Page 4 of Protecting What Is Mine

“What about Leo? You find it in yourself to reach out to him?”

Gabe grumbles at our youngest brother’s name. “I tried. Don’t know if he’s just too busy being an asshole, or if he saw it was me and purposefully avoided the call. Either way, I left him a message.”

“Please don’t tell me you attempted to explain the situation via voicemail.”

Gabe shakes his head. “No, of course not. I told him there was a family emergency.” He smiles. “And if he gave a shit, he should probably call somebody to find out the details.”

I nod in mock approval. “Well, I’m glad you took the high road and let bygones be bygones.”

Gabe chuckles under his breath. “Yep. I don’t mind admitting that I was proud of me, too.”

I roll my eyes. “I think I’ll go check in with Mom and give you some space. All this holiness is making me feel a little inadequate.” As I walk toward our mother my eyes drift again to Christy, curled up in the corner. She might as well be a thousand miles away. I feel so bad for her but have no idea what to say. How do you console a person whose entire world may be imploding in front of them? Mom sits two chairs down, leaving an empty space between them.

There’s an awkward seat if I’ve ever seen one.

Without my go-to of always cracking jokes and generally goofing around, I don’t know how to act or what to say, so I opt for a chair a couple seats down from Mom. She looks up when I sit and offers a half-hearted smile.

“What can I do, Mom? Are you hungry? Or thirsty? I can raid the vending machines…or the cafeteria…whatever you need.”

Mom lifts her handkerchief to her eyes and dabs the edges. “Thank you dear, but I don’t want anything.” She leans across the space separating her from Christy and gently rubs at her back. “Christy dear, do you need anything?” She doesn’t even look up to decline, just shakes her head no and then shrinks a little tighter into a ball.

The weight of the moment hits me hard. I’m not built for this kind of thing. I’m the lighthearted, good looking one. The one with the great sense of humor. Chet’s the serious, solemn one. He’s the one who lives for awkward silence. Goddamn him for going and doing something stupid and ending up hurt.

I sit quietly for what feels like an eternity while Gabe resumes his pacing, his path now stretching from Christy’s seat to mine. I’m about to lose it—to go stir crazy or something—when a man dressed in scrubs approaches. “Excuse me, Mrs. Wilde?” he asks.

Both women respond as they stand. “Yes?” Mom recognizes her error and apologizes to Christy but remains standing just the same.

The man focuses on Christy. “Your husband is out of surgery.”

She doesn’t budge. Doesn’t flinch. She only stares at the man, waiting for more. Some piece of information that tells her Chet’s going to be okay.

The intensity of her stare makes the doctor uncomfortable. “Uh. You know, I have to tell you I’ve never seen anything like it…” He pauses, looking back and forth between the women as he searches for the words to explain his statement. “To have lost as much blood as he had and still be with us. He must be some kind of fighter.”

My brow raises as Gabe and I exchange a knowing glance. To call Chet a fighter is an understatement. It’s a Wilde thing.

“The X-rays didn’t show any remaining fragments and the bullet didn’t hit any arteries, which is quite fortunate for him. He’ll be in recovery for a while, but they’ll be moving him to the ICU if…um…once, he’s stabilized.”

Christy’s hope lifts and falls with each word from the surgeon. “When can I see him?” she manages at last.

The doctor pauses again. “I’m afraid that’s going to be a while, yet. And, I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but even after they move him, given the shape he’s in, he may be out for quite some time.”

As the doctor turns to leave, Gabe steps forward. “Doc? Excuse me, I’m sorry to ask, but has anyone figured out how he managed to shoot himself in the first place?”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s a good way outside my area of expertise. But we’re required to notify law enforcement of all gunshot victims, so I would expect there to be an investigation, though it may be difficult to piece things together without your brother’s help. I can tell you that accidents occur with handguns every day.” The doctor offers a half-smile. “If you’ll excuse me. I really do have to get back.”

Gabe walks over and plops down into the seat next to me. He leans across the armrest, far into my personal space. “Did you catch that?”

I nod. “Yep. Sounds like Chet’s not really out of the woods yet.”

“No, not that.” Gabe stares at me like I missed half the conversation. “A handgun?” he whispers. “The guy said he was shot with a handgun. Chet wouldn’t take a pistol out with him to dispatch varmint. Even a half-assed idiot of a rancher knows better than that.”

“Maybe the doctor was confused. Or maybe they just assume handgun because, apparently it happens all the time.”

Gabe doesn’t bite. “Maybe, but something doesn’t seem right to me. Chet’s good at what he does. Hell, I might never admit as much to him, but he’s the best. The man is a pain in the ass to work with, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else half as much.”

“Thanks, asshole. I’ll remember that tomorrow when you call and ask me to come by and help since Chet’s…you know.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. You know what I mean.”

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