Crashed (5 page)

I watch Dorothea reach over and cling to Andy for support, the obvious unconditional love for her son pulls on my every emotion.

“How long is the surgery? Is he conscious? Were there any other injuries?” Beckett speaks for the first time, rapidly firing off the questions we are all thinking.

Dr. Irons swallows and steeples his fingers in front of him while meeting Beckett’s eyes. “As for other injuries, just minor ones in comparison to the head injury. He is not conscious nor has he regained consciousness at this time. He was in the typical comatose state we see with these injuries—mumbling incoherently, struggling against us—in very sporadic bouts. As for everything else, we’ll know more when we get into surgery and see how bad the bleed on the brain is.”

Beckett exhales the breath he’s been holding, and I can see his shoulders slump with its release, although I’m unsure if it’s in relief or resignation. None of the doctor’s words have made the dread weighing down the pit of my soul lessen any. Quinlan steps forward and grabs Becks’ hand as she glances over at her parents before asking the one thing we all fear. “If the swelling doesn’t stop with the surgery...” her voice wavers, Beckett pressing a brotherly kiss onto the top of her head in encouragement “...what … does that mean? What I’m trying to say is you’re talking brain injury here so what is the prognosis?” Her breath hitches with a swallowed sob. “What are Colton’s chances?”

The doctor sighs aloud and looks at Quinlan. “At this time, before we go into surgery and see if there is any damage, I’m not comfortable giving one.” The strangled gasp that comes from Andy breaks the silence. Dr. Irons steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder until Andy looks up and meets his eyes. “We are doing absolutely everything we can. We are very practiced in this sort of thing and are giving your son every benefit of that training. Please understand that I’m not giving a percentage because it’s a lost cause, but rather because I need to see more to know what we’re up against. Once I know, then we can establish a game plan and go from there.” Andy nods subtly at him, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and Dr. Irons looks up and scans the faces of everyone in the room. “He is strong and healthy and that’s always a good thing to have on our side. It’s more than obvious Colton is loved by many people … please know I carry that knowledge into the operating room with me.” With that he gives a tight smile then turns and leaves the room.

Upon his departure, no one moves. We are all still in shock.

All still letting the severity of his words slither into the holes poked through our resolve. People slowly start moving and shifting as thoughts meld and emotions attempt to settle.

But I’m unable to.

He’s alive. Not dead like Max. Alive.

The dull ache of relief I feel is nothing compared to the sharp stab of the unknown. And it’s not enough to assuage the fear seated deep in the depths of my soul. I start to feel the leeching claws of claustrophobia burn over my skin. I blow out a long breath trying to abate the sweat beading on my upper lip and sliding down the line of my spine. My breath slips from my lungs without replenishing my body.

Images flicker again. Max to Colton. Colton to Max. Blood tricking slowly from his ear. At the corners of his mouth. Flecking in specks across the shattered car. My name strangling on his lips. His pleas scarring my mind. Etching them like a brand marked to haunt me forever.

The sprinkling of unease turns into a downpour of panic. I need fresh air. I need a break from the oppression that is smothering this goddamn waiting room. I need color and vibrancy—something full of vigor and life like Colton—something other than the monochromatic colors and overwhelming memories.

I push myself up and all but run out of the waiting room ignoring Beckett’s call after me. I stagger blindly toward the exit because this time the whoosh of the doors calls to me, offers a respite from the hysteria siphoning my hope.

You make me feel, Rylee …

I stumble through the doors, the memory feathering through my soul but hitting me like a sucker punch to the abdomen. I gasp loudly, pain radiating through my every synapse. I draw in a ragged breath, needing something, anything to help recoup the faith I need to face the reality that Colton might not make it through the surgery. The night. The morning.

I shake my head to rid the poison eating my thoughts when I turn the corner of the building and am thrown into a maelstrom. I swear there are over a hundred cameras that flash all at once. The roar of questions thunders so loudly that I’m blasted by a tidal wave of noise. I’m surrounded immediately, my back pressed against the wall as microphones and cameras are shoved in my face documenting my slowly depleting grip on reality.

