CHAPTER 4
Some tension left Axel when Devlin entered the waiting room. He couldn’t take much more of watching the young man sit there in shock, covered in his little brother’s blood… and his mother sobbing brokenly on his shoulder, trying to hold him.
As Devlin approached Clint and Axel, he looked at the pair. “They’ve been out here the whole time?” he asked, concerned and a bit upset. “That boy is in shock.” He started toward them, but Clint stopped him.
“There’s something you need to know,” he said quietly, his eyes hooded as they darted to the young man.
“What?” Devlin asked.
Clint started to speak, then drew Devlin farther from the mother and son, lowering his voice to a whisper. “That kid over there…” He swallowed. “He’s the… hit-and-run driver.”
It took Devlin a moment to process. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t understand. Rumors circulating in the hospital implicated the drive-by shooter as the hit-and-run driver.”
“That’s what we thought,” Clint murmured. “But I saw the car. Detective Jordan gave me the name and address tied to the license plate number.” He nodded toward the traumatized pair. “It led back to them. The car is out in the parking lot… blood all over the front seat.”
Devlin stared at the young man, his face filled with quiet horror. “He was in a panic… trying to get his little brother to the hospital…?”
Clint nodded.
“And he hit…” Devlin looked like he wanted to puke. Tears filled his eyes. “Does he even know…?”
“I don’t think so,” Clint whispered. “I don’t think he was aware of anything except saving his little brother.”
Devlin slid his hand over his eyes as his head sank toward his chest. “Oh, my God.” He trembled. “I don’t…” He raised his head, his tears barely held. “I don’t even know how to tell him…”
“One thing is certain,” Clint said. “If the other boy’s father finds out this kid was the driver…”
“Oh, God.” Devlin went pale. “The man is falling apart, looking for somewhere to direct his pain and anger.”
“That’s why you need to get this kid somewhere more private,” Clint told him. “Detective Jordan is on the way. He said there are officers already here at the hospital. You have to make sure this kid is protected and that the facts of the hit-and-run are kept quiet for now.”
Devlin nodded, then sniffed, cleared his throat, and regained his professional poise. “Of course.” He approached the mother and son slowly, pausing a few feet away. “Mrs. Healy?” His voice was soft, quiet.
The woman looked up, and her fear deepened. “My boy…? Is… Is he okay?” Her whole body shook with her sobs.
“He’s still in surgery,” Devlin replied gently, his eyes darting to her older son.
He sank to his heels and looked at the older boy.
“This is a terrible thing that has happened. I know you’re scared.
So, we’re going to take this one step at a time, okay?
” Devlin moved almost cautiously into the chair next to the boy, as if any sudden movement might spark panic or a fear reaction in the young man.
“I would like to take you into another room where you’ll be more comfortable and get you cleaned up. Would that be okay with you?”
The kid blinked for the first time since Axel and Clint had entered the waiting room. His eyes darted back and forth without focusing, yet he still gave Devlin a slight nod.
“We’ll take it slow,” Devlin murmured as he stood, gently taking the kid’s arm. “Your mom will come with us. She’ll be right by your side.”
The boy’s chin trembled, and he began to stand, then sank back into the chair as if too weak to rise.
Devlin carefully tightened his grip on the boy’s arm, spoke softly, and helped him to his feet.
Mother and son leaned on one another as Devlin supported the young man.
As they moved past Clint and Axel, the boy looked gone, his eyes reflecting only hollow fear, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
“We’ll take care of them,” Devlin said quietly to the men in passing. “When Jordan arrives, message me.”
Clint nodded, his face strained with concern for the young man and his mother.
Devlin could feel the young man about to collapse. As soon as they entered the ER, he motioned to Nurse Gina. “Get me a wheelchair.”
The woman reacted promptly, retrieving an empty wheelchair parked halfway down the corridor.
Her white shoes squeaked on the tile, and the chair’s wheels hissed across the floor as she rushed to Devlin’s aid.
Devlin gently seated the young man in the chair while the nurse propped his feet on the pedals.
Devlin stepped away from the wheelchair with the nurse. “Thank you, Gina,” Devlin said. “I’m taking him to exam room two. Could you bring some washcloths and a gown?”
“Is that the boy who brought his brother in?” she asked quietly, her eyes filled with sympathy.
“Yes.”
“Is he injured?”
“No.” Devlin swallowed. “That’s his brother’s blood.”
The woman struggled to maintain her professionalism even as tears shimmered in her eyes. “I hate days like this.”
“So do I.” Devlin cleared his throat. They rarely had good days in the ER, but this one felt worse than most.
The other mother’s cries could still be heard.
The father continued to pace the corridor, his hands clamped almost violently behind his neck, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the floor, walking back and forth in front of the room where his wife sat with their dead child, her sobs rising and falling.
Gine watched the man for a moment, her throat working. “How could someone do that?” she whispered. “How could they hit a child and not even stop? I don’t understand people anymore.”
A sick feeling seeped into Devlin’s gut as his gaze slowly returned to the older brother, hunched in the wheelchair, bloody hands shaking in his lap. “We don’t know the full story yet,” he mumbled. “Or why…” He swallowed hard. “… why the person was driving so recklessly.”
