Page 3 of Heart Strain

“I don’t understand. You’re not one of Hendrix’s nurses or doctors?”

James looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but then he glances down at his scrubs. “Oh… the nurses let me change into these because… because I… there was blood on my clothes.”

What the hell is Drix’s old friend from high school talking about? “I don’t understand. Are you here for Hendrix?”

His brow furrows in confusion. “He didn’t tell you about me?” I don’t respond because I have no idea what he means. “He’s my partner, Holly; I was there today.”

As my eyes widen, I finally make the connection. My brother told me about his partner, Jameson, only I didn’t realize it was the same James from high school since I’d never heard anyone call him Jameson back then. “Oh. He talked about you, but…” I shrug, too tired to explain. “What happened?”

“It was supposed to be an easy domestic abuse call to a house we’ve been to a bunch of times over the past six months. There was no reason to think… but the guy had a gun, and I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it.”

He looks frantic, so I reach over and put my hand on his, giving it a squeeze as I say, “It’s not your fault.” Truthfully, I don’t know what happened, but it’s not anyone but the shooter’s fault that Drix got hurt.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t get to him in time. Shots were fired, and he didn’t get behind our cruiser fast enough.” His eyes water, but he stares straight ahead, so I pull my hand back. His chiseled features and plush lips are still as perfect as I remember, and somehow aging and the scruff on his face make him even more attractive than he was back in high school, not that I’m really focusing on that when he looks so upset. Or at least, I’m trying not to. “I couldn’t get to him.” He rubs his eyes and clears his throat before his jaw hardens. “I got the guy, though. He’s dead.”

“You killed the guy that shot Drix?” I ask quietly.

He looks right at me. “Not soon enough.”

Swallowing, I nod and look away. His intense gaze is freaking me out.

“I’m sorry, Holly. I’m so sorry.”

Despite his use of a nickname I despise, the emotion in his voice makes me feel for the guy. He seems just as upset as I feel, so I pat his shoulder awkwardly for a few seconds before going back to my word search, although I don’t really see the letters on the page.

“Can you get me in to see him?” I ask a few minutes later.

He glances at me and shakes his head. “They won’t let me back there, either.” He clears his throat before tentatively asking, “When they let you back there, do you think… do you think I could come back to see him, too?”

I search his face for a few seconds before nodding. I don’t know him anymore, but he looks pretty ragged and stressed. Seeing his partner get hurt had to be scary, so I figure he needs some reassurances, too.

We sit there quietly for several minutes; me staring at the paper but not really seeing it, and him leaning his elbows on his knees with his fingers fidgeting in front of his face.

I can’t believe I didn’t know Hendrix’s partner is someone we went to high school with. How is it possible for my twin to have this whole life I really know nothing about?

I guess that’s what I get for moving away.

I’ve missed my brother every day since I left over nine years ago.

Sometimes I wished I never left.

But I know I couldn’t have stayed, either.

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