Page 3 of Property of Max
Finally, he glances up, his expression flat, dismissive. “Tell your brother to take some cold medicine and sleep it off. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
For a long moment, I just stare at him, biting the inside of my cheek. He knows. He knows Micah can’t take his own meds, can’t just ‘sleep it off.’ He knows my brother’s trapped in a body that doesn’t obey him, that I’m the only one holding all of this together. And still…nothing. Not even an ounce of compassion.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, but I force myself to nod. “Yes, sir.”
The words taste like ash.
Because the truth is, Micah’s nurse can only do so much. She’s there for the basics…feeding, changing, monitoring his meds…nothing more, nothing less. It’s what the insurance pays for, and God forbid anyone go beyond what’s written in the contract. She can’t take him to the doctor. She isn’t allowed to. That part falls on me. Always on me.
And tonight, it feels like I’m balancing the world on my shoulders with no way to set it down.
“Did you take him outside any?”I text the nurse, thinking maybe it’s just the heat. It’s July, and five minutes in the sun will raise anyone’s temperature.
Her reply comes quickly.
“No, ma’am. I fed him while he watched his show, then we read a little before playing that memory game on his tablet. I noticed his breathing change, and that’s when I checked his lungs. They’re raspy.”
My stomach sinks.
Shoot. I have no choice but to take him to the hospital as soon as I get off work.
I hate that place. Hate the sterile smell, the endless waiting rooms, the cold way doctors look at charts instead of people. But Micah doesn’t have the luxury of my avoiding it. Not with lungs that can betray him at any second.
Four years ago, my world shattered on a highway. A brutal car accident stole both our parents in an instant. Micah survived, but barely. He was thrown into a coma. His body broken and unresponsive. I visited every day, clinging to his hand, whispering prayers into the stillness.
Five months passed like that. Until a new doctor came on rotation in the ICU. Half an hour after meeting with my brother, he pulled me aside. His words still echo, sharp and impossible to forget.
“Your brother isn’t in a coma. He’s fully conscious. He can hear you, understand you. He’s just… locked inside.”
Locked-In Syndrome.
A rare, cruel condition where the mind is awake, aware, screaming, but the body refuses to obey. For months, Micah had listened. Heard every word. Felt every silence. And we never knew.
Now every time I look at him, I see the weight of that. The strength it takes for him to keep going. And the promise I made to myself…that he’d never, ever be treated like a burden.
So, a cold for Micah isn’t just a cold. It’s a battlefield.
He can’t cough. Can’t blow his nose. Can’t clear his throat when it fills with mucus. What most people shake off in a week could drown him from the inside out. Mucus building in his throat, sliding into his lungs, stealing every breath until…He could die.
And yet, taking him to the hospital terrifies me almost as much as keeping him home. The place is crawling with germs, every hallway full of coughing, sneezing patients. One wrong exposure, and I could be trading one danger for another.
I’d give anything to take him to his regular doctor, where it’s quieter, safer, and controlled. But thanks to my boss being a heartless jerk, tomorrow isn’t an option. Which means today, I have no choice but to risk it.
Risk the hospital. Risk the crowds.
“As soon as I get off work and take Bree to her dad’s, I’ll be home to take him to the hospital. Can you please have him ready for me?”
I watch the little typing dots flicker until her answer comes through.
Only then do I slip the phone back into my pocket and force myself to get back to work. Three more hours. Just three.
I can do this. I have to.
Chapter Four
Max
“Max, did you order the patches for the newest members?” Spike asks, his voice carrying easily over the hum of conversation around us.