“Do you think he’s going to care why?” Gine nodded toward the father. “He lost his son. The why isn’t going to matter.”
That’s what scares me, Devlin thought, sickly, as he stared at the older brother.
As Devlin wheeled the boy to the exam room, they passed the pacing father.
The man didn’t acknowledge them. In his own way, he was as oblivious to his surroundings as the young man.
Anxiety knotted Devlin’s muscles as they passed so close to the man, knowing that—if he knew the truth—he would surely attack the young man and possibly fatally harm him.
Devlin’s attention turned to Mrs. Healy, who was clutching the edge of the wheelchair, her sobs almost matching the other mother’s, as if their souls were reaching out in mutual anguish.
If the father turned his anger on her older son, Devlin couldn’t imagine the terror she would experience.
She was already on the verge of losing one child—she didn’t yet realize it—but she wouldn’t be able to withstand losing her oldest son too.
Gina came through the curtain, pushing a cart carrying a small stack of washcloths, a wash basin, soap, and a folded gown. She helped Devlin move the young man from the chair to the bed, where he sat on the edge, head hanging low, his vacant eyes fixed on the floor.
“Can you turn down the lights?” Devlin asked softly as the harsh overhead fluorescents glared down on them. Gina nodded and flipped a switch, casting the room in a dimmer, gentler light.
“Do you want me to…?” Gina asked as Devlin picked up the gown.
“I got this,” Devlin said, then replaced the gown on the cart and walked with Gina to the edge of the room, near the curtain.
“When Dr. Landers gets out of surgery on the Healy boy,” he said quietly.
“Inform him the family is in here, and…” He glanced at the mother and son.
“Let him know I want to speak to him before he speaks to them.”
Gina had seen the boy when he was brought in; she knew, as did Devlin, that the news from the O.R. would leave the family in ruins. “Yes, doctor,” she whispered, then exited through the curtain.
Some days, Devlin despised his job and sometimes envied his friends at The Phoenix Club, whose main “job requirement” was to excite their clients sexually and provide entertainment.
There were no dead children. No siblings covered in blood.
No crying mothers. No broken fathers. No need to tell a mother and her son that their loved one won’t return home.
No obligation to inform a young, traumatized man that he had killed a child while attempting to save his own brother.
Devlin picked up the gown and walked to the young man and his mother. “We need to get you out of these clothes,” Devlin said softly to the boy. “May I help you change?”
The young man remained silent for a moment before nodding once.
His mother took a breath, then carefully helped Devlin remove her son’s clothes down to his underwear and dress him in the gown.
Though her face was marked with trauma and fear, her instincts as a mother kicked in, and she attended to her child without a word.
What’s going to happen to them when the truth comes out? Did they have anyone other than each other? If the young man were arrested… would his mother be left alone to deal with the loss of both her children?
“There we go,” Devlin murmured as he secured the gown around the young man’s waist. He quickly checked his vitals, noting an irregular heartbeat and dangerously high blood pressure.
Devlin elevated the upper part of the bed a bit.
“You need to relax,” he said calmly. “Lie back now, okay?” The young man didn’t resist as Devlin assisted him into bed, then slightly raised the foot of the bed to elevate his legs.
He turned to the mother. “Try to get him to drink some water,” he murmured.
He touched her arm. “I know how hard this is for you, but focusing on your son, here and now, will help. Until your boy is out of surgery, there’s nothing you can do for him.
Focusing on what you can control will help calm your mind. Can you do that?”
The woman trembled, tears leaking from her eyes, but nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m going to stay here with you,” Devlin said. “You’re not alone.”
Across the corridor, the mother’s sobs rose again. Devlin’s throat tightened, and he blinked back tears as he carried the wash basin to the sink and filled it with warm water.
“What… What’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Healy whispered, her voice trembling. “I-I could hear her out in the waiting room… she was… she was screaming.” She bit her lower lip, her chin quivering, and tears spilled down her face. “That man in the hall… he’s her husband, isn’t he?”
Devlin swallowed hard and nodded.
“He was… asking about his son.” Her face crumpled. “Did their boy… die?”
Devlin glanced at the young man in the bed, and his heart fell apart. “Yes,” he whispered.
The woman covered her mouth, tears spilling over. The depth of fear on her face broke Devlin. She’s terrified of being that mother—screaming for her lost child. It was coming, and there was nothing Devlin could do to save her from the nightmare swiftly descending upon her.
“How?” she whispered through broken sobs. “How did he…?”
Devlin didn’t want to be here; he didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want her to know that when the truth came out, it was her son who brought that unbearable pain on another mother, a father.
“Please tell me,” she trembled.
Please, you don’t want to know. But she thought she did. Maybe it made her feel connected to the grieving mother by knowing how she lost her child.
Devlin dipped a washcloth in the warm water, picked up her son’s trembling hand, and began gently washing the dried blood of his little brother from his skin.
“He was hit by a car,” Devlin whispered, pressing his lips together to keep his chin from trembling.
“He died in the ambulance. She was… with him.” He looked at the young man’s face, smears of his brother’s blood on his cheeks, a horror show playing behind his vacant eyes.
Tears welled in Devlin’s eyes. “It was an accident.”