“Is it true they’re issuing Colton his last rites?”

Words trap in my throat.

“What is the status between you and Mr. Donavan?”

Anger intensifies but I’m overwhelmed by the deluge.

“Is it true that Colton’s on his death bed and his parents are at his side?”

My lips open and close, my fists clench, eyes burn, soul tears, and my faith in humanity crumbles. I know I look like a deer in the headlights, but I’m trapped. I know that if I thought I felt the claws of claustrophobia inside, I feel the cinch of my windpipe as the hands of the media squeeze the air from me. My breath comes in short sharp bouts. The blue sky spins above as my mind warps it into a lazy eddy, blackness starts to seep through as my conscious fades.

Just as I am about to sink into the welcoming oblivion, strong arms wrap around me and prevent my crash to the ground. My weight slams into Sammy’s like a freight train, and memories spear through my mind of the last time I fell into the arms of a man. Bittersweet images flicker of lost auction paddles and jammed closet doors. Vibrant green eyes and an arrogant, self-assured grin.

Rogue. Rebel. Reckless.

Sammy’s voice breaks through my clouded mind as he chastises the press. “Back off!” he grunts as he supports my dead weight, arm around my waist. “We’ll give an update when we have one.” Flashes reignite the sky.

Again, the whoosh of doors, but this time I don’t cringe. The beast on the inside is much more palpable then the one outside. My breath begins to even some and my heart decelerates. I am pushed down into a chair, and when I look up Sammy’s eyes meet mine, searching for something.

“What in the hell do you think you were doing? They could’ve eaten you alive,” he swears. It is such a flagrant show of emotion from the otherwise stoic bodyguard that I realize my mistake in going outside. I’m still finding my footing in Colton’s very public world; and then I feel horrible because while I’ve been in the waiting room surrounded by everyone, I realize Sammy’s been out here by himself making sure that we’re left alone and undisturbed.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” I breathe an apology. “I just needed some air and … I’m sorry.”

Concern lingers in his eyes. “Are you okay? Have you eaten anything? You almost fainted there. I think that you need to eat some—”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I say as I stand slowly. I think I surprise him when I reach out and squeeze his hand. “How are
you
doing?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, although the gesture is anything but. “As long as he is okay, then I’ll be fine.”

He nods at me as he turns to reclaim his post at the hospital doors before I can say anything else. My eyes track his movements for a moment, the callous comments from the press reverberating through my mind, while I build up the courage to walk back to the waiting room.

I close my eyes for a moment. I will myself to feel anything other than the numbness that consumes my soul. I try to pull from my depths of despair the sound of his laugh, the taste of his kiss, even his stubborn nature and staunch resolve—anything to cinch together the seams of my heart that Colton’s love stitched backed together.

Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.

The memory whispers through my mind and is like flint re-sparking to life tiny flickers of hope. I take a deep breath and will my feet to move forward down the long corridor to where everyone else waits impatiently. I am just passing the nurses station when I hear Colton’s name mentioned by two nurses whose backs are facing me. I slow my stride, trying to catch any bit of information I can. I try to force my mind from fretting that we’re being lied to about the gravity of the situation, when I hear the words that punch the air from my lungs.

Makes my heart stop.

Causes a shiver to ricochet through my body.

“Who’s in OR One with Mr. Donavan?”

“Dr. Irons is lead on the case.”

“Well hell, if there’s anyone I’d want operating on me in this circumstance, it sure as hell would be
Ironman
.”

Spiderman.

I gasp, the nurses turn to take notice of me. The taller of the two steps forward and angles her head at me. “Can I help you miss?”

Batman.

“What did you just call Dr. Irons?”

Superman.

She looks at me, a slight crease in her brow. “You mean our nickname for Dr. Irons?”

Ironman.

All I can do is nod my head because my throat chokes with hope. “Oh, he’s known around here as Ironman, sweetie. Do you need something?”

