Page 96 of Falling into Place
By the time night fell, Linda looked dead on her feet. Hospital accommodations weren’t ideal for getting a good night’s sleep, so Brooks convinced her to head home and promised he’d stay with Coach all night. He expected a discharge tomorrow or the day after, and he’d have had a hard time leaving whether Linda stayed or not.
He lingered around Coach’s room for a few hours, chatting with employees he knew, then settled into the leather recliner with the remote in his hand. Coach was out cold, snoring louder than a freight train, so Brooks figured sleep wouldn’t be something he’d get much of himself.
After several episodes ofFriendson Nick at Nite, his stomach growled. He checked his watch—right at three in the morning—and stood. But just when he put his hand on the sliding door to grab something from the vending machine, a loud alarm filled the air.
Brooks jerked around, searching for the source.
The cardiac monitor.
Flatlined.
Several machines immediately detected abnormalities and began alarming in quick succession.
“Sarah!” Brooks yelled for the nurse taking care of Coach tonight. “Crash cart, now!”
He dropped everything in his hands—his phone, his coffee cup, his wallet, and lurched for the bed. The backrest had been propped up and he lowered it manually with a crash, pressing his fingers against Coach’s neck.
“Please, please, please,” he chanted, despite the equipment having already told him what he needed to know. “Fuck.”
He clasped his hands together, centered the heel of his lower hand over Coach’s sternum, and went up on the balls of his feet.
He pushed. “One, two, three ...” Over and over. “Four, five, six, seven ...”
He hadn’t even made it through one round before Sarah came running, a second nurse behind her with the crash cart and three more on their heels.
“Two of epi,” he yelled as a rib cracked under his weight. “One, two, three ...”
Training and adrenaline took over while his subconscious drifted off into memory.
Red and blue lights flashed in the rearview mirror. Brooks’s forehead fell against the steering wheel.
Macy was going to kill him.
His dad wouldn’t, because he didn’t care, and his mom wouldn’t, because she was dead.
Something tapped on the window, startling him. He rolled it down, wincing and shielding his eyes from the bright flashlight shining on his face.
“Son, do you know how fast you were going?”
“Yes. I mean. Um, no, ma—I mean, sir.” Shit.
The police officer leaned down and took one sniff, then stepped back. “Step out of the car.”
He failed the field sobriety test with flying colors, and minutes later found himself sitting on the curb with his hands cuffed behind his back while the officer ran his information.
Fucking idiot.He was too drunk to think much else, but that seemed appropriate and he said it over and over. It kept being true.
He was eighteen now. This would go on his permanent record. Not that he had any plans to do anything worthwhile anytime soon, but maybe he would have someday. A DUI was a felony, right? They’d definitely find the weed in his car if they searched it, too. Would colleges even want him after this? Employers? Would his sisters?
Would anyone?
He sat there in the dark with his head against his knees for what felt like forever. Long enough to sober up a bit, and the shame of what he’d done settled on his shoulders like a ton of bricks.
What the hell was taking this cop so long? If he was going to jail he just wanted to get it over with already.
Headlights flashed across him, and he ducked his head lower, not wanting someone he knew to drive by and see him like this. He’d get up and move behind something but didn’t want it to look like he was trying to run. Some modicum of sense reminded him he was in enough trouble as it was.
A car door slammed and a figure walked toward him. It took Brooks a few seconds to realize who it was.
