Stepping out of the elevator, I grab Sydnee’s hand once again, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Anxiety is slowly creeping in. If I don’t find my brother or our parents, I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself together. With the multitude of people standing around, one would think it would be noisy, but it’s the exact opposite. Those who are having conversations are speaking in a low murmur.
“Is that Grant Malone?” Sydnee whispers. Grant is with Sunnyville PD and has been friends with Deacon and Kade for a few years now.
Glancing in the direction she’s facing, I crane my neck to see past her, and that’s when I know she is correct. Grant is talking to someone who is sitting on the floor. As I pull Sydnee in his direction, squeezing through the sea of people in the crowded hall, I see it’s Deacon seated on the floor with his elbows resting on his pulled-up knees and head in his hands.
A stabbing feeling pierces through my heart. My brother is a strong man, and I’ve never seen him break, not even when I got raped. So, to witness this vulnerable side of Deacon is not something I’m not prepared to handle. My stomach feels like it’s tying itself into a thousand little knots, the closer I get to Grant and my brother.
“Hey, Brit. Hi, Sydnee,” Grant greets us when we finally reach him.
“Hey,” I respond as I half step into his waiting arms for a quick hug, and Sydnee does the same. Then I kneel beside Deacon and quietly ask him if he wants to go outside and get some fresh air.
Deacon looks up at me, and my heart shatters. His cheeks are tear-stained, and his naturally beautiful bluish-green eyes are damn near swollen shut from crying. I need to get my brother away from everyone, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it while we’re all waiting for an update on Kade.
“D?” He nods his response, so I stand, holding my hand out for him to take. When Deacon grabs my hand, I nearly fall back to my knees, trying to help him stand. He’s probably been sitting here for a while. I’m surprised he was able to stand so effortlessly. “Will you text if you see my parents, Kade’s parents, or if the doctors come out to talk to someone?” I ask both Sydnee and Grant.
“Of course.” Sydnee is quick to answer.
“You might want to get him some water,” Grant suggests. I tell him I will, and with my brother’s arm draped over my shoulders, I lead him toward the elevators. It’s like parting the Red Sea as everyone waiting for news on Kade’s condition makes room to let us through.
Seeing my brother in such a fragile state reminds me of how I was after being raped in college. A few months after my attacker was in jail, Deacon confessed to feeling helpless, even while he was working with the campus police to find the rapist. I assured him he helped me more than he knew.
Everything I have been feeling since finding out about the shootout and Kade being shot, up until we set foot on the third floor of the hospital and seeing Deacon hunched over, has me feeling helpless. Now, I understand what he meant. Deacon was my strength when I needed it most. It’s my turn to be his strength.
We reach the lobby, and I lead Deacon outside. Our bodies shiver simultaneously from the brisk air, and I’m kicking myself in the ass for not thinking to bring a jacket, or a sweatshirt, or something. Looking around the parking lot, I finally spot my brother’s truck. Please have your keys in your pocket.
“Do you have your keys?” I ask.
Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, he pulls his keys out and hands them to me. We take our time walking through the lot, and when we reach the truck, I open the passenger’s side door. I’m about to climb in, but Deacon beats me to it and closes the door when his leg is clear. I begin to walk around to the driver’s side of the truck when my cell phone rings. Grabbing it from my back pocket, I see it’s my mom, so I answer.
The conversation is surprisingly quick. I’m able to persuade our parents to stay home by reassuring my mom that I’m taking care of Deacon, and I’ll update them on Kade when I know more. Mom also made me promise to drive Deacon by their house, even if he refuses. All she wants is to see her son with her own two eyes and hug him. Only then will she be able to rest, knowing he’s okay.
I open the back seat door on the driver’s side, knowing Deacon keeps water bottles behind his seat. Grabbing two, I close the door get in the driver’s seat. Without saying anything, I hand my brother a bottle of water, and he takes it without any resistance, opens it, and chugs down half the bottle before replacing the cap.
We sit in silence for what feels like hours when it’s only been minutes. There are so many questions I want to ask. For instance, what the fuck happened? Where was their backup? How did Kade get shot? Were they wearing their vests? But I keep all of my questions to myself. When Deacon is ready to talk, he will.
“Fuck!” Deacon yells out, throwing his half-full water bottle at the windshield and scaring the piss out of me. I remain quiet. It’s like I’m afraid that if I make a sound, I will be the next target if he throws something else. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He continues yelling while slamming his fists into the dashboard. “Brit, I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left him when there was still one suspect at large. And that motherfucker is somehow still fucking alive after Kade shot him.”
“D, you can’t blame yourself. Kade wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” I try reasoning with my brother, but I know my words are going in one ear and out the other. Hell, they’re probably stopped by the shield of anger that surrounds him. Something tells me there’s no way to talk him off the imaginary ledge he’s put himself on, and there’s a whole lot more to the story than what Deacon has given me so far.
“Kade shot that piece of shit in the neck. The neck, Brit! The motherfucking bullet missed his carotid artery by a fucking hair. A single, goddamn hair. Jesus Hernandez should be dead like his brother, but no. He’s already out of surgery while Kade is fighting for his life.”
Reaching over the center console, I grab Deacon’s hand and hold on tight. I may end up with a broken hand if he flies off the handle again, but my brother needs me, and this is the only way I can show him I’m here for him. It’s killing me the way he’s torturing himself.
“B, our CI got a knife to the chest. But that wasn’t all. A mother and her little girl got caught in the crossfire. The mom was dead before I went back outside after leaving Kade. But the little girl, she wasn’t dead—yet. I fucking held her hand as she took her last breath.” With those words, my brother howls out a visceral cry, like something heard out in the wild. It takes everything in me not to overreact to what he just told me. How do I take his pain away?
His entire body convulses with each guttural cry, as the reality of today’s events come crashing down on him. Deacon’s tears are flowing steadily down his cheeks. Reaching in my bag, I grab the tissues I took from Sydnee’s car, and after opening the package, I hand it to my brother. Today is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.
I lift the center console so I can scoot closer to Deacon. Wrapping my arms around my brother as tight as I can from where I’m sitting, I hold on to him, giving him time to cry, or yell, or whatever it is that he needs to do. He needs to let out his emotions. If he keeps it bottled up inside, it’s going to eat at him until there’s nothing left. I’ve seen enough police documentaries to know that can happen.