Chapter 3
Brett’s head ached with the waning effects of alcohol and the tidal wave of grief that hung suspended, refusing to break over his consciousness.
Joni and Luke were dead.
He’d been roused from sleep by loud banging on his door for the second time, and he was sure his neighbor was back to yell at him again for some shit he didn’t do.
He enjoyed fighting with her, but twice in one night was a bit much, even for him.
His mouth was dry as he threw open the door, only to find a police officer holding his hat in his hands despite the rain.
Brett had raced to the hospital, memories flooding his thoughts, demanding his attention.
Sweet Joni.
She’d been his friend since childhood, having grown up two doors down.
A tomboy who enjoyed playing cops and robbers or searching for rocks far more than dolls and dress-up with the girls, always searching for pretty rocks.
In his mind she was always dirty, magically appearing transformed in middle school, suddenly female and clean.
That had nearly ruined their friendship, but they’d gotten through it somehow.
He’d introduced her to his cousin Luke after she went through hell with a creepy ex-boyfriend who couldn’t let go. Setting her up with a cop had seemed like a good idea, and she and Luke had hit it off, getting married a year later.
But Brett hadn’t seen Joni or Luke in years. He couldn’t. They would have seen how he’d changed, pressed him for details he had no desire to give. It had been easier to ignore their attempts to contact him.
Easier and wrong.
And now there’s no taking it back.
They were dead by the time he got here, a nurse ushering him into this room.
His mouth tasted like shit. The preacher was talking.
He was Grace’s boyfriend, and his eyes were slightly too close together.
How had he never noticed that before now?
The absurdity of the thought struck him, but his brain was misfiring, the shock of the news he’d just received failing to register even as it suffocated his soul.
He’d loved these people more than they could know.
More than they ever would.
The minister leaned forward, tenting his hands. “They didn’t feel any pain.”
Brett winced. “She was alive for two hours. How the hell do you know what she felt?”
“She never regained consciousness. From the moment of impact, she was spared awareness.”
Spared awareness.
Like it was a goddamn gift to be run over like a rabbit in the road.
He could see himself in the minister’s glasses, a tiny reflection of himself in the worst moment of his life, and he imagined Grace and this man kissing awkwardly, noses bumping together. It was easier to do that than to think about the accident, this incomprehensible loss.
Did this guy and the nurse fuck, or was that against the rules?
I’ll bet he wears his socks to bed and tucks the sheets in tight.
He reined in his imagination, the stark reality of death hulking over him like the reaper himself. It was hot. He was sitting in a tiny room with too much furniture, the hospital air tangy with the scent of antiseptic, and for a moment he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here.
The knock at the door.
News of the accident.
She’s still alive. Come quickly.
But Joni was dead by the time he arrived.
Nausea gurgled in his stomach. He raked his hands through his hair.
He needed to escape, needed to get away from this twilight zone moment and the piercing ache of tragedy.
He needed to be alone, to sit in his apartment in the dark for a week, ten days.
Maybe the rest of his goddamn life. “I’ve got to get out of here. ”
He would take some time off from HERO Force. Or better yet, tell Mac to send him wheels up right now, give him a mission and a gun and let him use this grief as fuel for the fire.
But Preacher John was still talking. “…and we need to find the next of kin. As Mr. Matheson’s cousin, we’re hoping you can point us in the right direction.”
Next of kin. Focus. Get through this conversation, and you can leave.
“Joni didn’t talk to her mom. Her dad wasn’t a part of her life. I don’t even think she knew for sure who he was.”
“Any siblings?”
Brett shrugged. “A half brother in Des Moines died in a motorcycle accident a few years back.”
“What about Luke?”
“His mom died of cancer when he was little. His dad remarried.”
“Where’s his father now?”
“Died a few years ago. Heart attack.”
Christ. Was there anyone left?
As if answering his own question, he added, “I don’t know where the stepmom lives.” The minister nodded, his bulbous head bobbing like a child’s toy.
God, what did Grace see in this guy? She was vibrant and bold, full of energy, with a mischievous glint in her eye. This guy was staid and reliable. He would ruin her in no time, smother her with boredom and steadfast expectations as surely as baking soda could put out a fire.
The minister leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. “And you’re his cousin.”
“That’s right.”
“And a friend of the wife.”
“Yeah.” Brett stood up. “I’ve really got to go.” His hand was on the doorknob when the other man dropped a bomb.
“The children survived the accident."
His mind emptied in an instant, searching for a memory and finding none. Joni and Luke didn’t have any children—the last Brett knew—and the fact that they’d crossed such an important threshold without his knowledge highlighted the distance he’d so deliberately put between them.
It was his fault they’d lost touch. He’d all but written Joni out of his life, sending her calls directly to voicemail as a rule on his phone so he wouldn’t have to deal with her questions, so carefully pointed to chip away at his scabs.
Luke had given up months earlier. He slowly turned around. “Children?”
“Twin boys, about a month old.”
Brett cursed under his breath, hating himself in that instant. “I didn’t know.”
The other man stood. “They belong with family.”
“Of course.” The next-of-kin conversation took on a whole new light. The pointed look in the preacher’s eye had Brett’s hands coming up in self-defense. “Luke’s stepmom. She’s the next of kin.”
“Then hopefully we can find her. But someone needs to care for them in the meantime.”
The preacher’s watery blue eyes spoke volumes, and Brett shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. I can’t take them, okay? Joni never would’ve asked that of me. She knew me too well.”
“Normally, temporary foster care would be an option. I don’t know if you follow the news, but there was an incident in New York City last week that left a great number of children in need of temporary foster care. Our local agencies stepped in to help fill the need.”
Brett nodded. A child exploitation ring had been uncovered, involving upwards of fifty minors. “I saw that.”
“It stretched the local foster care system to its max. We don’t have a placement available for the twins.” He looked to the floor, then back at Brett. “But you could take them.”
Anxiety grabbed Brett by the throat, blood rushing in his ears.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He couldn't take care of two babies on a good day, had no desire to try. And hell, this was anything but a good day. He could see axes flying toward him in the air, sharp pointed bits of responsibility. “You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said, his voice cracking.
“I’d help if I could, but I just can’t, okay?
” He could feel his tenuous control of his emotions wiggling out of his grasp, and he pushed by the pastor to get to the door.
“They need you, Brett.”
Brett froze with his hand on that goddamn doorknob for the second time in as many minutes, but the exit he so desperately needed remained out of reach.
“They just lost their mother and father,” the preacher continued. “They’re all alone in the world with no one to care for them. You are a blood relative and a friend.”
Those poor kids. In the space of an instant, they’d lost the only family they’d ever known, but that didn’t somehow make Brett capable of replacing them. “Sorry, but that’s not an option.” He opened the door just as an announcement came over the PA.
“Code kinder! He just left the lounge! Code kinder!”
The hair went up on his arms at the woman’s tone of voice, fear and urgency broadcasting throughout the building. He turned to the minister, whose eyes were wide with alarm, his body practically lunging for the door.
“That’s Grace!” the minister snapped. “A child’s in danger in the lounge!”