CHAPTER 6
“Where can we find Connor Healy?”
Devlin and Axel heard the man’s question simultaneously, echoing from down the corridor toward the nurse’s station. They both looked that way and saw two officers at the counter. Axel felt relief flood in, but also a flicker of doubt. Were the officers there to protect the kid or to arrest him?
Axel looked anxiously at Devlin, who seemed equally uncertain. The nurse pointed toward Devlin, and the two cops turned and headed their way. Axel’s gut knotted until his stomach cramped. They didn’t look friendly, and that worried him.
“Officers,” Devlin said cordially when the men approached. “How can I help you?”
“We need to speak with Mr. Healy,” the older officer said.
He seemed to be in his forties, with a crewcut, square jaw, broad shoulders, and a boxy build.
Axel guessed he looked ex-military, but it might have just been the crewcut.
The younger officer, in his early thirties, was a few inches shorter than Axel but stockier, especially in the arms, with rounded biceps that strained his uniform sleeves.
He also had a crewcut, though his hair was slightly longer on top and darker than his partner’s light blond hair.
“He’s in here,” Devlin said, pointing to the exam room. He stayed outside the curtain, blocking their path into the room. “The kid is recovering from shock. He needs to remain calm while his blood pressure comes down. Would you mind waiting a while before speaking with him?”
“I’m sorry,” the older cop said, “but this is important. We need to speak to him now.”
Axel looked uneasily at the agitated father, who continued pacing the corridor. His attention was drawn to the officers, and that worried Axel. Devlin shared his concern.
“May I speak to you gentlemen in private for a moment?” Devlin asked.
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you in private,” Devlin said, lowering his voice. “It concerns Mr. Healy and his… safety.”
“Safety?” the younger officer almost scoffed. “Are you aware that he—”
“Sir,” Devlin interrupted quickly, glancing fearfully at the father. “I am aware. That is what I need to speak to you about—in private.”
Where the hell was Detective Jordan? Axel looked back toward the waiting room doors, willing the detective to walk through. Instead, Clint entered, which brought some relief. Axel excused himself and motioned to the cowboy. Clint immediately zeroed in on the officers.
“What’s going on?” Clint asked. “Are they here to look after the kid?”
“I’m not sure,” Axel murmured, his voice tense. “They’re asking to speak with the kid, but they don’t seem friendly. And the other boy’s dad is right there. If he overhears them mention the hit-and-run…” He inhaled shakily. “Devlin wants to talk to them in private, but they’re not cooperating.”
Other than Detective Jordan, Clint wasn’t comfortable around cops. But Axel knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to the kid, even if it meant an altercation with the officers. From the short distance, Devlin didn’t seem to be making progress with the cops.
“Come on,” Clint said in a low voice as he started down the corridor, his eyes darting to the father, who had yet to stop moving but was clearly listening to Devlin and the officers’ conversation.
They stepped aside for two orderlies pushing an empty gurney covered with a white sheet.
When they stopped at the grieving mother’s room, the father paused.
The orderlies spoke to him in hushed tones, and then the father followed them into the room.
Moments later, the mother’s wails rose to a high pitch again.
“No… not my baby… don’t take my baby…”
Axel felt Clint tense beside him as Axel turned his back to the room, trembling.
He wanted to go home and hold Luke. He didn’t want to be in this place of death and despair any longer.
His gaze drifted to Devlin, and he wondered how a man of such compassion and care could survive in this environment day to day. Axel couldn’t have.
“You okay?” Clint asked quietly, touching Axel’s arm.
Axel leaned his head against the cowboy’s shoulder.
“I just want to go home to our son,” he whispered, his heart breaking for the two families that would never see their sons again, who would go home to empty bedrooms and the cold chill of grief and loss.
As others touched by the tragedies gradually went back to their lives and forgot, the families would be left alone in their grief as their pain continued.
Axel felt guilty for wanting to get away from this place, this reminder that life was fragile and the things you loved most could be snatched away in the blink of an eye—in the squeeze of a trigger, in the screech of tires—there one moment… gone the next.
“So do I.” Clint kissed his head. It wasn’t just an absent agreement; Axel felt the cowboy’s need to confirm that their son was alive and well, to hold him and feel the reality that he was still there.
But they couldn’t leave, not yet. Neither he nor Clint had any obligations to the young man whose nightmare was about to get so much worse, yet they stayed, unable to walk away and leave him vulnerable… unprotected.
“Are you his doctor?” the older cop asked Devlin.
Devlin hesitated. “No. Technically, he isn’t a patient.”
“Then you have no authority,” the officer said. “Please, step aside, Doctor.”
“Whether he’s been officially admitted into the hospital,” Devlin pressed, “the boy is in a fragile state. Another stressor right now could have dire consequences.”
“The kid was involved in a hit-and-run that resulted in the death of a minor,” the officer stated bluntly. “His condition isn’t my concern.”
Axel’s eyes snapped to the room across the hall. The father was inside with his sobbing wife and the orderlies. Had her cries drowned out the cop’s words?
Devlin looked helpless—and concerned, as he looked at the other room, fearful that the father might come charging forth at any moment. With much reluctance, he stepped through the curtain with the officers.
Mrs. Healy sat in a chair beside her oldest son’s bed, her grief-stricken body bent over the edge as she clutched his hand to her lips, her eyes closed and leaking tears as she quietly and desperately begged God for a miracle to bring her youngest child back to her… and to heal her oldest.
When the officers stepped forward, Devlin waved them back and approached the woman.
As the day wore on, Devlin hated his job more and more.
This poor mother was clinging to the last thread of her rope—with the worst yet to come—and Devlin hated himself for bringing more grief and terror down on her and her son. But he had no choice.
“Mrs. Healy?” he spoke softly, gently touching her shoulder.
