Page 14 of Not Another Rockstar
Axel couldn’t blame him for his disbelief. They’d grown up together; he never would’ve thought Cillian was capable of this.
“I don’t know what to say,” Axel murmured, as if the weight of words might crush them all.
The steady beat of the heart monitor comforted him; she was still with them. That was all they needed to focus on.
“There’s nothing to say,” August said sadly as he sat on the end of Phoebe’s bed. He stared at her like she’d disappear.
“She’s going to be okay,” Axel told him.
“She’s the best of us.” August placed a gentle hand on her leg covered in the rough hospital sheets.
“I can’t be here,” Nick said suddenly. “I need to call our parents.”
He left like someone had lit a fire under his ass. Nick never handled emotions well—not that anyone could get through this situation unscathed. Axel guessed Phoebe had inherited all the feeling genes.
“I’m going to talk to the nurses,” Axel told August. Axel wanted to see if he could talk or bribe his way into getting a cot for the room so they wouldn’t have to leave her. Focusing on Phoebe cushioned the blow of what they’d lost.
Anita came in as Nick was leaving. Her eyes were puffy, as though she’d been crying. Not that she’d let them see her cry; it was her job to keep their shit together.
“I’ve cancelled everything,” she said, “and done my best to hold off the vultures, but we’ll have to make a statement soon.”
Axel didn’t want Phoebe hearing this, even if she was unconscious. She needed to recover, not listen to the arrangements being made for her dead fiancé.
He took Anita out into the hall. “Did you manage to get through to Cillian’s mum?”
“She was devastated.” Anita let out a long sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard such noises before. She doesn’t want to fly out, so the body will be flown back once the police have wrapped up their investigation. It’ll take some time, but it’s procedure.”
“Are you sure you want to manage all this? We can get someone else to handle it,” Axel offered, wanting to give her an out. She’d already done a lot for them.
“Life goes on, and I’m in charge of making sure the machine keeps going.” Anita shrugged it off.
“We aren’t a machine. Maybe if we’d realised that sooner we wouldn’t be in this position.” Her eyes narrowed, and he realisedhow that had sounded. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just don’t want you to deal with all this, he was your friend too.”
Anita shook her head. “I’ve never treated you like a machine or a product. I think of you as family. None of us could have seen this coming, but it’s my job to make sure the show goes on. I owe it to Cillian to be here for him and all of you, now more than ever. If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”
Axel let her go. With emotions running high, keeping on at her would only lead to arguments that nobody had the strength for. He rounded the corner in search of coffee for the long night ahead. He wanted to be there when Phoebe woke up, and when they told her about Cillian. Following the signs to the canteen, he found Nick with his head pressed against the cream hospital wall.
“You okay?” Axel asked, even if it was a stupid question. “If you’re going to have a meltdown, you’re in the best place.”
When Nick didn’t respond, Axel placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I should’ve protected them,” Nick said.
Nick sank down the hospital wall and placed his head between his knees. Axel sat beside him, trying not to let his own emotions smother him.
He didn’t know how long they sat together in the corridor that smelt like bleach and heat, but he knew they’d lost a brother and would never be whole again.
Two weeks later
Scratchy sheets, fluorescent lights and the incessantly beeping heart monitor wore down her patience. Phoebe tried to focus on the officer’s questions instead of the itch of tightening stitches running from her wrist to her thumb. Two surgeries, neither she’d been aware of. Nerve damage and tissue trauma, all thanks to her instinctive urge to protect her face during the crash. She didn’t care about the pain—her surgeon’s advice this morning, “No painting for the foreseeable future,” hurt far more.
“Ms Fletcher, we’re sorry to make you go through this again, but we need your statement before we can close our case. Can you tell us one more time what you can remember?” the bearded officer asked.
It was disconcerting enough to be confined to a hospital room in a foreign country, let alone have two police officers standing over her asking questions about how her boyfriend nearly got her killed. After the question, the heart monitor beeped, making her feel like she was attached to a lie detector.
“We were fighting. Cillian started speeding,” Phoebe explained, repeating the same story she’d told them when she first woke up a week ago. “I told him to slow down, and then nothing. My brother told me Cillian died on impact. The doctors and nurses told me I was lucky.” She choked on the last part. ‘Lucky, not dead’ was a low bar. The driver of the other car walked away with a few stitches, and a nice cheque from Anita to keep the victim away from the papers.
“Mr Hunt’s blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit. Were you aware that he was drunk before he got behind the wheel?” The officer’s thick accent reminded her how far from home she was.
