Clint started to speak, then drew Devlin farther from the mother and son, lowering his voice to a whisper. “That kid over there…” He swallowed. “He’s the… hit-and-run driver.”
It took Devlin a moment to process. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t understand. Rumors circulating in the hospital implicated the drive-by shooter as the hit-and-run driver.”
“That’s what we thought,” Clint murmured. “But I saw the car. Detective Jordan gave me the name and address tied to the license plate number.” He nodded toward the traumatized pair. “It led back to them. The car is out in the parking lot… blood all over the front seat.”
Devlin stared at the young man, his face filled with quiet horror. “He was in a panic… trying to get his little brother to the hospital…?”
Clint nodded.
“And he hit…” Devlin looked like he wanted to puke. Tears filled his eyes. “Does he even know…?”
“I don’t think so,” Clint whispered. “I don’t think he was aware of anything except saving his little brother.”
Devlin slid his hand over his eyes as his head sank toward his chest. “Oh, my God.” He trembled. “I don’t…” He raised his head, his tears barely held. “I don’t even know how to tell him…”
“One thing is certain,” Clint said. “If the other boy’s father finds out this kid was the driver…”
“Oh, God.” Devlin went pale. “The man is falling apart, looking for somewhere to direct his pain and anger.”
“That’s why you need to get this kid somewhere more private,” Clint told him. “Detective Jordan is on the way. He said there are officers already here at the hospital. You have to make sure this kid is protected and that the facts of the hit-and-run are kept quiet for now.”
Devlin nodded, then sniffed, cleared his throat, and regained his professional poise. “Of course.” He approached the mother and son slowly, pausing a few feet away. “Mrs. Healy?” His voice was soft, quiet.
The woman looked up, and her fear deepened. “My boy…? Is… Is he okay?” Her whole body shook with her sobs.
“He’s still in surgery,” Devlin replied gently, his eyes darting to her older son. He sank to his heels and looked at the older boy. “This is a terrible thing that has happened. I know you’re scared. So, we’re going to take this one step at a time, okay?” Devlin moved almost cautiously into the chair next to the boy, as if any sudden movement might spark panic or a fear reaction in the young man. “I would like to take you into another room where you’ll be more comfortable and get you cleaned up. Would that be okay with you?”
The kid blinked for the first time since Axel and Clint had entered the waiting room. His eyes darted back and forth without focusing, yet he still gave Devlin a slight nod.
“We’ll take it slow,” Devlin murmured as he stood, gently taking the kid’s arm. “Your mom will come with us. She’ll be right by your side.”
The boy’s chin trembled, and he began to stand, then sank back into the chair as if too weak to rise. Devlin carefully tightened his grip on the boy’s arm, spoke softly, and helped him to his feet. Mother and son leaned on one another as Devlin supported the young man. As they moved past Clint and Axel, the boy lookedgone, his eyes reflecting only hollow fear, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
“We’ll take care of them,” Devlin said quietly to the men in passing. “When Jordan arrives, message me.”
Clint nodded, his face strained with concern for the young man and his mother.
Devlin could feel the young man about to collapse. As soon as they entered the ER, he motioned to Nurse Gina. “Get me a wheelchair.”
The woman reacted promptly, retrieving an empty wheelchair parked halfway down the corridor. Her white shoes squeaked on the tile, and the chair’s wheels hissed across the floor as she rushed to Devlin’s aid. Devlin gently seated the young man in the chair while the nurse propped his feet on the pedals.
Devlin stepped away from the wheelchair with the nurse. “Thank you, Gina,” Devlin said. “I’m taking him to exam room two. Could you bring some washcloths and a gown?”
“Is that the boy who brought his brother in?” she asked quietly, her eyes filled with sympathy.
“Yes.”
“Is he injured?”
“No.” Devlin swallowed. “That’s his brother’s blood.”
The woman struggled to maintain her professionalism even as tears shimmered in her eyes. “I hate days like this.”
“So do I.” Devlin cleared his throat. They rarely had good days in the ER, but this one felt worse than most.
The other mother’s cries could still be heard. The father continued to pace the corridor, his hands clamped almost violently behind his neck, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the floor, walking back and forth in front of the room where his wife sat with their dead child, her sobs rising and falling.
Gine watched the man for a moment, her throat working. “How could someone do that?” she whispered. “How could they hit achildand not even stop? I don’t understand people anymore.”
