Page 88 of The Bad Brother

“Really?” Gaines is a recent transplant from Dallas and third-year surgical resident. He’s spent the last six-weeks assisting me in surgery and the most I’ve let him do is watch. That I’m allowing him to step in and close is akin to winning the lottery.

“Really.” I offer him a faint smile behind my surgical mask. “I’m going to scrub out and go update the family.”

WHEN I GOT HERE, IT WAS EARLYmorning—before 6AM. Barely light enough to drive without headlights. Judging by the way the sun is slanting through the windows of the corridor that connects the trauma center to the rest of thehospital, it’s early afternoon by the time I make my way to the surgical ICU waiting room.

Even though I told my team I was scrubbing out to update the family, I ended up hiding in the locker room for the past hour. Trying to wrap my mind around what, the more I think about it, becomes more and more obvious.

Ethan and Jensen are brothers.

Once I accepted that and nothing about the last few weeks with Jensen has been real, the rest of it fell into place. I just need to get through the next few hours and I can put this whole thing behind me. I can move on—from Jensen and Ethan both.

Start over.

Pressing a shaking hand to my stomach to calm the sudden flutter of nerves, I keep walking.

I’m not Sloane right now.

I’m Dr. Merrick and Dr. Merrick has a job to do.

Stepping into the waiting room, I find a pretty woman, thick, golden-brown hair pulled back in a lumpy ponytail, sitting next to the vending machine staring off into space. Next to her is a young man in his early-twenties, laid across a row of chairs, sleeping, his jacket balled up into a pillow. Across the room is Jensen. When he sees me, he stands up. I’m not surprised he’s here but I don’t acknowledge him. He’s not who I’m here to see. “Reese Redford?”

Hearing her name, the woman shoots out of her seat like someone zapped her with a cattle prod before looking down at who I’m assuming is her younger brother, Billy. After a few seconds’ debate, she leaves him where he is, sleeping, and approaches me on her own.

As soon as she’s close enough to speak quietly, I give her my neutral, doctor smile. “Ms. Red?—”

“Is he dead?” Her face is white. Wide, gray-blue gaze flat with exhaustion and something else. Something I’ve seen too much of—acceptance. I know without a doubt, she’s been sitting here, for hours now, killing her father in her mind, over and over, so that when I inevitably come in here and give her the news that he’s gone, it will hurt less.

“No.” I say it as gently as I can because in my experience, this is where they fall apart. When I give them hope because hope is heavy. Harder to carry than despair. “Your father made it through surgery, very well, I might add.”

“He did?” Those flat, glassy eyes flood with tears and she gives me a short, fast head shake like she’s sure she misheard me. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say on a quiet laugh. “They moved him from recovery into a room about twenty minutes ago.”

Reese sways on her feet like she’s standing on the deck of a ship. “So, he’s okay?”

“There were several lacerations and extensive damage to his internal organs,” I tell her, doing my best to balance hope with realistic expectations. “Right now he’s listed as critical but stable condition.”

“What does that mean?” Her voice trembles slightly.

“It means your father has a long, hard road ahead of him, but barring any complications or infections, I expect he’ll make a full recovery.” I hesitate, unsure if I should say anything else but if the roles were reversed, I’d want to know. “One of the lacerations?—”

“Stab wounds,” Reese says, her tone hardening slightly.Showing me a bit of the cop beneath the worried daughter. “My father wasstabbed.”

Nodding, I try again. “One of the stab wounds came very close to puncturing his heart. While I was checking its integrity, I noticed signs of a mild heart attack but there was nothing noted in his chart.”

She stares at me for a moment like her brain is playing catch up. “He had a heart attack?”

“From what I saw, yes—a mild one,” I tell her, treading as lightly as I can. “Men his age can often suffer minor cardiac arrest without even knowing it. They chalk it up to stress or indigestion and ignore it.” I wait a beat. “Your father is a smoker?”

“Not anymore he’s not,” Reese tells me firmly, instantly confirming what I already know. I like her. “Can we see him?”

“Of course.” Nodding, I flick a glance at the young man still sleeping behind her. “He’s still under sedation but he should be waking up shortly. His patient code is 2750—same as his room number. Doors are at the end of the hall. Key in the code and they should open. I’ll join you shortly and give you all a debrief on surgery details and what you can expect in the next few days.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Reese reaches for me, pulling me in for a hard, quick hug. “Colt said you were good—that he was in good hands. He was right.” Letting me go, she rushes over to wake her brother. Within seconds, they’re both gone, down the hall. Hurrying to their father.

“Sloane.”

I wish I could say I forgot he was here but I didn’t. I could feel him while I was talking to Reese. Filling her in onher father’s status. Telling her that her father needs to take better care of himself—watching me. When I finally let myself turn to look at him, I feel my heart do something it’s never done. I feel it break because when I look at him, I don’t see Jensen Barrett.

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