27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lane
I try his cell, but it rings and goes to voicemail. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic or had to stop home for something. Usually he’d let me know, but if he’s trying to hurry up, he probably wouldn’t.
I check my schedule to make sure there isn’t anything important going on that I need to know about. I have a few meetings today, but the first one isn’t until ten.
I try to focus on work, but something is nagging at me.
Something doesn’t feel right. I try him again, and same thing—his phone rings until the voicemail picks up.
I send a text, asking him to call me. It sends but it doesn’t pop up as read.
Maybe he really is stuck in traffic or in the shower. I don’t know why I’m worrying.
The next thirty minutes go by quickly with me going over reports and making notes on different concepts.
There’s a heavy, quick knock on my door and then it’s shoved open before I can tell them to come in.
David.
“Sir, you’re here,” he says out of breath, eyes frantic.
“Yes, I’m here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just—I saw—”
I raise a brow. “What did you see?”
His face twists into confusion as he looks at his phone that’s clenched in his hand then back at me.
“I thought—”
Panic swells in my chest. I don’t know why, but there’s something about the way he’s behaving that isn’t right.
“What?” I demand, getting to my feet..
“Your car—”
“What about my car, David?” I growl, moving around my desk. Why the hell is he talking about my car?
“I thought you were in an accident.” He holds up his phone to show me what he was looking at. It’s a news station covering a terrible accident that’s holding up traffic. Four cars involved.
Including mine.
My blood turns to ice, and for a moment, I can’t see. I don’t feel anything. My ears start to ring.
Then there’s a hand on my arm.
“Sir, are you okay?” David shouts in my face. I blink and look up to find a couple other people standing by. One of them looks like they’re about to pass out themselves. “Mr. Monroe?”
“I have to go,” I grab my cell from the desk and run out of the office, dialing Blake on the way.
I faintly hear people calling my name behind me, but I keep going. The chaos has caused others to step out of their office, and I almost run people down as I go. They jerk back into their offices, mumbling about what’s going on and if they need to evacuate. I’m sure David can handle the building.
I need to get to the hospital.
Everything is a blur until I’m standing in front of the woman at the reception desk. Even then, my eyes are blurry and my brain isn’t quite working right. I can’t focus. Everything is foggy.
I already gave her Tage’s name, and she’s been typing on her computer for what feels like ten goddamn years. The tag on her shirt says her name is Betty and she’s worked here for twenty-nine years. Well, good for her. She should be able to type faster.
Finally, she says, “Mr. Briar is in surgery.”
Surgery. That’s a slight relief. Not by much, but at least he’s here. He’s alive.
“When can I see him?”
“There is a waiting room. The team will come out and speak to you when they can. You said your name is Lane Monroe?”
“Yes, my name is Lane Monroe. I designed your fucking waiting room for god sakes. My name is on the fucking plaque.” I gesture to the wall with a flick of my wrist.
She raises a brow at me, giving me that “do you think I care?” look. I run a hand down my face. I should apologize, but I don’t.
“The waiting room is down this hall. Take the left directly after the fire extinguisher and then a right after the elevators. You’ll go straight and on the left you’ll see a door with a sign for the surgery waiting room.”
“Thank you,” I mutter quickly then hurry down the hall and take all the directions she gave me.
I walk and walk and walk until I feel like I’m going the wrong way, but I finally find the stupid door with the surgery waiting room label on the frosted glass.
I open it too harshly and immediately hear sobbing.
A man and a woman are sitting in the chairs in the far corner.
He’s hugging her as she cries, and I’m not sure if they got bad news or if they’re just worried because they haven’ heard anything yet.
I try to calm myself as I close the door and take a seat.
Being hysterical won’t help anyone. I need a clear head.
All I hear is the woman’s sobs. Sometimes they quiet, and sometimes they get worse. The man shushes her soothingly and says things I can’t hear. Nothing seems to help though. The woman is upset.
Part of me wishes I had someone to soothe me, but another part knows I wouldn’t tolerate that well. I just wish I had Tage here with me, but if I did, then we wouldn’t be here at all, now would we?
My leg bounces up and down, a nervous habit I got rid of long ago. How easily it comes back in a stressful situation.
The door opens and I nearly jump out of my skin. I’m on my feet in an instant, and the crying settles down. It’s a pair of police officers. They make eye contact with me first.
“Are you here for Edwards?”
I shake my head. “Have you heard anything about Tage Briar?”
“Sorry, no.” He then looks at the couple. “Edwards?”
The man nods, the woman still crying and unable to even look at them. The officers walk over to them.
The first one says, “We have some questions about your son. We know this is a difficult time, but we’re trying to piece together what happened.”
The other one adds, “Do you know why your son was in the area? Where he was coming from? Where was he going?”
“He said he was going out to breakfast with friends. I-I think he was on his way home,” the father says. “I’m not entirely sure. He’s eighteen. He comes and goes as he pleases. You know how these kids are.”
I lean forward with my elbows on my thighs and hang my head as I listen to their conversation.
“We have reason to believe alcohol was involved. Do you know if your son had been drinking?”
I grit my teeth to stop from saying what I think about that. If a drunk driver caused this, there will be hell to pay.
“At eight in the morning?” the father scoffs. “Of course not!”
No mention of him not drinking because he’s only eighteen though. That tells me all I need to know about them.
“We’re just trying to put the story together, sir. This was a very serious accident. Quite a few people are hurt.”
“You’re not blaming our son for this!” the man shouts. “He’s in surgery and may not make it!”
“Your son was driving the BMW, right?” one of the officers asks, not bothered by the man’s shouting.
“Yes,” the father grits out.
“The traffic cameras show the BMW speeding through a red light and smashing into the Audi. It spun out, hitting another car behind it and then another person rear-ended them. This is a very serious accident.”
“My son is in surgery!” the woman cries. “Have some compassion!”
I glance over, unable to help myself.
The cops share a look and then turn around to head toward the door. I get to my feet when they are near me.
“Was everyone involved sent to the hospital?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,” one officer responds as the other keeps going but stops by the door.
“How did it look?” I ask, desperate for answers.
I’m not sure if he will answer me. He doesn’t have to. But I hope he does.
“We weren’t on scene, but we were told it’s bad. Four out of the five occupants are in surgery right now.”
“The fifth?”
“Not a scratch on her head,” he mutters before walking toward the door to meet his partner.
I sit down, run my hands through my hair, and will Tage to be okay. He has to be okay. He has to.
Too many questions and what ifs go through my head; I’m starting to go crazy. I should have pushed harder about us going to work together today. I should have told him that Blake really doesn’t mind when I have to send him home early. He still gets paid, so what does he care?
What if I had stayed a little bit longer and not rushed out? If he had left even five minutes later?
There are too many. I’m going to drive myself crazy if I don’t do something.
An hour passes. Then another. Still no update. I’m crawling out of my skin.
On the third hour, another couple comes in, looking composed but slightly rattled.
They take a seat away from the rest of us and wait.
I assume they’re with one of the other people in surgery.
They look young, which makes me think the other people involved must be young too.
The man looks familiar, but I can’t place who he is or where I know him from.
It’s a small and welcome distraction, even if it’s just for a short time.
Thinking about anything but Tage dying on that table is helpful.
When we come up on hour five, the door opens again. This time, it’s a doctor who walks in.
“Briar?” he says, looking around the room.
I stand up. But so does the newest couple to walk in.