Chapter 16 #2
Without Zach nearby, Miles felt unmoored, drifting in an ocean of uncertainty. He needed Zach’s touch, his sly smirk and soft reassurances that everything would turn out well. Both with Max and with the two of them.
But Zach wasn’t here.
All Miles could do was wait.
Too much waiting today, and not enough patience.
The room was depressingly quiet. No hushed conversations, no outside sounds, not a single inconsiderate person playing a song at full volume. Miles would have taken anything at this point, any indication of life.
A movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to the man in the corner straightening in his seat.
Miles squinted in confusion. Mara had mentioned Ray joining them at the hospital, but Miles assumed he’d gone home.
Why hadn’t he?
Quickly crossing the room, he plopped down next to Ray, who didn’t react, his focus fixed on the sun-faded landscape on the wall. After a moment, Miles nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, man.”
A few seconds passed without acknowledgment, and then Ray slowly moved his head, his glassy eyes staring blankly.
“Miles,” he said with no emotion in his voice. “Weren’t you in Portland?”
“Yeah, got the call about Max in the middle of the night, hopped on a plane. Zach drove us here from the airport.”
“Zach is here?” Ray glanced around without curiosity. Something about him seemed adrift, half-present, as if his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
“Nah, he went home with the rest of them,” Miles said. “Were they your ride? I’ve got my rental here if you need to take it.”
“I drove myself,” Ray said in the same monotone voice. His gaze slid off Miles’s face, his features hardening. “I can’t leave yet. I need to see Max, but only family is allowed, so I’m waiting.”
Miles nodded, not sure how to respond, and they lapsed into silence.
Ray tipped his head back, studying the ceiling as if it held all the answers, and Miles wondered why the gruff man was so affected by Max’s accident.
It seemed rude to just ask. After cycling through the possibilities in his head, the most likely scenario was that Max and Ray were best friends.
Despite all his trips back home on the weekends and during breaks, Miles had been steadily growing further apart from his brother and didn’t know all that much about his life anymore. Maybe Max was Ray’s Zach.
And if Zach had been in an accident and Miles wasn’t allowed to see him because he wasn’t technically family…
Jitters of anxiety jumped up and down his throat and made his skin tingle with horror. The idea was unbearable.
The plan brewing in his head was a little risky, but his family wasn’t here, and his heart hurt too much to do nothing. He hopped up and headed to the nurses’ station, smiling widely at the older man writing notes on a clipboard.
“Hi, I’m here to see my brother, Max Carter. Are we allowed in yet?”
The man slowly lifted his gaze and scrutinized Miles. “You’re his brother?”
Miles glanced back at Ray. His shoulders were slumped, resignation obvious in every heavy breath he took.
“Yes,” Miles said, “and our oldest brother, Micah, is here too.”
Micah was fifteen and at home with his twin sister, Misty, but that was more of a technicality.
Miles barreled on. “My mom introduced me to Shanna earlier, if she’s around. She can vouch for us.”
It was a gamble. He’d never been in this situation before, didn’t know what the protocol was. Would the man ask to see their ID? Would Miles get kicked out for lying?
He held his breath, the same carefree smile still plastered on his face.
The man sighed. “Shanna’s on break.” His clipboard joined a tall stack of others. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Let me go grab him.” Miles hurried over to Ray and pulled him up by the elbow. “You’re Micah,” he whispered.
After a moment, Ray’s vacant eyes lit up with understanding.
They followed the nurse through the large doors, like gates to another world, and down a hallway lined with open rooms. Miles tried not to peek inside, but the motionless bodies tethered to humming machines slipped into his vision, making every step toward Max’s room feel heavier.
Their guide pointed to a door and retreated, leaving Miles and Ray alone. Ray hesitated for a moment, then strode in with determination, while Miles trailed behind.
Max looked peaceful, like he was sleeping.
Unlike the people in adjoining rooms, he wasn’t hooked up to a ventilator, though there were a lot of wires coming off him, leading to multiple machines.
A thick cast wrapped around his lower leg, and the sides of his head were shaved in uneven patches that he would complain about endlessly.
Once he was well enough to complain.
Tears welled in Miles’s eyes, burning and blurring his vision until Max’s face disappeared behind a foggy veil.
He blinked to clear them, but more followed, wave after wave.
He’d spent all morning worrying about Max, about the distance that separated him from his family, about the terrifying implications of the phrase brain injury.
Now, all those small anxieties coalesced into one overwhelming swirl of dread in the pit of his stomach.
Everyone said Max would be fine, that he was slowly waking up. So why wasn’t he moving?
Ray cautiously approached the bed and, with a hitch in his breath that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, sat in one of the small plastic chairs left behind by Miles’s parents.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Miles leaned against the wall, too restless to sit.
Not sure what to say, he alternated between examining Max’s still body for the slightest hint of movement and studying the machines, reaching deep inside his shallow well of medical knowledge to interpret the numbers on the screens.
Suddenly, Max’s eyelids fluttered open, his unfocused gaze sliding around for a few seconds. “What…” he slurred.
Lurching toward the bed, Miles grabbed his wrist, a small bubble of excitement rushing to the surface. “Max? How do you feel?”
As if Max hadn’t heard a word, his eyes drifted shut.
“That’s a good sign, right?” Miles asked hopefully.
“I think so.” Ray nodded absent-mindedly, his gaze never leaving Max’s face.
The same scenario repeated twice more, with the same result. Max didn’t stay conscious for long, and he didn’t respond to anything Miles said.
“Why can’t he hear me?” Miles asked in frustration.
Ray wasn’t much better than Max at the moment, not saying a word, not blinking.
He clutched the sheets right next to Max’s arm—close enough to touch, yet not making contact.
Miles didn’t get it. If his best friend were lying there, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off.
He would talk to him, probably yell at him to wake the fuck up.
Maybe Ray felt weird about touching Max in front of Miles? It wouldn’t be surprising, considering most male friendships Miles had witnessed.
“Hold his hand,” Miles instructed firmly. “And talk to him. Maybe he’ll respond better to you.”
That got Ray’s attention. His eyebrows shot up, and he hesitated as if waiting for Miles to change his mind. Then, slowly, he eased his fingers toward Max’s still hand.
“Max,” he rasped, voice rough with emotion. “You need to wake up. Everyone’s worried about you.”