“He’s still asleep. Britney is sitting with him until his parents arrive. We’ve been taking turns. Your father is at the winery. He was here for a couple of hours last night, but I insisted that he go home and get some rest before going to the winery.”
My mother is a saint of a woman, just like Kade’s mom. The only difference, the man my mom married isn’t a first-class asshole like Kade’s father. Don’t get me wrong, it took a while for my dad to forgive me for dropping out of college, but he eventually came around. He doesn’t knock my career choice every chance he gets like Kade’s dad does. Ha! Career. What career?
Robert Winslow is a highly respected man with a heart of gold. He takes care of our family, loves my mother to no end, and he treats everyone who works for him like they’re an extension of our family.
“Where’s my phone?” I need to know what the press is saying about what went down yesterday and how the chief explained it in his press conference. The more knowledge I have will determine how long I still have a badge.
“Sorry, dear. You broke it when you fell.”
“Fuck!” I snap out, causing my mother to jump. “Sorry, Mom. Can you send Britney in here?”
“Sure. I’ll let the nurse know you’re awake when I get your sister.”
Nodding, I watch as my mom leaves the room. Once she’s out the door, I get up a little too fast. The next thing I know, my feet slide out from under me, and my ass hits the floor, hard.
“Motherfucker!” Struggling to stand, I’m relieved when my sister walks in just in time.
“What the hell are you doing?” She rushes to my side and helps me to my feet.
“Thanks. How’s Kade?” Mom’s answer was too vague. Britney will tell me exactly how he is.
“Stable, but still sleeping. The doctor thinks he’ll wake at some point today. At least that’s what she hopes. He’s not in a coma or anything.”
“Okay. I gotta pee.”
“TMI.” Britney smiles as I shuffle toward the bathroom and close the door.
Now that my bladder has some relief, I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face. Reaching up behind my head, I feel a large lump. Without talking to a nurse or doctor, I’m confident I have a concussion, and that’s why I’m still here. I close my eyes for a split second, and I see the little girl’s innocent face, her eyes shutting as she takes her final breath. The vision is crippling, dropping me to my knees as I wail in agony. Not agony for me, but the pain I feel for the little girl and her mother.
“D, open the door,” Britney’s frantic voice calls to me from the opposite of the door. “Deacon, goddammit. Open the door.” She pounds hard on the hollow metal door, begging me to open it, but it’s like I’m frozen. I want to open the door—I really do—but my body isn’t listening to my brain.
“Mr. Winslow, please open the door,” a calmer female voice calls out to me, but I don’t respond. All I can think about is the mother and her daughter.
I killed a mother and her child. I don’t deserve to be here. I should be dead, not them.
“I killed a mother and her child. I killed a mother and her child. I killed a mother and her child.” Everything has faded around me as my words are stuck on repeat like a bad song. Over and over. “I killed a mother and her child. I killed a mother and her child.”
There are muffled sounds around me, but I can’t focus on what they’re saying because my words are all I hear loud and clear.
14
Britney
“Is he in shock?” I ask the doctor while my mother’s hand is clenched around my wrist, cutting off my blood circulation as we wait for some sort of explanation.
“Delayed shock. PTSD. It could be one or both. Or it could be something else altogether. I’ll give him something to calm him until psych can come to evaluate him properly.”
“Calm him? He’s already calm. He’s just stuck on repeat,” I state, pointing out the obvious. “And psych? My brother is not crazy.” Mom’s hand releases my wrist, and she starts to rub my back. Rubbing my back was something she used to do to calm me when I came home from college and would have panic attacks because of what had happened to me.
“Britney, dear, I don’t think the doctor is saying your brother is crazy. He’s saying that they need to make the right diagnosis so they can treat him properly. Is that correct, Dr. MacAfee?”
“Yes, a proper diagnosis is what we need,” he answers. “The nurse will be in shortly to get your son’s IV going and administer the medication.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Dr. MacAfee leaves Mom and me alone. As soon as the door shuts, my mom turns to me with a confused look on her face and asks me the one question I don’t want to answer
“Who’s your brother talking about?”
“When Deacon is better, we’ll have to ask him.” Omitting what I know isn’t exactly lying, and it’s not my place to rat out Kade and my brother.
As of right now, the DEA and FBI have taken point dealing with the media. They’ve stated that my brother and Kade were working with them to help catch the FBI’s most wanted cartel gang members and acted under their instructions. They made it known that Deacon and Kade saved two underage girls from a sex trafficking ring, but there was no mention of the mother and little girl.
Leaving my mom and brother, I head upstairs to Kade’s room. Shortly after Deacon fainted, Kade’s surgeon assured me that our names would be on Kade’s approved visitor list. When I reach the ICU nurses’ station, I show a nurse my identification and ask how Kade is doing. She informs me that he’s breathing on his own, which is promising because it means there is no tube down his throat, but he’s still asleep from the anesthesia. The nurse then tells me that I can go on into his room.
When I enter Kade’s room, I release a sigh of relief when I see him with my own eyes. He’s not attached to a breathing apparatus, but he still has an IV, cords, and other machines monitoring him. Stepping up to his bedside, I run the back of my hand softly down his cheek, treasuring each breath he takes. He’s only hours out of surgery, but Kade looks like he’s already on the right path to a full recovery.
Since Kade is sleeping, I take advantage of this time and use his restroom. When I finish washing my hands, I open the door and overhear two men talking in the hall. One mentions that the mother who died from her gunshot wound was undocumented, and they are still waiting to hear about the daughter. They can’t find information on her or if the father is in her life. Is that how they plan to sweep their deaths under the rug? If the mother is here illegally, won’t anyone ask questions?
So far, nothing has been mentioned about Deacon and Kade’s insubordination. But that will be taken care of in-house during their IA. For now, while they’re both in the hospital, no one can talk to them. Kade is unconscious, and my brother is in the fast lane to the looney bin—or so it seems.
I tiptoe closer to the door and peek through the crack. I recognize the chief of police and my brother’s sergeant as the two men begin their trek toward the elevators. I hate leaving Kade because I don’t want him to wake up alone, but I have a strong feeling they’re going to Deacon’s room next, so once they board the elevator, I step out of Kade’s room and quickly head back to my brother’s by taking the stairs. I don’t know how I do it, but I make it back to Deacon before his chief and sergeant.