Page 71 of Taken By the Fae

“Mom?”

“We need you to come home.”

“What happened?” The room feels too warm, too small as it closes in on me, so I retreat outside. The cool night air touches my skin, but little relief follows.

“Your brother is in the hospital,” my mom says, and her voice breaks at the end. She sniffles as if she’s fighting back tears, and my stomach plummets.

“He what?” I choke. “Why? What happened?”

She takes a deep breath. “We… The doctors aren’t sure yet. He, um—” Her voice cuts off, and she sniffles. “He collapsed at his soccer game an hour ago and… hasn’t woken up.” Mom chokes on a sob, and everything around me slows to a stop.

The glass slips out of my hand and shatters against the marble step. I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, my vision is blurry.

“Your father and I are here with him.”

I cover my eyes with my free hand. “I’m coming home.”

“Your father can come get you,” she says in a hoarse voice.

“No.” I wipe my cheeks, but it’s pointless; more tears spring into my eyes and fall. “I’ll take the train or something.” A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to speak. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I end the call and stand frozen in place, staring straight ahead as a silent sob wracks my body. Too many things are rushing through my head. My parents must be terrified. I give up trying to fight back tears and cry until my eyes hurt and there’s nothing left. My stomach coils up tight, and I think I’m going to throw up all over the steps of the Westbrook Hotel.

This doesn’t make any sense. No healthy kid collapses randomly and ends up unconscious in a hospital. Which means…No. I can’t go there.

I walk back into the hotel where the gala is in full swing. I stop at the coat check to grab my clutch and ask an employee to tell Tristan I had to leave.

Hurrying out of the lobby to the front of the hotel, I pull out my phone to get an Uber, and then I’m spinning around at the hands of Tristan.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

Turning my face away, my hair falls forward. “I have to leave.” I try to keep my tone casual, but my voice cracks.

He grasps my chin and turns my face to look at him. “Are you crying?” His forehead creases. “I saw you leave. What happened between then and now?”

I shake my head. “Tristan, please,” I beg, and dammit, the tears are back. I blink, and they fall, dripping onto his hand.

He lets go of me. “Tell me what’s going on, Rory,” he says in a gentle voice.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Elijah… my brother is in the hospital, and no one knows what’s wrong with him.”

Tristan’s brows tug together. “What do you need?”

“I need to go home.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll take you.”

I don’t have the strength to protest—I wipe my cheeks dry and nod.

Ten minutes later, we’re speeding toward the hospital in silence.We arrive after midnight, and Tristan doesn’t hesitate to use his manipulation to get us past security, then stays in the lobby while I ride up to the pediatric floor. The hallway is dark, the only light coming from the nurses’ stations spread out over the floor. The walls are a dull beige, punctuated by boxes of masks and gloves, sanitizer pumps, and shelves of gowns, while the smell of antiseptic burns my nose.

As I reach Elijah’s room, tears roll down my cheeks. I walk closer to where he’s asleep on the small bed. He’s hooked up to a bunch of different machines. His face is pale even against the soft beige blanket that covers him. His hair is a mess, and even though his eyes are closed, the underneath is dark, making his face appear hollow.

I pull a chair over to his bed and sit. I reach for his hand and hold it in both of mine, listening to the sound of his breathing.

A nurse walks in and pauses when she sees me. “Visiting hours are over. You shouldn’t be—”

“He’s my brother,” I force out, my voice wavering.

“Oh.” Her demeanor shifts and her expression softens. “Your parents went home about twenty minutes ago.”

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