Page 20 of The Billionaire Touch

“Nothing new. Hit and run. Still investigating.”

Had either car driven faster, or had Shea not worn a seatbelt… He turned away from the window, facing the bed again. Walking to his brother’s side, Heath held Shea’s limp hand. The skin was roughened from years of playing bass and was barely warm to the touch. He would give anything to feel the pressure of a slight squeeze.

Tet cursed.

They were all grown, but some things never changed. As the eldest, it was Heath’s job—had always been his job—to take care of them, and he would do so the only way he knew how. They would accuse him of trying to control their lives, but at the moment, he didn’t give a damn if taking charge meant they were healthy and safe.

“I’m guessing the police haven’t caught the man that ran Shea off the road.” Tet said.

Heath heard the familiar sound of Tet’s knuckles cracking over the phone. He knew it was a habit procured in frustration. Heath understood that turmoil, the stifling heavy force of it, but he’d long learned to embrace the feeling. Instead of steeling himself against it, he’d erected walls from the ashes of disappointment and heartbreak after their mother left… if only his brothers had learned to do the same. They were runners, always were, but it was high time they stopped.

“Do they at least know who the driver was?”

“No.”

The police didn’t know who the other driver was, but the private detective Heath had hired did. He had no intention of turning over that information before his plans were underway. First, he needed his brothers at their family estate in Wheelcaster, while he kept an eye on them from his penthouse. If they had any idea of the revenge he had planned for that fucker, their soft hearted compassion would be a roadblock.

“My god, they are useless.”

Heath had gotten to the hospital in time to speak to the doctors and hear fractions of the sordid accident from the police. Shea had been in a fragile state from hitting his head and had a badly broken left leg. The doctors decided an induced coma was the best course of action to reduce the swelling in his brother’s brain.

“How are things going on your end?” Heath asked. “Did you tell your agent you wouldn’t be renewing the contract?”

Silence. Heath had no intention of backing down. He’d given his brothers plenty of rope, and all they’d done was trip. He looked at his phone to make sure Tet hadn’t disconnected the call. It would be a hell of a time for Heath to chase after him, considering he’d already sent his pilot to bring Tet to the hospital.

“I can’t pick up and leave, Heath.”

This again?“I’m not asking, Tet.”

“You’re acting like my career is over. It’s not.”

“I know you’ve been looking into teams. Come home. The minor league in Wheelcaster is going up for sale. I’ve already told the owner you’re interested.”

After Tet tore his rotator cuff, Heath thought his brother would come home, but instead, Tet was still trying to prove he didn’t need anyone.

“I need you,” he said; the words became a mantra to their complicated relationship. “But if you won’t come for me, then do it for Shea.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Who the hell promised you fair?”

He was so tired of this bullshit. Here he was, trying to be reasonable, but instead of doing as he asked, his brother was bitching about life. Tet always seemed to test the depth of Heath’s love for him. After all these years, Tet still thought he didn’t belong; not at home, in New York, or anywhere, for that matter. Well, Heath was done asking.

If their brother stood a chance of doing what was necessary to recover quickly, Tet needed to be involved. Shea didn’t like rules. He resented confinement even more, but Tet’s presence would help. The two had always had a closer bond than they did with Heath. Plus, if any of them had experience with therapists, it was Tet.

“When Shea wakes, I want both of you in Wheelcaster. I don’t care if you stay at the estate or the penthouse. I expect you here tomorrow, and I’ve already sent the plane.” He took a breath. He’d never been demanding, especially with Tet, but he’d be damned if he saw either of them hurt again. “Tomorrow, Tet, I mean it. Pack your shit, or I’ll pack it for you.” He ended the call.

His fingers tightened around the phone, wanting to throw it across the room. Heath hadn’t felt this out of sorts since his youth when their mother left him to raise two boys. Their father was too occupied making money to care.

He turned when a new nurse came into the room—another shift change. For the past week, he’d waited impatiently through the nurses’ hesitant stares and the doctors’ hopeful chatter as they tried to reassure him. He heard none of it. All that mattered was when Shea would wake.

He didn’t so much as shift his stance when the young nurse, wheeling a hospital laptop on a portable cart, came in to check the monitors. She shot him weary glances before typing on the keypad. The hard set of his mouth and his size made those around him uncomfortable. He didn’t care. Often, people didn’t look beyond what he showed them, one of the few lessons he’d learned from his father.

A stark difference from the rest of them, Shea was carefree and spontaneous. He’d laugh to lighten the tension, even when the joke was on him. Just then, Heath hoped that part of his brother would not ice-over because of this tragedy.

“Is everything okay?” he barked, startling the nurse. Clearing his dry throat, he tried again. “I meant, is it normal for him to take this long to wake from an induced coma?”

“I can assure you he is recovering faster than expected.” She offered a wan smile. “This one’s a fighter.”

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