Something kept telling me not to tell him, and I could only speculate that it was my own selfishness speaking so loudly.

Luggage in tow, we headed for the exit where Phil, X, and Connor were going to pick us up. Walking into the Arrivals area, we looked around, finding no one.

“Well, the weather is pretty messed up. Maybe they’re just running late?” Alys suggested.

“Maybe,” I replied.

Twenty minutes later, there was still no sign of them. Everyone from our flight had long gone while we watched the new arrivals milling in.

“X still isn’t picking up,” Alys huffed in irritation, looking at her phone for the fiftieth time. “What’s going on?” Panic had elevated her voice an octave or two.

Swallowing past the hard lump that had grown, I replied, “I don’t know. Connor isn’t picking up either. Phil’s phone is going straight to voice mail. None of them have answered, Alys…”

An hour trickled by.

We waited, each time sitting up straight as we caught sight of a passing vehicle. They were supposed to rent a car to come and get us.

Two hours.

“This is ridiculous!” I hissed, squeezing the crap out of my phone. “What the—”

“Kenna…” Alys said weakly, gently placing one hand on my arm, pointing at a television screen across the waiting area with the other.

A local news station was showing on the TV.

Slowly, we stood, leaving our luggage behind, as we walked over to the screen. There was no sound, just closed-caption text at the bottom of the screen. A reporter in a red wool scarf spoke into a mic while the scene behind her showed a massive wreck with fire, ambulances, yellow tape, and a shit-ton of EMTs.

…few hours ago…black ice…several vehicular pileups…casualties…two tour buses with rock band involved…

“Holy shit!” my best friend cried. “Kenna!”

Déjà vu came back full force, crushing my chest and making it impossible for me to breathe. Snatches and flashes zipped through my head, a dream I’d had.

“Hey, Baby Girl. No regrets.”

“Alys…” I whispered. I looked down at our clasped hands. “We need to go find them.”

“Where?” she whimpered.

“My guess would be the hospital.”

Dear gods, don’t let them be in the morgue.

Our cab took us straight to the emergency entrance. Hauling our luggage with us, we paid for the taxi and made our way inside like a couple of stunned zombies.

On the way, I’d given Lili a call, and she’d turned on the news to see what she could find, making Lewis check the Internet. The names of those killed in the accident hadn’t been released, but several people had been airlifted to the hospital. The both of them were searching the footage to see if Our Boys were in it.

“There are several bodies in cadaver bags, but there’s no way I can tell. The wreck…Kenna—” Lili had choked up, sucked in a breath, and tried to continue. “The wreck is all over the highway. There were nine vehicles involved. It looks like there was only minor damage to the roadie bus, but the guys’ bus…it’s in half.”

Next to me, Alys had heard the whole conversation, and she’d whimpered in response.

From what else Lili had described, it seemed as though a stretch of the highway, Route 16, had been slicked with black ice, an invisible substance slipperier than oil. There was nothing that Mack could’ve done to pull out of it, as steering would’ve been impossible. Taking a bend in the road, the tour bus would’ve been out of control at any speed, and it had been identified as the third vehicle in the collision. Upon impact, it had flipped over twice and torn in half after the second rotation.

Right before we were about to approach the front desk in the emergency room, Alys grabbed my arm, yanking me back. “Kenna?”

“Yeah?” I replied, my voice warped with the stranglehold my throat had on it.

“Someone’s dead. Some of them are dead, aren’t they?”

I’d been avoiding the very thought of it, ignoring what my heart already knew, but if Alys was strong enough to ask the question, I had to be just as strong and answer. “Yes. I think so.”

“What do we do?”

“What we have to.”

Approaching the front desk, a very kind older woman took one look at our faces and tried through her exhausted state for some sympathy.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Kenna MacGregor,” I said. “This is Alys Stuart—”

“Johnson,” Alys said firmly next to me. “Alys Stuart-Johnson.”

“Yes,” I said. “We have several family members who were involved in the highway pileup. My brother, Connor MacGregor; my fiancé, Philip Deveraux; Alys’s husband, Xavier Johnson—” I couldn’t continue. My throat’s stranglehold won out and squeezed so hard that my eyes teared up.

“Sister and wife, you say?”

“And fiancé,” I replied.

“I’m going to need to take your identification and the relationships you have with the victims,” she was saying.

“Victims?” Alys echoed weakly. “Oh God, Kenna.”

Taking a clipboard with the necessary paperwork to fill out, we turned to find a couple of seats when Connor came out.

“Connor!” I cried, dropping the clipboard and sprinting over to my brother, launching myself into his arms. “What happened? Is Phil—”

“Phil’s in surgery—”

“Surgery?” I screeched, panic overwhelming me.

My legs gave out beneath me, and Connor caught me before I hit the floor.

“Please, if you three could have a seat,” the front desk lady said, coming up to us, trying to keep the hysterics to a minimum.

The other people in the waiting room were most certainly the family and loved ones of other people involved with the wreck.

Once seated, Connor sat in silence as we filled out the forms. Poor Alys was shaking like a leaf, hardly able to hold the pen. We handed the forms back to the lady at the front desk.

“What happened?” I asked my brother. “How did you get out of there unscathed?”

“I was on the other bus,” he replied. “I, uh…I needed to get away from the guys for a bit. Just hang out with the crew, you know? I made friends with some of them…”

“Are they all right?” I asked, meaning the road crew.

He nodded. “The driver saw what was going on up front and slowed down in time. The impact was minimal. No one got hurt on the roadie bus.”

“Mrs. Johnson?” A doctor quietly approached us, and he wore a grave face as he waited for Mrs. Johnson to reveal herself.

“Ye-yes?” asked Alys.

I could see it working in her mind already.

The doctor crouched down before her, taking her hands in his. “I need you to come with me.”

“Please,” she whispered. “I need my brother and sister with me,” she told him, indicating Connor and me.

“Of course,” he replied.

The three of us followed him back through the double doors to an empty side room.

After we had taken a seat, Dr. Jacobs—I’d read his name tag—took a deep breath. “Mrs. Johnson, I’m so sorry to bring you this news—”

Alys shook her head, not wanting to believe what was already in her heart.

“Your husband, Xavier James Johnson, did not survive the accident.”

“Oh God…” she keened, wrapping her arms around her middle, rocking back and forth.

The anguish on her face was too much, too painful to witness. I pulled her into my arms while Alys wailed and screamed.

“I know this is hard to hear, Mrs. Johnson. If it’s any consolation, I assure you, he did not suffer. His injuries made his passing instantaneous.”

A few minutes of holding her was all I was capable of for the moment. Handing her off to Connor, who was more than happy to enfold her in his warmth, I asked Dr. Jacobs to speak with me outside the room.

“Dr. Jacobs, I’m Dr. Kenna MacGregor. My fiancé, Philip Deveraux—I need to know what his condition is. I’ve filled out the necessary paperwork, and my brother mentioned he was in surgery.”