“Come on,” Clint said in a low voice as he started down the corridor, his eyes darting to the father, who had yet to stop moving but was clearly listening to Devlin and the officers’ conversation.
They stepped aside for two orderlies pushing an empty gurney covered with a white sheet. When they stopped at the grieving mother’s room, the father paused. The orderlies spoke to him in hushed tones, and then the father followed them into the room. Moments later, the mother’s wails rose to a high pitch again.
“No… not my baby… don’t take my baby…”
Axel felt Clint tense beside him as Axel turned his back to the room, trembling. He wanted to go home and hold Luke. He didn’t want to be in this place of death and despair any longer. His gaze drifted to Devlin, and he wondered how a man of such compassion and care could survive in this environment day to day. Axel couldn’t have.
“You okay?” Clint asked quietly, touching Axel’s arm.
Axel leaned his head against the cowboy’s shoulder. “I just want to go home to our son,” he whispered, his heart breaking for the two families that would never see their sons again, who would go home to empty bedrooms and the cold chill of grief and loss. As others touched by the tragedies gradually went back to their lives and forgot, the families would be left alone in their grief as their pain continued. Axel felt guilty for wanting to get away from this place, this reminder that life was fragile and the things you loved most could be snatched away in the blink of an eye—in the squeeze of a trigger, in the screech of tires—there one moment… gone the next.
“So do I.” Clint kissed his head. It wasn’t just an absent agreement; Axel felt the cowboy’s need to confirm that their sonwas alive and well, to hold him and feel the reality that he was still there.
But they couldn’t leave, not yet. Neither he nor Clint had any obligations to the young man whose nightmare was about to get so much worse, yet they stayed, unable to walk away and leave him vulnerable… unprotected.
“Are you his doctor?” the older cop asked Devlin.
Devlin hesitated. “No. Technically, he isn’t a patient.”
“Then you have no authority,” the officer said. “Please, step aside, Doctor.”
“Whether he’s been officially admitted into the hospital,” Devlin pressed, “the boy is in a fragile state. Another stressor right now could have dire consequences.”
“The kid was involved in a hit-and-run that resulted in the death of a minor,” the officer stated bluntly. “Hisconditionisn’t my concern.”
Axel’s eyes snapped to the room across the hall. The father was inside with his sobbing wife and the orderlies. Had her cries drowned out the cop’s words?
Devlin looked helpless—and concerned, as he looked at the other room, fearful that the father might come charging forth at any moment. With much reluctance, he stepped through the curtain with the officers.
Mrs. Healy sat in a chair beside her oldest son’s bed, her grief-stricken body bent over the edge as she clutched his handto her lips, her eyes closed and leaking tears as she quietly and desperately begged God for a miracle to bring her youngest child back to her… and to heal her oldest.
When the officers stepped forward, Devlin waved them back and approached the woman. As the day wore on, Devlin hated his job more and more. This poor mother was clinging to the last thread of her rope—with the worst yet to come—and Devlin hated himself for bringing more grief and terror down on her and her son. But he had no choice.
“Mrs. Healy?” he spoke softly, gently touching her shoulder.
The woman slowly raised her head, tears spilling as she opened her puffy, bloodshot eyes. Her gaze darted past Devlin to the officers, uncertainty mixing with anxiety. “What… why are they here?” Her words came out thick and wet, gravelly.
The older cop started to speak, and Devlin cut him off. “They need to speak to you and your son about an incident that happened earlier today.”
The woman looked confused and disoriented as she struggled to comprehend his words. “I-I don’t understand,” she whispered, trembling. “What… What incident?”
Devlin released a shaky breath and felt like throwing up. Any moment now, Dr. Landers would arrive with news that her youngest child was dead. Why couldn’t thiswait?The damage was already done; waiting wouldn’t change anything, and addressing it now wouldn't bring the other boy back. None of this seemed to matter to the officers. It would have mattered to Detective Jordan.
“Your son was involved in a hit-and-run,” the officer said bluntly. “He struck a young boy. The boy didn’t survive.”
“What?” The woman couldn’t process his words, as if she’d stepped into the Twilight Zone, where nothing made sense. “No,he… I-I don’t understand…” She began to cry. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t in an accident… His little brother was… wasshot… and he rushed him to the hospital.”
“Hewasin an accident,” the officer corrected, “he just didn’t stop.”
Devlin moved closer to the woman, wanting to protect her from this horror, even though he knew he was helpless.
The young man in the bed stirred from his trance-like state as his mother clutched his hand protectively, placing her body between him and the officers. He blinked slowly, his hazy eyes finally focusing on the officers. “What… What’s…”
The older cop turned his attention to the kid. He rattled off the car's make and model, along with the license plate number. “This car is registered in your name. Were you driving it at four-thirty-eight this afternoon?”
The boy struggled to remain focused. “Yes,” he whispered with a tremor. “My little brother, he… he was shot… I-I brought him to the hospital.”
“And you were driving recklessly?”
