Page 5 of The Devil's Scars

Chapter Two

Scars Innis groaned as his cell vibrated on the hotel bedside table. He cracked one eye open, grimaced at the time.

Fucking ten o’clock. Really?

He stretched out one hand, and fumbled with the phone, cursing at the dull, dusty pounding in his head. Yeah, he was hungover. Again.

“What?” he ground out, his voice rough. “What?”

“Vic?”

Scars fell back on the bed, his muscular forearm covering his blue eyes against the bright late-spring sun. “Sam.”

“You OK?”

“I’m fucking sleeping, man.”

“It’s ten o’clock.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve been up since five, right, Doctor Innis? Saving lives, and being generally awesome?”

“Actually, I haven’t been to bed yet. I’m just leaving the hospital. There was a bad car accident last night, and I pulled a double shift. Nine people died.” Sam paused. “Including a family. Two young kids.”

Scars sighed. “Fuck, Sam. I’m sorry. You doing alright?”

His brother gave a shaky laugh, and right away, Scars’ body tightened up. He knew that laugh: it was Sam’s poor attempt to cover up bottomless pits of hurt and helplessness. The accident would have thrown Sam back almost twenty-three years, to that horrible icy night when their parents were killed. Watching those people die right in front of him would have just ripped scabs off old wounds; Scars was certain that his brother had fought like hell to keep those people alive, and the fact that he’d lost them would pierce him deep.

He imagined Sam in his scrubs, his dark eyes deceptively calm behind his glasses, his hands covered with the blood of strangers. He’d have intubated, and sliced, and sewn, and done CPR, and performed surgeries… and in the end, nobody had lived to see the sunrise. Talk about fucking devastating.

“Sam?” Scars’ voice was gentler now. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m OK. I’m just – I’ll be better after I get some sleep, and a hug from Annie and Cindy.” He paused again. “I’m sorry I woke you up… I just needed to talk to you. To hear your voice.”

“It’s fine, man. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“Where are you, Vic?”

Scars flinched at the use of his civilian name, but then again, nobody on the whole planet called him that except his kid brother and his niece, so he’d take it from Sam now.

“Not in Denver.” Scars shifted his large body on the bed, winced as his stomach heaved a bit. “Club business.”

“I see.” Sam’s voice was flat. “You’ll be back soon?”

“By tomorrow afternoon. You want to meet up on Sunday? Hang out a bit?”

“Coffee sounds good.”

Scars wished that Sam had said ‘beer’, but for his brother, he’d do coffee. Not before noon, though. Lines had to be drawn somewhere.

“Yeah, OK. Coffee it is.” Scars sat up carefully, wondering if he could handle coffee now, decided to go for it. “Sunday afternoon about three-ish?”

“Yeah. Call me when you get back.”

“I will.”

“Vic?”

“Yeah?”

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