Page 6 of Heart Strain

He squeezes my hand, but the nurse comes out and asks us to follow her. I cling to Jameson’s hand as we walk—he’s suddenly become my anchor because I can’t do this by myself. I can’t see my brother like this; I can’t handle it on my own.

When we reach Hendrix’s room, I’m still squeezing Jameson’s hand, probably cutting off his circulation at this point, but he’s holding on tight, too. I can’t help the small gasp that comes out when I finally lay eyes on my twin brother for the first time in… I don’t even know how long. I can hardly tell it’s him with all the tubes all over him and the bandages wrapped around his head from a bullet that grazed him there. Slowly walking into the room, tears leak down my cheeks seeing him so weak and lifeless.

After pausing for a moment, I release Jameson’s hand and walk to the edge of Hendrix’s bed. There are so many tubes, I’m scared I might hurt him, so I ask the nurse quietly, “Can I touch him?”

“Of course. Just watch out for the IV in his hand. If you need anything, you can hit the nurse call button and I’ll come right back. You two can stay as long as you like.”

I nod. “Thanks.” I slowly reach out and grab Hendrix’s hand and as soon as our skin touches, I have to fight more tears. He’s so cold. I lean down and whisper into his ear, “Hey, Drix, guess who came to town to see you? Maybe you should get your lazy ass up and say hi.” A small choking sound comes out of my throat. “I could really use a hug from my big brother right about now.” He’d laugh at me calling him that if he was awake.

I kiss his shoulder through the thin fabric of the hospital gown, then I rest my cheek there for a few minutes while I try to get myself together. I want to pull him into a hug, but I’m too afraid I’ll tangle the wires or accidentally pull something out, so this is the best I can do. It’s not enough. Not even close.

After several minutes, I remember that we’re not alone, so I stand back up and look toward the door where Jameson’s still standing. “You can come in.”

He nods and steps in, then points to a chair behind me. “Want me to pull that over?”

“I’ll get it. You… you can… say hi or, you know…” I trail off because I don’t actually know how to finish that sentence.

While Jameson walks up to the other side of the bed, I concentrate on pulling the chair to me without letting go of Drix’s hand. I’m not ready to yet. I need to feel that he’s still with me; I need him to know that I’m here.

Jameson grabs Drix’s other hand and leans close to his ear. I can’t make out everything he’s saying, but I hear a million whispered apologies fall from his lips. I want to tell him this isn’t his fault, but I can’t seem to form the words. Not when I’m staring at the only family I have left and knowing I might never hear his voice again.

* * *

“Holden?”Jameson gets my attention, and I have no idea how long he’s been trying to get it.

“Hm?”

“I’m going to run down to the cafeteria and bring you up some food. What do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

He stares at me for several seconds, then sighs heavily. “Your stomach’s been growling for at least an hour. When’s the last time you ate something?”

I shrug because I have no idea. I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here staring at my brother; I don’t know how long we were in the waiting room; I don’t even know what day it is.

“That’s what I thought. I’m bringing you something. Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

He opens his mouth, then nods and stands, heading for the door. “I’ll find something for you.”

He’s gone before I can thank him, and a minute later, my phone rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, Holds, how are you holding up?” Gavin asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. This whole thing feels like some elaborate dream—or nightmare.

“I’m going to come.”

“No, Gav, I don’t want to board Peanut. God, I’m so sorry, are you sick of him already?”

“What? You know I love my little Pea-Man. I’m going to drive down with him since you’re going to be there for a while.”

My chest feels heavy because I want that so badly, but I can’t ask my best friend to drive over five hours with my dog. “I can’t ask you to do that, Gav.”

“Look, I’m coming whether you like it or not. I hate that you’re there alone. I hate being this far when I know you need me—and Peanut for that matter. I want to come, okay? This was just a call to let you know what’s going on. I’m not asking your permission.” I can tell from his tone that he’s completely serious.

Since there’s really nothing else for me to say, I tell him, “Thank you, Gav.”

---