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

I just shake my head again then take the three steps toward the waiting room, but sag against a wall and slide down to the floor, as I become overwhelmed with hope, overpowered by the presence of Colton’s beloved superheroes.

A childhood obsession now turned into an adult’s grasp on hope.

I rest my face on my bent knees as I cling to the notion that this coincidence is more than just that—a coincidence. I rock my head back and forth, their names falling from my lips in a hushed chant that I know for the first time ever has been uttered with absolute reverence.

“Colton used to say that in his sleep as a little boy.” Andy’s voice startles me as he slides down the wall next to me, a heavy exhale falling from his lips. I shift some so I can look over at him. He looks years older in the hours since the race started this morning. His eyes hold a quiet grief and his mouth tries to lift in a soft smile but fails miserably. The man I’ve only known to be full of life has been sapped of his exuberance. “I haven’t heard that in forever. Actually forgot about it until I just heard you say it.” He chuckles softly, reaches out and pats my knee as he stretches his legs out in front of him.

“Andy …” His name is a murmur on my lips as I watch him struggle with emotion. I desperately want to tell him about the signs—the random occurrence of his son’s dearly loved superheroes—but worry he’ll think I’m losing my grip on reality just as I fear Beckett thinks I am.

As I worry I might be.

“I’m surprised he told you about them. It used to be this secret code he’d chant as a little boy when he had a nightmare or was scared. He would never elaborate … would never explain why those four superheroes were so comforting to him.” He looks over at me, the soft smile falling. “Dottie and I could only ever imagine what he was hoping those superheroes would save him from …”

The words drift between us and settle in questions we both want to ask but neither say aloud. What does Andy know that I don’t and vice versa? He dabs the back of his hand at his eyes and exhales a shaky sigh.

“He’s strong, Andy … he’s going to be … he has to be okay,” I finally say when I trust the resolve in my voice.

He just nods his head. We see a set of doctors running past us and my heart lodges in my throat, worried it’s because of Colton. He scrubs a hand over his face and I watch the love fill his eyes. “The first time I ever saw him, he broke my heart and stole it all with one, single look.” I nod my head at him to continue because more than anything I understand that statement, for his son did the same thing to mine.

He captured it, stole it, broke it, healed it, and forever owns it.

“I was on set working in my trailer on a scene rewrite. It had been a long night. Quin was sick and had been up all night.” He shakes his head and meets my eyes for a moment before looking back down to focus them on the band of his watch that he’s fiddling with. “I was late for a call time. I opened the door and almost tripped over him.” He takes a moment to will the tears I see welling in his eyes to dissipate. “I think I swore aloud and I saw his little figure jolt back in unmistakable fear. I know he scared the shit out of me, and I could only imagine why a child would have that type of a reaction. He refused to look at me no matter how gentle I made my voice.”

I reach over and take his hand in mine, squeezing to let him know that I know Colton’s demons without him ever revealing them. I may not know the specifics, but I have seen enough to get the gist.

“I sat on the ground next to him and just waited for him to understand that I wasn’t going to hurt him. I sang the only song I could think of.” He laughs. “
Puff the Magic Dragon
. On the second time through, he lifted his head up and finally looked at me.
Sweet Christ
he stole my breath. He had the hugest green eyes in this pale little face and they looked up at me with such fear … such foreboding … that it took everything I had not to wrap my arms around and comfort him.”

“I can’t imagine,” I murmur, going to withdraw my hand but stopping when Andy squeezes it.

“He wouldn’t speak to me at first. I tried everything to get him to tell me his name or what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered—my missed call time, the wasted money, nothing—because I was mesmerized by the fragile little boy whose eyes told me they’d seen and experienced way too much in his short life. Quinlan was six at the time. Colton was smaller than she was so I thought he was about five. I was shocked later that night when the police told me he was eight years old.”

I force the swallow that’s stuck in my throat down as I listen to the first moments in Colton’s life when he was given unconditional love. The first time he was given a life of possibilities rather than one of fear.