Chapter 28 #2
My mind, free from the urgent tasks of driving the boat and the truck, was now a playground for my darkest fears. I imagined the surgeon’s face, grim. I imagined a world without Iris’s bright energy, without her G-rated exclamations, without her laughter. The thought was a black, bottomless abyss.
I couldn’t do this again. Not alone.
A desperate, clawing need for someone who understood rose in me, and one name came through immediately. The one person I knew would understand not just my fear, but my connection to Iris.
Brenna.
My hand was shaking as I pulled out my phone and found her number.
The act of reaching out, of admitting I couldn’t handle this on my own, went against every instinct I had.
But the memory of that empty water, of that soul-crushing loneliness and grief, was stronger than my pride. I placed the call.
She answered on the second ring. “Austin? Hello? What’s wrong?”
She could hear it in my silence, in the breath I couldn’t quite catch.
“It’s Iris,” I finally said, my voice cracking. “There was an accident. At the house. We’re at the hospital in Marathon. She’s… she’s in surgery.”
“Oh my God. Will she be okay?”
“I don’t have all the details,” I said. “She’s got a broken leg. A concussion. But Brenna… I… I can’t…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn't admit that I was terrified, that I was falling apart.
But I didn’t have to.
“I’m on my way.” Her voice was firm and steady, a lifeline in the swirling chaos of my terror. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The forty-five minutes it took for Brenna to get there felt like forty-five years. The muted television droned on, a flickering nightmare of smiling faces and bright colors that were a personal insult.
A soft hand on my shoulder made me jump, a strangled sound escaping my throat.
“I’m here.” Brenna’s face was etched with concern, her green eyes clouded with worry. But she was here. A solid, comforting presence in the sterile, chilling emptiness of the waiting room.
“Hey,” I managed, my voice a rough croak.
She didn’t offer cheap platitudes or ask a barrage of questions. She just dropped into the chair next to mine and laid her hand gently on my arm. We sat in silence for a long time, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of my swirling emotions.
Finally, in our corner of the waiting room, away from the other family huddled in their own private bubble of worry, the words I’d held locked inside me for so long began to break free.
“What if she’s not okay, Bren?” I murmured. “I just found her. And now… what if I lose her?”
“She’s strong,” Brenna said softly, her grip on my arm tightening. “And she’s in the best possible hands right now.”
“I should have been there,” I continued, the guilt a familiar, bitter taste in my mouth. “I should have done something. It’s happening again. I can’t… I can’t lose someone else, Brenna. I can’t do it.”
“Oh, Austin.” Her voice was thick with love and pain that mirrored my own.
She scooted her chair closer. “This is not the same. You are not the same twenty-one-year-old boy you were then. You are not a monster. You are a good man who has been through a terrible trauma.” She looked me straight in the eye, her gaze fierce, compelling.
“And you are falling in love with her. She knows that. She feels it. You just need to be here for her. That’s all that matters. That’s all you can do.”
Her simple, direct words cut through the fog of my panic. Be here for her now.
Just as I was about to respond, the double doors at the end of the room swung open. A man in blue scrubs walked toward us, his expression calm, professional. My heart stopped.
“Family of Iris Holloway?” he asked.
I stood, my legs feeling unsteady. “Yes. I’m Austin. How is she?”
The surgeon, a man with kind, tired eyes, approached our quiet corner and gave us a reassuring smile.
“The surgery went very well. The breaks were clean, a spiral fracture of the tibia in a couple of places. We were able to set them with a rod and a few plates. She’ll have a recovery ahead of her and some physical therapy, but I expect her to heal completely. ”
Relief, so potent it made me dizzy, washed through me. I reached out and grabbed the back of a chair to steady myself.
“What about the concussion?” Brenna asked, her voice steady beside me.
“We’ll need to monitor her, of course,” the surgeon said.
“But her vitals are strong, and the initial scans showed no signs of intracranial bleeding. She has a significant contusion on the back of her head—a real goose egg—so she’ll have a nasty headache when she wakes up.
But right now, her brain activity looks normal.
She’s in recovery now and about to go up to a private room.
” He gave a small shrug. “She’ll wake up when she’s ready. ”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said.
He gave a nod and walked away, leaving Brenna and me in the sudden, echoing silence.
We found Iris’s room a short while later.
Through the narrow window in the door, I saw her.
She was lying in the hospital bed, looking small and so fragile against the stark white sheets.
An IV line was taped to the back of her hand, and her leg was encased in a thick wrapping of bandages, propped up on a pillow.
But she was breathing.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. She looked peaceful.
As I studied her, a fierce, protective wave of emotion washed over me, so powerful it almost knocked me off my feet.
“She’s going to be okay,” Brenna whispered beside me.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. I turned to my sister, my heart full of gratitude I didn’t know how to express. “Thank you for coming, Bren. I mean it. I… I couldn’t have done this alone.”
She gave my arm a squeeze. “You’re never alone, Austin. Ever.”
I took a deep breath. “I need to be here when she wakes up. By myself now.”
Brenna looked at me, a question in her eyes. She was hesitant, worried about leaving me in this raw, vulnerable state. But she also saw the iron-clad resolve in my expression.
“Okay,” she said, and gave a nod of understanding. She stood on her tiptoes and gave me a fierce, tight hug. “You call me after she wakes up. Or if you just need to hear a voice. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning.”
“I will,” I promised.
She gave my arm one last squeeze, then turned and walked down the hallway.
I pushed Iris’s door open and stepped inside.
The room was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic beep of a monitor.
As I pulled the worn, vinyl-padded visitor’s chair close to her bed, the legs scraped softly against the tile.
I sat down and reached for her hand, the one without the IV, and carefully laced my fingers through hers.
Her skin was warm, her hand soft and limp in my own.
I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, my thumb stroking the back of her knuckles. My fear was still there, a frozen stone in my gut, but it was different now. It was the sharp, focused fear of a man who had something precious to lose.
And who knew, with a certainty that had settled deep in his bones, that he would do whatever it took to protect it. A man in love.
I was prepared to wait. No matter how long it took.