling,” he said, his eyes again catching on Mason who still sat frozen in his chair. “I’m investigati
ng the hit and run that involved your sons last night,” he said.
“Have you found anything yet?” Kaine demanded.
“Nothing yet, and probably won’t, to be honest. No security systems, nothing documenting the attack,” he responded, looking at a notebook he’d pulled from his pocket. “Fucking idiots if you ask me. That area of town and no security? They were practically begging for something to happen.”
That. Asshole! The twins hadn’t had time, or money, apparently, to install a security system, which had me gritting my teeth. If I’d known, I would have paid for it myself. I was on my feet and taking a step towards the man, but before I could say or do anything, Mama K was on her feet.
“You watch your tongue, young man!” She said, her eyes narrowing to slits, her voice low and deadly. “My sons are not idiots, and you will treat them, and us, with respect, or I will be having a conversation with your Lieutenant.”
Her verbal attack took him off guard and he backpedaled. Even though all she’d done was stand up, he seemed to sense the threat in her. Most people completely discounted Mama K because of her size, but there was no one I’d rather have at my back in a fight.
Dowling’s discomfiture didn’t last long. Anger suffused his face as he realized he had just backed down from a woman who weighed one hundred pounds soaking wet. He turned his gaze back to Mason and I saw something that could only be described as malevolent delight fill those empty eyes. I wanted desperately to step in front of Mason to protect him from whatever this officer was about to say.
“Are you Cameron?” he asked. A short, jerky nod was all the response Mason made. “May I have a word with you, privately?” Despite the phrasing, it was more of a demand than a request.
Mason stood and followed him to a group of chairs by the door and I followed them. Dowling glared at me as he began to speak. Apparently, he hadn’t realized I was following.
“Your Uber is here, Mr. Malone,” Dowling said. “I saw the driver waiting for you outside. How about I escort you down, sir?” He dragged the “sir” part out, turning it from a symbol of respect to something dirty and wrong. I’d never wanted to punch a police officer before, but Dowling was pushing all of my buttons.
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