The woman slowly raised her head, tears spilling as she opened her puffy, bloodshot eyes. Her gaze darted past Devlin to the officers, uncertainty mixing with anxiety. “What… why are they here?” Her words came out thick and wet, gravelly.
The older cop started to speak, and Devlin cut him off. “They need to speak to you and your son about an incident that happened earlier today.”
The woman looked confused and disoriented as she struggled to comprehend his words. “I-I don’t understand,” she whispered, trembling. “What… What incident?”
Devlin released a shaky breath and felt like throwing up.
Any moment now, Dr. Landers would arrive with news that her youngest child was dead.
Why couldn’t this wait? The damage was already done; waiting wouldn’t change anything, and addressing it now wouldn't bring the other boy back.
None of this seemed to matter to the officers.
It would have mattered to Detective Jordan.
“Your son was involved in a hit-and-run,” the officer said bluntly. “He struck a young boy. The boy didn’t survive.”
“What?” The woman couldn’t process his words, as if she’d stepped into the Twilight Zone, where nothing made sense. “No, he… I-I don’t understand…” She began to cry. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t in an accident… His little brother was… was shot… and he rushed him to the hospital.”
“He was in an accident,” the officer corrected, “he just didn’t stop.”
Devlin moved closer to the woman, wanting to protect her from this horror, even though he knew he was helpless.
The young man in the bed stirred from his trance-like state as his mother clutched his hand protectively, placing her body between him and the officers. He blinked slowly, his hazy eyes finally focusing on the officers. “What… What’s…”
The older cop turned his attention to the kid. He rattled off the car's make and model, along with the license plate number. “This car is registered in your name. Were you driving it at four-thirty-eight this afternoon?”
The boy struggled to remain focused. “Yes,” he whispered with a tremor. “My little brother, he… he was shot… I-I brought him to the hospital.”
“And you were driving recklessly?”
“He was bleeding,” the kid cried. “He was dying! I-I had to get him to the hospital.”
“I understand the urgency,” the officer replied tonelessly. “But in the process of rushing your brother to the hospital, you ran down a teenage boy. The boy died on the way to the hospital.”
“What…” The kid shook his head, desperation seeping into his face.
“No… no… I-I didn’t… I didn’t.” He slid off the bed on shaky legs, and his mother clutched at his arm.
“I didn’t hit a kid,” he cried, stark fear in his voice.
“I hit a car… a parked car… that’s all! I didn’t…
” He moved away from the bed, as if trying to escape this swelling nightmare. “I didn’t!”
“Fourteen-year-old Jamie Brown was struck by your car, Mr. Healy,” the officer said. “There are multiple witnesses to the incident.”
“No!” the boy cried, shoving himself into the corner by the window.
“I didn’t hit anyone! I didn’t! It was a CAR!
!” He slid down the wall, gripping his hair.
“It was… it was a car…” He shook his head wildly as he sank to the floor.
“It was a car… a car… I didn’t… it wasn’t… a kid… it wasn’t… it wasn’t…”
His mother pressed a hand to her mouth, sobbing, as her eyes darted toward the curtain—and the crying mother on the other side of the corridor. “Oh, my God,” she broke, clamping both hands to her mouth as the reality of the situation struck with cruel clarity. “Oh, my God… oh, my God… no-no-no…”
The kid ripped at his hair, his cries rising in tempo and echoing into the corridor. “It was a car… I hit a car! I didn’t hit a KID!! I DIDN’T HIT A KID!!”
The curtain ripped open, the runners screeching as the rollers wrenched through the overhead grooves, startling Devlin and the officers.
Before anyone could react, the father plowed through the three men like a battering ram, grabbed the sobbing kid by the front of his gown, wrenched him off the floor, and slammed him against the wall hard enough to empty the boy’s lungs.
The kid gasped and cried, terrified, with no idea what was happening.
The mother grabbed the man, screaming at him to let go of her son.
The officers moved in quickly, but not fast enough.
The man’s massive fist struck the kid in the face, snapping his head to the side and nearly knocking him out.
He barely clung to consciousness, going limp in the man’s grip.
“You killed my son!” the father bellowed in rage and anguish. “I’ll fucking KILL you!!”
“Get him off him!” Devlin cried to the officers, who grabbed the enraged man.
The father elbowed the younger cop in the face, smashing his nose and sending him sprawling to the floor. Then his huge hand was around Connor Healy’s throat, squeezing. The boy struggled weakly, only half aware of what was happening, as his face flushed red, then purple.
“STOP!!” his mother screamed.
Fuck! Devlin rushed in as the older cop struggled to restrain the man, when someone swept past in a blur.
Devlin staggered back, blinking, as the cowboy grabbed the father in a rear chokehold, put his full weight into it, and squeezed until the man began to lose his grip on the kid.
Clint held on as Devlin grabbed the boy before he fell to the floor, then hurriedly moved him out of the man’s reach.
The kid sagged to the tiles, sobbing and coughing, his wide, horrified eyes fixed on the father.
Only after the officer had cuffed the father did Clint release him.
The father, rather than lunging at the kid again, crumbled. “You killed my boy… you killed my son…” He didn’t resist as the officers removed him from the room.
The kid stared after him, tears streaming down his flushed face, a depth of horror and despair in his bloodshot eyes that no human being should ever have to endure.
“Dr. Grant?”
Devlin looked up, his vision swimming. Nurse Gina stood at the curtain, her face anxious as she glanced at the young man on the floor, one side of his face already swelling and his throat bruising. “Nurse…?”
Gina swallowed, and the dim light caught a shimmer in her eyes. “Dr. Landers is waiting to speak with you.”
Devlin looked down at the mother, cradling her son and sobbing as she held his head to her chest. Something inside Devlin died as he mumbled hollowly, “I’ll be right there.”