Page 72 of Right Place, Right Time (Second Chances)
The call goes to voicemail, and immediately starts ringing again.
“You gonna get that?”
I turn and see Casey in the doorway. “I don’t know who it is. It’s a Columbia number.”
“Just answer it. They obviously want to speak to you; it hasn’t stopped ringing.”
I slide my finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Is this Kate?” a frantic, male voice asks.
“Who’s this?”
“Ah, you don’t know me. My name is Mac Spencer.”
“You’re Jay’s brother,” I say quietly, my gut filling with dread. Why is Jay’s brother calling me? “Is he okay?”
“There was an accident,” he says.
“Where is he?” I ask, my eyes filling with tears.
“Memorial Hospital,” he says.
“I’ll be there. I’m in California…but I’ll be there. I’m leaving now.”
“Thank you, Kate. He’s just…I think he needs you.”
I end the call without saying anything else, and I jump when Casey’s hand touches my shoulder.
“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.
“I don’t know. That was Jay’s brother, Mac. He said there was an accident, and Jay’s in the hospital.”
“Oh my gosh,” Casey says, bringing her hands up to her mouth. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. I have to…go. He needs me. I have to go!”
“Okay. Get dressed, I’ll pack you a bag.”
I quickly dress in jeans and a t-shirt, then pull my hair back in a scrunchie—hey, don’t knock ’em, they don’t break my hair like elastics. I don’t even look in the mirror; I just grab my bag from Casey, slip on my flip-flops at the door, and run out.
My heart races the entire way to the airport, and it doesn’t stop until I’m seated on a plane, in an uncomfortable seat that cost me over $1000. If I’m being honest, as the plane taxis the runway, my heart still hasn’t stopped racing. I feel like it’s going to beat right out of my chest and the only thing—the only thing—that is going to make it stop is laying my eyes on Jay and knowing that he’s going to be okay.
Please, please let him be okay.
I’m not a religious person, but I pray the entire cross-country flight.
***
“Kate?” Mac calls out as I enter the hospital. I recognize his voice from the call, and as I turn to look at him, I realize I would have recognized him by sight as well. He’s the spitting image of Jay…or Jay is the spitting image of him. They could be mistaken for twins, with the exception of a few extra creases around Mac’s eyes.
I go to him. “Where is he?”
“Come with me,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me through the crowd of people in the waiting room and down a hall to the elevators.
“Is he okay? Is he hurt? What happened?”
“Physically, he’s going to be all right,” Mac says once we’re in the elevator and ascending to the fourth floor. “Mentally…I don’t know. But he’s alive. He’s okay.”
