Page 149 of Dust Storm

“I know that.” Her gray eyes were boulders, steady and strong. “What matters most is that you keep showing up and stepping up for your family, no matter what the circumstance is. You’re strong and reliable. You’re steady. You’re loyal and resilient.” She stepped onto the steel toes of my boots and pressed her lips to mine. “But one thing you are not, is guilty. You’re the one everyone runs to for safety.”

I pressed my forehead against hers. “Thank you, Cass.”

Her breath hitched. “And…”

I waited.

Her fingers flexed against my cheeks. “And it’s why I love you.”

“Mr. Griffith?” A nurse stood in the doorway, and looked surprised when four of us snapped to attention. She stammered. “Uh, the one that came in on the ambulance.”

“Go,” Cassandra whispered as she rubbed my back, easing me toward the woman. “I’ll handle the room.”

I was ushered through a set of double doors, following the short woman as she led me through to the ICU.

I always forgot how tall Cassandra was. I wasn’t around many women apart from my kids and my mom, so towering over a grown woman as she wove through the emergency department, leading me deeper into the hospital, felt strange.

The nurse paused outside a patient room and snapped her fingers to get my attention. “The doctor will be in shortly to talk you through what’s going on with your brother. After that, I can let your family back two at a time.”

She opened the door and my knees buckled.

It was my brother, but there was no life. Monitors beeped and chirped in steady rhythms. He was covered from head to toe in tubes, wires, gauze, and a neck and back brace.

The nurse disappeared, leaving me alone with Ray.

I took the vinyl-covered chair beside him and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Hospital time and standard time were two different things, I realized. “Shortly” must have meant anywhere from two hours to eternity.

Somewhere at the two hour and forty-five minute mark, a woman with dark skin and short hair, wearing green surgical scrubs, knocked on the door. “Mr. Griffith?”

“That’s both of us,” I said as I looked at Ray.

“And you are?—”

“Christian Griffith. Ray’s brother.”

“Right.” She flipped open her chart. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Oladokun. I was on the surgical team that tended to your brother when he was brought in. I know this is not a good day for either of you, so I’ll get right to it.” She walked around to the opposite side of Ray’s bed and used a pen to point without touching him. “Ray broke his C2 and C3 vertebrae. That’s toward the top of the spine at the base of his skull. After imaging, we determined there were fracture fragments that needed to be removed. We did a posterior fusion and placed a rod and screws to stabilize his vertebra. He has three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and internal bleeding.”

I laced my fingers behind my neck and swore at the floor.

“Is he … is he awake?”

“He’s sedated,” she said with an unnerving calm in her voice. “I’ll level with you, Mr. Griffith. His vitals are strong, and his brain activity is shockingly high. But I’ve been at this hospital for a long time. I’ve seen many bull riders come through my doors.Most who suffer that type of spinal injury are paralyzed for the rest of their lives. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. There’s a difference between numbers on a monitor and quality of life.”

I let out a sharp breath as I fixed my eyes on Ray’s swollen hands. “What… Um. What’s next?”

“More surgeries,” she said definitively. “I’m not going to give you a promise of when I think he’ll be out of the woods. But once we have a better idea of the damage done, we can put together a long-term care plan.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I rasped.

“And Mr. Griffith—” she said as she adjusted one of the monitors, then walked to the door.

“Ma’am?”

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