Page 17 of Keep

Kellan moved his arm and winced. “I’m fine. Just got knocked around a little in the accident.”

“You were in an accident?” I said, noting that Dr. Shevchenko was eight feet away, patiently watching and waiting.

Kellan nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said and his eyes shifted, as if he didn’t want to meet my gaze. But no, he was only checking out the uniformed police officer who was standing guard nearby.

“Mr. Tremaine?” Dr. Shevchenko prompted, beckoning to us from the doorway of a nearby room.

When Cami and I followed the doctor into the room I expected to see Hale even though it wouldn’t have made much sense that he would be there. I knew enough about hospitals to understand patients weren’t usually wheeled back to the emergency room after surgery.

Dr. Shevchenko closed the curtains behind her and now I saw the first hint of emotion in the downward tug of her mouth. She pulled off her surgical cap and crumpled it in her hand while Cami and I waited beside the lone empty cot in the room.

“Where is my brother?” I asked. “Can we see him yet?”

Dr. Shevchenko slowly shook her head and I had the terrible sense she was stalling for time, that she hated the words she’d have to say almost as much as I would hate hearing them.

“I’m so sorry to tell you this,” she said. “But your brother has passed away. The trauma to his head was severe and he suffered serious internal bleeding. He did not make it through surgery.”

Cami’s cry of anguish was instant. My first instinct was to pull her into my arms to comfort her. She had loved Hale too. She would be devastated.

“I really am very sorry,” said Dr. Shevchenko and I wondered how many times in a week she had to do this, deliver terrible news to people.

I had no words as I stroked Cami’s hair and felt her breathing change as she started to sob. There would be questions and grief and things that needed to be done but first I needed to catch up with this new reality.

My brother is dead.

I have no brother.

My brother is dead.

Before she quietly exited, Dr. Shevchenko told us we were free to remain in the room for a little while. A grief counselor would be available to help with anything we needed. I assumed she was talking about funeral arrangements.

Cami still cried into my chest and kept murmuring how sorry she was while my eyes strayed to the clock on the wall and found relief in one sad fact. The hour was after three a.m. so at least Hale’s death and our wedding weren’t technically on the same day. He would have hated for us to be burdened with that coincidence.

“Hey Dalton. I’ll always be at your side, whether you know I’m there or not.”

Deep inside of me an unfamiliar ache matured with every passing second. Last year when my father died it had been after a ten month battle with an aggressive cancer that had already metastasized when discovered. There was time to get used to the mortal reality. And anyway we all expect that someday we’ll be burying our parents. But Hale should have had more time left. So much more time.

“I’ve got to call my mother,” I told Cami. I didn’t want to do it here, in the midst of the hushed echoes inside the hospital.

Cami held my hand as we threaded our way through the triage area. I’d forgotten all about Kellan until I noticed that the spot where we’d seen him earlier was now vacant. It seemed there’d been more than one accident tonight but Cami’s cousin had said he was just a little banged up. Nothing to worry about.

“Derek!” Cami exclaimed.

We’d stopped in front of a room where the curtain had been drawn earlier. That’s why we hadn’t seen him the first time.

Derek Gentry, Chase’s eldest son, was sitting up on a narrow bed. A hospital gown was crumpled on the floor and he was shirtless, dressed only in the black pants he must have worn to the wedding . There was a shallow gash edged with dried blood on the right side of his forehead but he looked normal otherwise. Except for the sick look on his face. And the set of handcuffs that anchored his right hand to a metal bar beside the bed.

The cop we’d seen earlier stepped in front of Cami when she tried to enter the room.

“Hold on,” the man said in an officious voice that didn’t match his boyish appearance. “I’m afraid you can’t go in there.”

Cami looked him up and down, assessing the situation quickly. “Is he under arrest, officer?”

“I’m sorry,” said the cop. “I can’t answer any questions.” And he really did look sorry as he stared down at Cami, probably noting the tears that were still fresh on her cheeks.

Cami didn’t pay any attention to him. “Derek,” she told her cousin. “Don’t talk to anyone until your parents call you a lawyer, okay?”

Derek didn’t respond. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking at me. There was something about the way he was looking at me that I knew I’d remember later. I just didn’t know why.

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