Page 152 of We Are Just Us

“Please,” Kieran whispered. Not to the paramedics. To someone else. Anyone else. God, the universe, his mom. “Please don’t take him. Please. I just—I need more time. We need more time.”

The ambulance turned again. Slowed. The siren went quiet.

“We’re here,” the paramedic said.

The doors flew open. Bright hospital lights. People in scrubs waiting, ready.

They were pulling the gurney out. Moving fast. Shouting medical jargon Kieran didn’t understand.

He jumped out after them. Followed. No one stopped him.

Through automatic doors. Down a hallway. The wheels of the gurney clattering.

“Trauma two,” someone called.

They turned into a room. Big. Bright. Full of equipment.

More people in scrubs appeared. A doctor. Nurses. All surrounding Rory.

Someone was cutting off his wetsuit. Someone else was attaching more monitors.

The doctor was asking questions. “How long was he under?”

“Unknown. At least thirty seconds, maybe more.”

“Any sign of spinal injury?”

“Possible. We immobilized him on scene.”

“Get me a CT. And page neuro.”

Kieran stood in the doorway. Frozen. Watching this nightmare unfold.

A nurse noticed him. “Sir, you can’t be in here.”

“He’s my—please. I need to be with him.”

“You need to wait outside.”

“I promised. I promised I wouldn’t leave!”

“Sir.” Her voice was kind but unyielding. “We need space to work. The best thing you can do for him right now is let us do our job. There’s a waiting room down the hall. Someone will come talk to you as soon as we know more.”

Kieran looked at Rory. At his still, pale face. At the organized chaos of doctors and nurses trying to help him.

“Okay,” he muttered.

The nurse guided him out. Closed the door behind him. And Kieran stood in the hallway.

Alone.

FORTY-THREE

Four hours.

Four hours of sitting in uncomfortable chairs under fluorescent lights that made everything look wrong. Four hours of watching the clock on the wall tick forward with agonizing slowness. Four hours of waiting.

Kieran had lost track of time somewhere around hour two. Everything blurred together, the coffee he got from the vending machine that tasted like burnt rubber, the forms he tried to fill out but couldn’t because he wasn’t family, the phone call to Emory where he'd barely been able to get the words out before breaking down.