Leo inhaled deeply. “Kendra and Tyrell were on their way upstate. A driver lost control of their car. The police said the driver hit ice beneath the snow, spun out, and lost control. Kendra and Tyrell were right behind them, and…”
He cleared his throat. “Other cars started slowing down, but it was too late. The others… they started losing control too. Kendra and Tyrell’s car got hit a couple of times.” Leo shook his head, gesturing behind him with his hand. “Their car got hit from the back, the side. They said they had to use the jaws of life to pry it open because… Kendra and Tyrell were trapped inside.”
“Oh my God.” I pressed my fingers to my eyes.
“It took a minute for emergency vehicles to get to them because of the snow and the pile-up.”
I started crying again, unable to hold it in.
“Come on, Ivy, please,” Leo said softly, his tone unlike any I’d ever heard him use with me. “Please don’t do that right now.”
I forced myself to sniff my tears back.
“I know I’m asking for a lot, but I need you to be strong right now,” he added. “Please.”
I lifted my eyes to his and saw his emotions all over his face, though not a single tear escaped.
He’d lost a friend too. One he’d known for longer than I’d known Kendra. Leo and Tyrell had a brotherhood that was enviable, a bond that went deeper than friendship. They genuinely loved each other like brothers.
I reached across the table and took his hand, holding it tightly as I nodded and dropped my head to gather myself.
Then my head popped up again, and I damn near jumped out of my seat when the thought occurred.
“What happened to the baby?” I was out of my seat a second later. “Oh God, what happened to the baby?”
“They’re fine,” Leo told me. “In the NICU. Doctors delivered the baby via c-section after they… got Kendra out.” He nodded. “The baby’s in the NICU for observation and care.”
“How do you know all of this?”
He scoffed a laugh. “A very talkative nurse who’s also a Bronx Ballers fan was generous with the info. Plus, Tyrell’s mom and Kendra’s parents confirmed the baby is fine.”
I sat back down. “Are they here?”
“Tyrell’s mom had to be carried out shortly before you arrived,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “They had to give her oxygen because she couldn’t breathe when she got the news. And she just had surgery.” Leo shook his head. “A family member came to get her soon after, and everyone agreed it was best for her to leave. Kendra’s parents are still here, though.”
“Their parents…” I sighed heavily. “I’m over here making a big deal about this, thinking about me, and I didn’t even consider their parents.”
Leo dropped his head, running a hand down his face.
“Kendra’s parents just retired and moved out of their house and into a one-bedroom apartment, and Tyrell’s mom recently had hip replacement surgery. Fuck.” I shook my head, staring at the wall behind Leo. “This is really fucked up.”
Leo and I spent a few more minutes in the meeting room before deciding to take the elevator to the NICU.
The whole way up felt surreal. I didn’t even feel like I was actually doing anything—walking, scanning with my eyes, or hearing the faint hum of the hospital around me. Everything felt muted and distant. The beeping of machines, murmured voices, the lingering medicinal smells—it all combined to create a place nobody would willingly choose to be.
The hospital staff wouldn’t let Leo and me into the NICU, which was expected, but it didn’t help my inner panic.
What if the baby isn’t okay?
I knew we likely wouldn’t be allowed in, but I had to try.
When we arrived on the floor, Kendra’s parents were already there, visibly shaken and grieving.
Though we couldn’t enter the NICU, I could see the general layout of the unit through the viewing window. The lighting was softer than the rest of the hospital, and the incubators were spread out at a distance, making it hard to tell which one held Kendra and Tyrell’s baby.
I hugged Kendra’s parents separately, her father putting up a strong facade while her mother cried against me. Her grief forced me to stay strong.
“How’s the baby?” I asked the moment I could.