And I have no idea what’s waiting for us at the hospital.
But Chloe’s hand is in mine.
And somehow, that makes it bearable.
CHLOE
Hennepin County Medical Center smells like antiseptic and bad coffee and anxiety in the way only emergency rooms can.
I’m standing next to Brody in a temporary ER bay—curtains for walls, beeping monitors, the constant shuffle of nurses and doctors moving between patients—watching a young doctor with cartoon penguins on her scrubs explain Brody’s dad’s discharge instructions.
“Broken collarbone,” she’s saying. “It’s a clean break, so it should heal in six to eight weeks with rest and physical therapy. We’re prescribing pain medication and a follow-up appointment with orthopedics.”
Robert Kane is sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, looking significantly smaller than I expected.
I don’t know what I imagined. Some larger-than-life figure, maybe. The kind of father whose shadow you can’t escape.
But he’s just…a man. Mid-fifties, graying hair, weathered face, wearing a hospital gown, and looking deeply, profoundly embarrassed.
“Was he drinking?” Brody’s voice is carefully controlled.
The doctor’s expression shifts. Sympathetic but honest. “His BAC was point-one-two. Just over the legal limit. He drove into a light pole. It could have been much worse.” She glances at Robert. “You’ll be hearing from the police about charges. But medically, you’re clear to go home.”
Brody’s face goes carefully blank.
That Candy Kane expression I’m starting to recognize as his default when emotions get too big to handle.
“I can get dressed,” Robert says quietly. “Give me five minutes.”
The doctor nods and disappears through the curtain.
Silence.
Brody is staring at the floor. Jaw tight. Shoulders rigid.
I want to say something comforting.
I have no idea what that would be.
Your drunk father wrapped his car around a light pole, but hey, he’s not deaddoesn’t exactly inspire warm fuzzy feelings.
“I’m sorry,” Robert says finally. His voice is hoarse. “I know you’ve got better things to do than?—”
“Just get dressed, Dad.” Brody’s voice is flat. “I’ll bring the car around.”
He walks out before Robert can respond, leaving me standing there awkwardly with his dad.
“Brody didn’t really get a chance to introduce us,” I say, trying my best to fill the silence. “I’m Chloe, the girlfriend.”
The word rolls off my tongue. I like the sound of it a little too much.
“Ah, it’s nice to meet you, Chloe,” Robert says, wincing as he extends a hand. I take it. He pulls back, reaching for the clotheshanging on the chair. “I’m sorry you had to see this. Not exactly the best first impression.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” He meets my eyes. “But thank you for being here anyway.”
The drive to Brody’s childhood home is silent.
