Catch a Falling Star (34 page)

His words seemed to make no difference to his brother.

Griffin pulled the chains from his pocket. “Just one more thing. I've been wearing Mom's and Dad's wedding bands around my neck since the day I got back from their funeral. I realized today that's not right. There are two Walker sons—two brothers. So I bought another chain and put Dad's band on one and Mom's band on another. I want you to choose whatever one you want to wear. I'll wear the other one.”

Ian took half a step forward. “Do I only get to wear one if I stay?”

“Whatever you decide, one of these chains is yours, Ian. You're a Walker. You're my brother. Two rings. Two brothers. I think Mom and Dad would want it that way.”

Ian's response came out in a choked whisper. “Mom's. I'd like Mom's.”

“Mom's it is then.” Griffin pressed the chain suspending the ring into his brother's hand, folding Ian's fingers closed over it. A second later, a warm tear splashed onto his hand. Then another.

His brother launched into his chest, knocking Griffin back
against the edge of the bed. But he wrapped his arms around Ian and held on to his brother as he buried his face in Griffin's shoulder, a sob tearing from his throat.

The vibration of Griffin's cell dragged him out of the depths of sleep. He half opened his eyes, realizing he was sprawled on the couch, the TV droning on and on.

What time was it?

When his phone buzzed again, Griffin reached out and patted the floor, searching for the iPhone.
There.
He pressed it against the side of his face, which was still adhered to the couch.

“Griffin . . . Walker.”

“Mr. Walker?” Some girl's voice zipped across the line.

Griffin wiped a hand across his face. “Yes. This is Griffin Walker.”

“This is Tara. I'm a friend of Ian's—your brother's . . . He's in trouble—”

“What?” Griffin pushed off the couch, switching the phone to his other hand. “What's wrong? Where is he?”

“He's having trouble breathing . . . I'm not sure what to do . . . Can you come get him?”

Griffin could now hear fear stretching the girl's voice tight.

“Put Ian on the phone.”

“He doesn't know I called you. I'm scared . . . can you come get him?”

Griffin searched the kitchen counter for his keys, his wallet. “How bad is he?”

“He can hardly talk. He told me not to call you, but I don't know what else to do.”

“Call nine-one-one. Does Ian have his inhaler or his EpiPen?”

“I dunno—” Now it sounded as if the girl was crying.

“If he does, have him use them. But hang up and call nine-one-one right now.” Griffin ran toward his Jeep. “Wait! Where are you?”

He slid into his Jeep as the girl told him the address. “I'll be there in fifteen. If the EMTs get there and take Ian to the ER, call me back. Got it?”

“Yessir.”

Backing out of the garage, Griffin checked the time. Nine forty-five. Ian asked to go watch a movie with friends. Griffin said yes, figuring he needed some downtime after their talk. That was almost three hours ago. Why would his brother be having trouble breathing?

Griffin thought he'd be relieved to beat the ambulance to the hospital. But watching the EMTs wheel Ian in on a gurney about took him out at the knees. The back of the gurney was set upright so that Ian couldn't lie back. An oxygen mask covered his brother's pale face, a light mist escaping from the sides before evaporating beneath the teen's eyes. Even with his eyes wide open, Ian seemed disoriented as his shoulders rose and fell in his efforts to breathe.

“We gave him a neb treatment on the way in per protocol.” The EMT pushing the gurney updated the nurse who met them at the ER entrance. “And a shot of terbutaline. His pulse ox is eighty-two . . .”

“That's my brother—” Griffin's attempt to follow Ian back into the emergency room failed when a nurse blocked his way.

“Fine, Mr. Walker. Wait here, please.”

“I'm his guardian. I want to go back with him.” Griffin heard the automatic hiss of the doors as they closed, blocking his view.

“We'll let the staff get your brother settled. Then we'll see about you going back.” The woman who was even shorter than Kendall, stood her ground and maneuvered him back to the waiting room.

Instead of sitting, Griffin walked to a corner of the waiting room and pulled his phone from his jean pocket. He should call Kendall. She could get him back there with Ian.

No. He wasn't going to pull any favors from Kendall Haynes.

But she was Ian's physician. She'd want to know what was going on. Just because he and Kendall had a falling-out didn't mean he shouldn't do the right thing by Ian. He tapped the phone against the palm of his hand and then walked over to the nurse behind the desk.

“Excuse me.”

She didn't even look at him. “Mr. Walker, I told you that I'd come and get you once your brother was settled.”

“I understand that.” Right now this woman ruled over him. “I just need some advice. Dr. Haynes, Kendall Haynes, is my brother's family doctor. Should I call her and let her know that Ian's here?”

