Page 64 of Second Goal

“I’ll drive,” Kane says, taking the keys from my hand.

I don’t argue, because I’m not sure I’d be able to right now. My body is vibrating, hands shaking uncontrollably.

“She’s going to be fine.” Kane’s voice is steady, but I can hear the fear in it.

“I should have been there—”

“Don’t start that shit,” he says as we tear out of the parking garage and into traffic. “If she’s been shot, she’s going to need us both to be strong.”

I know he’s right, but I feel paralyzed with fear. And all I can think is that I should have been there to protect her. I should have fought her harder. And I damn well shouldn’t have let her walk away.

“You have to breathe,” Kane says as we pull up to the Emergency doors. But I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or himself, because when I look over at him, he looks like he’s about to lose his shit.

He parks the car in a no-parking zone, and I jump out, rushing through the sliding doors, Kane close behind me.

The nurse at the front desk frowns at me when I demand to know where Kiley is. “Are you family?”

“I’m her brother,” Kane says.

She frowns, then types something into her computer, when Kane spells out Kiley’s name.

“She was just brought in,” I say, my voice too loud, too rough, but I can’t hold back. “I need to see her—”

“Sir, if you’ll take a seat.”

“I’m not taking a fucking seat. I—”

“You’re Kiley’s family?” A woman in scrubs approaches.

“Yes,” I answer for both Kane and I. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

“I’m Dr. Weaver. If you’ll both follow me.”

We walk through a double set of doors, down a long corridor, each step filling me with more dread. The woman leads us to a small room and motions us to sit.

I stay standing, but when she starts to talk, my legs feel like they might give out on me. “Where is she?” I demand.

“I’m sorry, but the shot was fatal. She died before she got to the hospital.”

No.

The woman keeps talking, words that buzz in my head, but don’t make sense. She’s not dead. She can’t be.

“Blake,” Kane barks. Tears run down his cheeks, and his eyes are red.

But I can’t cry, because I don’t believe it. This isn’t happening. It’s like a bad dream that I can’t wake up from.

“I need to see her,” I demand, unable to comprehend any of this.

But when the woman leads us into the cold, sterile room, and I see the body on the table covered by a thin sheet, my heart is flayed open.

Kiley’s cell phone is in a plastic bag on the table beside her, along with a health card with her name on it.

Kane is beside me, and his breath sounds choked.

I feel the same way, like there’s not enough oxygen in the room. Like it’s me lying on that cold metal table, and if I could change reality, it would be.

But then the woman pulls the sheet down, and the air returns to my lungs.

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