Page 95 of Life After You

What the fuck was I thinking?

“Everything okay?” Sam leans out of the trucks open door.

“Nope.” I admit. But I force a dry smile as I climb in, slamming the door behind me. The cab is packed. The guys are here.

Maybe that’ll help steady me.

Next stop—Providence Portland Medical Center

The journey to the hospital is the longest of my life. Sam took my SIM card out of my phone and swapped it with his as it was fully charged. The minute the truck screeches to a stop, I’m outbefore it fully halts, dodging traffic, running flat out. My feet barely touch the ground.

I charge through the ER doors and straight to the nurse’s station. The woman behind the counter wears magenta scrubs and clutches masses of folders in her hands, her eyes darting between the paperwork and a monitor.

“Excuse me—”

“One moment, sir,” she says without looking up. A pang of anger slithers up my spine. “This is an emergency—”

“I understand that, sir. This is an—"

“Mackayla Smith.” I grind my teeth, fists clenched. “She was admitted hours ago. Car accident.”

The nurse lets out a sigh, finally setting the files down. She clicks onto the system, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Are you family?”

“Sí …yes, yes.”

Her expression tightens, but she nods, scanning the screen. “She was in surgery. I don’t know if she’s still in there, or in recovery. If you head down the corridor to your right, take the lift to the third floor. The ICU is on your right.”

“Thank you.”

I’m already moving before she yells after me, “Room B32!”

The guys barely catch up as I hit the elevator button repeatedly. We cram into an already packed lift, none of us speaking. The tension is thick enough to choke on.

When we reach ICU, I spot room B32 on the wall, but it’s not a single room—it’s an entire suite. That means more waiting, more searching. The doors are locked. I press the buzzer. Nothing. Sam tries to slip past when the door opens for a doctor, but security stops him. My patience is gone. I slam the buzzer again.

Where the fuck is everyone.

Finally, a voice cracks through the intercom. “Intensive Care Unit. How can I help you?”

“Mackayla Smith.”

My pulse hammers in my ears. The door buzzes open, and I storm inside. A nurse, about my age, approaches with a clipboard, her eyes widening before she regains composure.

“Are you family?” she asks softly.

Shit. Did Mac put me as her next of kin after Braden died?

“I’m her next of kin—”

“We all are,” Sam adds firmly.

Silence. Then she lowers the clipboard slightly. “Miss Smith is still in surgery. There’s a family room you can wait in. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get a doctor to update you.”

I stare at her, words catching in my throat. “But. I thought she was in recovery?”

“Please, come with me, gentlemen, and we can talk.”

---