“He’s being fucking dramatic,” I speak, not sure if it’s to divert their attention from me or because it’s true. “How many times has he injured himself?” I draw air quotes with my fingers.
“Yeah, but what if that was his second chance, and he’s out of luck?” Henry’s sudden change of tone makes my heart stop.
“He’s going to be okay,” I insist.
They all turn to look at me.
“Are you okay?” Henry asks.
“Of course, I am.” I wave my hands, showing them my body. “Look, not a scratch.”
“Are you sure?” Henry insists. “I mean, just yesterday you had to…fuck. I can’t imagine having to choose between my family and Sophia. That would fuck me up in so many ways.”
“Bennett was nothing like Sophia. And she’d be the one shooting you,” Pierce says with a bit of humor.
We all laugh because my sister-in-law doesn’t take shit from my brother. Henry might be an asshole with a god-awful temper, but she tames the man.
After sobering up, Pierce says, “Seriously, you guys were together, and you had to kill him. This can’t be easy for you.”
“I fucked around with him. It wasn’t serious. This wasn’t the first time I had to choose between him and everything else. We were over, and I was fine with that.”
As I speak the words, I realize they’re true. We weren’t together. When Grace asked if I was okay since I killed the man I loved, the answer was yes. That’s not my problem. I’d kill him again if it meant saving my family.
“I thought I loved him once”—I pause, scanning the room and looking at my three brothers—“but maybe it was infatuation. I had a choice, him or Beacon. Him or my family. He was trying to kill my family. There are days when I want to punch you because you’re fucking annoying, but you’re mine.”
“Fuck, did you hear him?” Pierce asks, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “He loves us.”
I give him the finger. “I never said that.”
He smirks. “You did. I love you too. Even when you look at me like you want to murder me.”
“We love you too, Vance,” Henry says. “I still think this is fucking with your head. If you need anything, I’m here for you. I’ll pay for your therapist.”
“I don’t need a therapist,” I lie.
“Maybe you’re numbed,” Pierce suggests.
I said the same yesterday morning. I might be inside, or maybe I just never gave a fuck about Bennett.
“Yet I believe that for the sake of my sanity, you’re going to start therapy,” Henry says. “Just humor me.”
Normally, I’d fight him. The last thing I care to do is side with him. From all my brothers, he’s the worst, or maybe he was, and therapy has changed him. I never stopped to think about it until now. The old Henry would be blaming me for everything that’s happened the past few weeks. This Henry has been asking if I’m okay. Same with Pierce, who keeps checking on me. Okay, maybe I should stop judging them and being an asshole to them.
When did the dynamic change? How did I not notice?
I’m the observant one of this family. It’s probably because I’ve been defending myself from them. Not that they’re attacking me, but in my mind, if you’re not my friend, you’re my enemy. Just because they’re insensitive assholes doesn’t make them bad people, just clueless.
“Okay, I’ll think about going to therapy,” I agree just as the technician arrives. Thank fuck this is the end of the conversation.
Later, when I learn that Beacon is fine, I might think about it. Because my brother is going to be okay, right?
Chapter Five
Darren
One day, I wonder what would happen if I took a break from my life, including my family. The next, I get a call from a friend and former colleague from John Hopkins, Hayes Aldridge, at five in the morning asking if I could assist him with a major surgery.
After I agree, he says I need to fly to San Diego. He provides a private jet. During the flight, I’m on a videoconference with him and seven more doctors. Our patient is a thirty-year-old male who fell from a rooftop. According to the X-rays we received from the hospital, he broke his back. He also has a knife wound on the right side of his torso.
There are many components as we analyze and formulate a plan on how to operate. We not only have to save his life but also ensure he can walk again. According to the team that flew him to San Diego, he couldn’t feel his body, and he wasn’t in pain. We use an experimental software where we can virtually operate on the patient to see the outcome. When I land, we have a solid plan on how we’re going to execute the surgery. We believe it’s going to take us at least twelve hours.
When I arrive at the hospital, I go directly to the operating room. I don’t ask many questions about the patient, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about him. He has a deep wound and many bruises that could’ve only happened during a fight. They dragged the best doctors in their fields in for this surgery. I don’t even know who “they” is. Is it a person, an organization? Seriously, who the fuck is paying for this? Even though Hayes contacted me, he said a third party was offering a high six-figure number to not only perform the surgery but stay until the patient has a recovery plan.
I’m not here for the money, but because Hayes asked for this as a personal favor. It’d be nice to learn that I’m not working for some drug lord, terrorist cell, or the government.
The surgery is a success, but I never doubted it. I suggest we keep the patient in a medically induced coma until the swelling in his spine and head are gone. I can’t tell how severe the nerve damage is. I did a few repairs, but only time will tell if I need to perform a second surgery. There’s always the chance the guy will remain a quadriplegic for the rest of his life, but I don’t say that out loud.
After the surgery, I discover we operated on Hayes Aldridge’s baby brother. Hayes and his brothers are paying our salaries. Who knew the guy was as wealthy as Midas? I’ve known him for years. I know his mother lives in Europe with her second husband, and he had a younger brother who died at the age of twenty-one. In a matter of hours, I find out that he has five more brothers, and his father died last year.
What’s next?
After the surgery, my life feels completely different. Since I have to stick around for at least three weeks, I find something to do. I run every morning by the ocean and donate my time to the free clinic next to the hospital.
Every day is different from my life in San Francisco. I treat all kinds of cases. There are times when I have to send the patients to the hospital, and I pay for their stay because they don’t have insurance, or their insurance doesn’t cover it. I’m reminded of why I studied medicine: To save lives.
Do I make a difference as a neurosurgeon?
Of course, I do, but I don’t do as much as I could since I have to be selective about who I treat. The contract I signed when I bought into the practice where I work says we can’t accept all the cases. Our prices are stratospheric, and not everyone can afford us. I should quit and start my practice. After all, I’m Dr. Darren J. Russell.