Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I get it though. With Kain still so sick, all of this seems so unimportant. Sex is barely a shadow when it comes to the monolithic nature of death.
“I love them,” I whisper as he’s turned the corner. It slips out of my mouth and hangs in the air around me like mist on a winter morning. The truth laid bare, uttered out loud before I’ve even admitted it to myself. “And I think they love me,” I add, because I believe it’s true. I really do. But none of it matters. Not really. Because a house built on shaky ground is destined to crumble.
26
DALTON
“We’re going to reduce his sedation,” the doctor explains, his dark, serious eyes drifting to Kain and then back to me and Dad. “It’s a slow process, so don’t be daunted if he doesn’t regain consciousness immediately. He may also be very confused, perhaps delirious. That won’t indicate the presence of any damage. He’s been through a lot and even if everything is fine, it may take him a while to get back to normal.”
My dad takes a shuddering breath and lowers himself back into his seat that has rested next to Kain’s head for as many hours as he’s been able to take. The sounds of the machines and Kain’s stillness are hard to bear, and Dad is mentally exhausted.
If Mom was here, things would be different. She’d be the one crying and worrying and Dad would be behind her, providing strength and reassurance. He’s good at that role.
Instead, I rest my hand on his shoulder, hoping it’ll provide him with some comfort. It’s been hard to see him cope with so much pain. Harder because I’m suffering too. I haven’t slept well since Kain’s injury. At best, I manage three hours before I wake with a racing heart and wild sense of panic. Some nights it’s an hour and then I lie awake turning over all the possible outcomes, feeling helpless, praying harder than I’ve ever prayed for my baby brother to wake and be in one piece.
“He’s going to be fine,” I say, as much for Dad as myself, but it sounds like stupid over-claim, and I wince when one of the nurse’s concerned eyes meet mine.
Watching the medical team work to switch out IVs, removing one type of drug and adding another has my heart wrapped in barbed wire. I try to focus on Kain’s face, willing the first movement of his eyes, the first flicker of his eyelids, his first recognition of us by his side.
I send a quick message to Blake, Gabriella, Travis, and Coach to let them know what’s happening. Their support through this has been amazing. The team has been present outside every day, working in shifts, keeping a vigil for Kain’s recovery.
“Kain,” Dad rasps, making me jump. “We’re here. When you’re ready to open your eyes, we’re waiting.”
All we can do is wait.
It’s not a quick process. The doctor was right. Gabriella messages every ten minutes asking for updates. I tell her I’ll confirm as soon as he’s woken up, but she’s impatient and decides it’s time to return to the hospital, even though she only left four hours ago and hasn’t slept yet.
I finish a response, urging her to be careful on the road when Dad’s hand clutches at my arm. “His eyes moved,” he hisses. “Look.”
Kain’s eyes flicker as though he’s blinking but with his lids closed. His lips part as he inhales a long breath. The doctor watches, jotting down notes, but I can’t absorb anything else that’s happening because I’m so focused on Kain.
Dad reaches for Kain’s hand, taking it in his and squeezing. “Son,” he says. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You’re fine. I’m here. Dad’s here. Wake up.”
I swallow thickly, the pleading in my father’s voice too much for me to handle. People say that you don’t understand how much your parents love you until you have a child of your own, but I know. My father has aged ten years. He’d cut out his own heart and stuff it into our chests if it meant we’d live.
Kain’s fingers move in Dad’s fierce grip and Dad almost jumps out of his skin, staring down as though he can’t quite believe it’s really happening. He turns to me, his mouth open, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Look, Dalton. Look.”
“I can see, Dad. I can see.”
Resting my hand on his shoulder again, I watch as Kain moves his head slightly and scrunches his brow. For a second, his expression is so serious and Kain-like that I almost laugh. He’s in there. My brother is still in there.
I know the doctor told us to be patient, but I’m not. I want to shout from the rooftops that my brother is waking up. I want to grab him by the shoulder and shake him into consciousness until he says something in his humorless way that always makes me laugh.