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Lev
For two hours we drive around, but there’s no sign of Nav. Wherever he went, we’re not finding him tonight.
When we pull into the drive, River is waiting outside to meet us.
“What happened?” I ask, barely shutting off the engine and stepping out of the Jeep before he’s rushing to my side.
“The police came to your house. I saw the cruiser pull up. Your dad’s on his way back from his tour.”
I grab River’s shirt and ball it in my fist. “What happened?”
“Nav’s in the hospital. He was in an accident.”
“Oh, shit,” King says.
“Where’s Peaches?” Saint asks.
“Still asleep upstairs.”
“Wake her up. She’ll want to be there. Even if Nav doesn’t want to see her.” Saint climbs back in the passenger seat. “You can get the girls there, right?”
“Yeah, we’ll take Blythe’s Range Rover.”
“Which hospital?” I ask.
“Lenox Hill.”
“In the city?”
River nods gravely. “They airlifted him there; that’s all the police would tell me.”
I throw the stick in reverse and slam my foot to the floor. The Jeep jerks backwards, but thankfully, Saint and King know better than to say anything.
The next hour is spent in silence as I run red lights and weave through traffic on my way to Lenox Hill. Fuck. They airlifted Nav to the city. This is my fault. I could have prevented this if I’d just kept my hands to myself, if I hadn’t fucked his girl, none of this would have happened. Once we arrive, I pull into the ambulance zone and jump out of the vehicle.
“We’ll find a park and meet you inside,” Saint says, sliding over the center console into the driver’s seat.
I don’t bother responding; I just stalk forward into the ER and demand to see my brother. The nurse forces me to show her my ID, and then she tells me to wait while she finds a doctor.
It’s the longest ten minutes of my life. Finally, Saint and King join me and a young female doctor in a white coat that swamps her small frame and makes her seem like a child leads us to an OR waiting room.
“Your brother sustained extensive injuries. He’s in surgery now. His left leg was completely shattered. We’re putting multiple plates in place—”
“Wait ... he’s gonna play football again, right?”
Her throat bobs and her lips turn down in a perfunctory frown. “You should prepare yourselves for the possibility that he may never walk again without some sort of aid.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. That’s all I can tell you until he’s out of the OR. We’ll know more then.”
“Jesus Christ.” I slump down in a seat and bury my head in my hands.
Twenty minutes later, Scout, River and the other girls enter the waiting room. I stand and Cub runs into my arms. She soaks my T-shirt as she cries. I hold her as if the world is ending and she’s the last thing I’ll see.
“Oh, that’s ... so weird,” Blythe says. I open my eyes and glare at her over Scout’s shoulder. She grimaces. “Sorry. It’s just ... going to take some getting used to.”
“What is?”
“That you two aren’t trying to kill one another.”
“Shut up, Blythe.” Scout murmurs and I let her go. Saint moves one seat over and Cub takes hold of my hand as we sit.
“You doing okay, Peaches?” Saint bumps his sister’s shoulder.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m really far from okay.”
He takes her other hand in his and squeezes. “I know.”
For hours, we wait. Scout falls asleep on my shoulder, no doubt still feeling the effects of the sleeping pills, and everyone else takes turns getting coffee, snacks, or dozing on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.
I stare at the sleeping girl beside me, at her hand tucked in mine. So right, and yet everything else is so, so wrong.
I didn’t force Navrin to drink and get behind the wheel, but I sure as hell drove him to it. I’m to blame here. He was drunk because he found out I fucked his girlfriend more than once, and Nav, being the man he is, was headed to beat the shit out of Justin—I know because it’s what I wanted, and we might have a lot of differences, but we still share a twin thread when it comes to acting on our basic instincts. He was headed to Justin’s, so why didn’t he make it there?
Unless Justin wasn’t home. I beat the shit out of him and left him lying in a pool of blood in the school parking lot. Justin wasn’t home, because he was in hospital. And where do beyond wealthy patients go when they need a hospital? To Lenox Hill.
“He’s here,” I whisper.
“What?” King says.
I ignore him and slip my hand from Scout’s, easing her head from my shoulder onto her brother’s. She startles. Everyone does, but I don’t turn around. I don’t have time to explain. I don’t want to, because then they might stop me.
“Lev,” Saint calls. “Where the hell are you going?”
I hit the button for the elevator and the doors open with a ding. I press the “L” for the luxury floor and grind my teeth as I wait for the elevator to stop. When the doors open on a nurses’ station, I slide my gaze away as if I’m bored by this whole tedious hospital thing. I straighten my spine and project confidence from every pore.
The woman at the desk is on the phone, and she doesn’t give me a second glance as I glide past and head down the hall. There are long windows cut into the doors, because the rich can never do anything by halves, so it’s easy to see the patients within. Old lady, old man, labor suite—yikes—and finally I come to the last room. Justin Theodore Hearst. Right there on his chart.
I ease into the room. He’s alone, of course, because no one actually gives a crap about this kid. Sure, his parents foot the bill, but like all of our folks, their money raises us. Au pairs raise us until we’re old enough, and then we raise us. Our parents are too busy being billionaire oil tycoons, senators, rock stars, and self-made multi-level marketing moguls. They’re too busy reliving the youth they wanted to really give a shit about us.
Justin doesn’t wake as I close the door and step closer. His face is bruised, purple and swollen beyond recognition. He looks like shit, and I smile as I wrap my hands around his already bruised throat and squeeze.
His eyes fly open, his mouth gasping for air I won’t allow him the privilege of. His arms flail, hitting me, attempting to pry me loose, but I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until his face turns puce.
Saint shouts from behind me and jerks me away as the nurse bustles toward the bed and hits a button on the wall. “Code violet, luxury suites. Code violet.”
“You’re fucking dead, Hearst!” I roar as Saint pushes me out of the room. “You hear me? I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll wish your mother had swallowed instead.”
Saint grips my shirt and shoves me through the door, down the hall and into the elevator. I might not be able to finish it in his private hospital room, but I meant every word I said. I will end Justin Hearst, even if it’s the last thing I do.