An arched eyebrow conveyed the nurse's opinion of him calling Kendall. “Let us handle the medical side of things. I am sure the ER physician will contact Dr. Haynes if that is necessary.”

Griffin knew the conversation was over when the woman turned her back on him. He paced a slow circle around the room.

He hated hospitals.

Yes, people often assumed it was because he was a pilot. And there was that. How flight surgeons—and now the medical board—had the power to rip flying away from him. But the distant wail of sirens coming closer, the muted sounds of voices, the underlying hiss and ping of medical machinery whenever
the automatic doors swung open, always pulled him back to visiting David after Griffin's cockiness caused him to crash a plane.

Griffin stood just inside the doorway, hands crammed into the back pockets of his jeans. Part of him hoped David was asleep. Would stay asleep. Then he could slip away. Avoid this conversation.

The air-conditioned climate of the Academy Hospital blocked out the warmth of the Colorado August afternoon. Through the window of David's room, Griffin could see dark clouds rolling in over the mountains, sure signs of the typical summer afternoon thunderstorms.

“Griffin.” David's eyes opened, but even a nap couldn't erase the weariness, the pain lining his mouth.

Griffin walked into the room, the odor of antiseptic overpowering him. Get-well cards were taped to the wall opposite the bed. A bunch of multicolored balloons were tied to one of the arms of the white plastic hospital chairs in the corner. Griffin forced himself to make eye contact with his friend. If he stayed focused on David's eyes, he wouldn't notice the body brace . . . the Velcro . . . the straps . . . covering David's body.

Not much, anyway.

“How are you feeling today?”

“About the same, Griff. You?”

“Me? I'm fine. The docs say my collarbone will heal fast—in about six weeks.”

A lot faster than David's broken back would heal.

“Great.” David cleared his throat and then gave Griffin one of his familiar too-wide grins. “I'm doing rehab. It's a cinch—not even close to being as tough as Hell Week.”

“No doubt. After surviving that, we can get through anything, right?”

David's reckless laugh seemed to dare anything to stop him. “Absolutely. Although the food back at Mitchell Hall beats the stuff here. And nobody back there threatens you with an enema—”

“Dude—really? That's gross.”

“They tell me it'll be three months before they figure out if I'm commissionable or not. But I'll be walking across the stage in May to get my diploma with the rest of the class.”

“No doubt. Did they give you any limitations on what kind of plane you can fly?”

“They said if everything heals perfectly and I don't need a spinal fusion, that I'll be able to get in the cockpit.”

Griffin stood beside the bed, one hand gripping the metal railing. “About the accident . . . I wanted to say . . . I knew better.”

“Hey, Griff. We both knew better. I shoulda had my seat belt on.”

“But I was the pilot . . . I was in charge.”

“Buddy, I'm not gonna let you take this all on yourself. It's gonna be okay. You'll see.”

But it hadn't been.

David
had
graduated from the Academy with his classmates. But while Griffin walked across the stage, David maneuvered his way across the stage in a wheelchair. Griffin forced himself to watch his friend, who ignored the standing ovation, knowing the only thing waiting for his friend was more surgery.

He never called David after graduation, despite promises to keep in touch. What was there to say? He knew he ruined his friend's future—destroyed his dreams of being a pilot because the crash caused permanent nerve damage to his legs. There weren't enough words to cover that kind of mistake.

Movement off to the side caught Griffin's attention. Was it the nurse coming to get him so he could go be with Ian? He watched as she spoke to a woman waiting nearby, resting her hand on the woman's shoulder.
Looks like I'm in a holding pattern.

“K
endall, you need to get out front.” Evie's words were high. Tight. “Now.”

Kendall turned, slipping her arm through the sleeve of her white lab coat. “Is my first patient here already? I'm not late. Even doctors deserve to eat lunch every once in a while.” She patted her pocket to ensure her stethoscope was there.

“He's here, but he's going to have to wait.” Evie stepped into the office, shutting the door behind her.

“Why are you telling me to hurry up, then coming in here and shutting the door? Let's go.” Kendall sidestepped the receptionist, but Evie blocked her from exiting.

“The police are here.”

“What?”

“The police. And a dog. A drug-sniffing dog, Kendall.”

Kendall yanked the door open, moving down the hallway. “What did they say?”

“They have a search warrant.”

Kendall stopped, pressing her hands over her face. Inhaled. Exhaled. “Dear God, help me know what to do.”

“They have a
warrant,
Kendall. They can search the place whether you want them to or not.”

Right. She knew that. She couldn't bar the door to the back exam room area and tell them to leave.

She stood halfway to the front desk, trying to process what to do next. “How many patients are in the waiting room?”

“Three—four maybe.” Evie waited for instructions, ignoring the ringing of the telephone.