“You are a very lucky man, Mr. Kennedy,” he says, and I snort, sneering at him.
What a fucking tool. He knows nothing.
Ignoring my little outburst, the doctor continues. “You were clinically dead for a few minutes, but your girlfriend and one of the FBI agents took turns giving you CPR, and you regained a pulse just as the EMTs arrived at the scene. They injected you with Narcan to reverse the opioid, and it helped to stabilize your breathing and nervous system.” He checks my vitals as he talks. “Ordinarily, we don’t admit overdose patients, sending them home once the drugs are gone from their system, as long as we are happy there is no evidence of suicidal or homicidal tendencies. However, your parents demanded privacy, and as they are large benefactors of the hospital, we are always happy to accommodate the Kennedys.”
My lips curl into a snarl. “Is that all?”
He purses his lips, ignoring me as he turns to my parents. “I see no reason why he can’t be discharged in a couple of hours unless you want us to keep him here for further observation.”
“We need to speak to our son,” Mom says.
“I will update you in due course,” Dad adds.
The man leaves the room, and tension descends. Withdrawing my hand from Mom’s, I grab the cup with chips, tipping them into my mouth as I try to make sense of the last twenty-four hours. A tsunami of emotions swirls through my pounding skull, and anger competes with fear for the dominant position.
Mom clasps my face in her hands, pinning me with troubled blue eyes that are rapidly filling with tears. “Darling.” She sniffs, trying to compose herself. “Why would you do this?” Her hands drop from my face, clasping my hand again. “We know what happened in the bar, but you know we would help you deal with the consequences. I can’t believe you would try to take your own life!” She loses the battle, openly crying as tears stream down her face. Dad moves over to her side, wrapping his arms around her while I try to comprehend her words.
“I didn’t try to kill myself,” I truthfully reply. “I didn’t do this.”
Mom stops crying for a moment, and her eyes widen in horror. Shock splays across Dad’s face
“Oh my God!” Mom starts crying again, even louder this time. Dad stands, striding to the door and stepping outside. He returns a few seconds later with Keven.
My brother looks like shit. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a heavier than usual layer of stubble on his chin and cheeks, and his clothes are disheveled, like he was sleeping in them. Most likely, he was because I’ve lost all concept of time, and I don’t know if it’s still nighttime or morning.
“Kent.” Keven leans down, hugging me. His shoulders shake as he holds on to me, and I feel his body trembling. Tears prick my eyes. “We thought we lost you,” he says, easing back. I’m shocked to see tears in his eyes. Keven is the steadfast one in the family. The one we call on when we are in trouble because he keeps a cool head at all times, and he usually keeps a lid on his emotions. To see him upset like this is disconcerting.
“You were there?” I don’t remember anything after the heroin was injected into my arm.
He nods. “Keanu, Kyler, Kalvin, and me. Presley led us to you. We were almost too late.”
I hang my head, ashamed they saw me like that. In that horrible place.
“It’s okay.” He sits on the seat Dad vacated, gripping my hand. “We’re just glad you are all right. That’s all that matters.”
“I wasn’t there by choice,” I admit, and his head jerks up, his eyes widening in recognition.
“The fucking Vipers did that to you?”
Dad is consoling Mom over on the other side of the bed while I’m talking to my brother, and though she is quietly sobbing, I know they are listening to every word. “They ambushed me a few miles from the bar. Dragged me out of my car, took me to that hellhole, and shot that shit in my veins.”
Mom cries harder.
“Did you see who did it to you?” Kev asks.
I grind my teeth to my molars, fisting my hands in the bed sheets. I tersely nod.
“Could you identify them from photos?”
I snort out a bitter laugh. I can identify them from more than just photos. “Yeah.”
Kev gulps, glancing at our parents. “Why did you almost murder Clayton Cooper?”
Rage pummels my insides, and my nostrils flare. Pressure sits on my chest, and all the veins in my arms stretch tight. It all comes back to me in vivid detail. The attack. Clay arguing with Presley at the bar. The way he looked at me when he turned around. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my legs up under the covers, burying my head in my knees.
“Kent.” Mom touches my back, and I flinch.
“Don’t, Mom,” I say through gritted teeth. I can scarcely see her through the rage coating my eyes. “Where’s Presley?” I ask Keven, an edge to my scratchy voice.
