“Kenna,” he choked.

I rushed to him and took him in my arms.

“Is it true? About X?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, my own eyes burning.

The wail of despair that ripped from his chest should’ve awakened Sheri. I was frightened that it hadn’t.

“What’s with Sheri?” I whispered once he’d calmed down.

“She had internal bleeding. She’s been put in a coma to keep her stable.” He sniffed and wiped his face.

“How are you doing?”

“Mentally or physically?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Not so bad, physically. My face is probably fucked up forever. A piece of glass or somethin’ sliced me open. Bruised all over but nothin’ broken. But my head?” His chest jerked on a repressed sob. “My head ain’t so good.”

“Is there anyone you need me to call? Family or…”

He shook his head. “I called my granny and told her what happened.”

“Okay.”

“The doctor said I’d probably spend tonight here just to make sure nothin’ was goin’ on that they hadn’t found, and then I’d be discharged. I’d like…can you get me some pants? They keep this place so fuckin’ cold.”

“Yes. I’ll give Connor a call and have him bring you some.”

“He’s okay?”

The look of joy that crossed his features at the thought of my brother being fine warmed me.

“Yes. He’s with Alys. Have you seen Flipper?” I asked.

“Yeah. We heard one of the nurses say that they shouldn’t mention X to us, and he hit his morphine button and passed out. I couldn’t believe it. I still…I still can’t. Does Phil…”

Feeling that weight crushing in on my chest, I sighed in an attempt to ease it. “It’s on my to-do list.”

So badly did I not want to be the one to tell Phil that I wished I were in a nightmare and would magically wake up.

Except…this is a living nightmare. There is no waking up. If anything, I should be wishing for sleep to take me from this.

Once more, I pulled the armchair close to his bed and released the sidebar so that I could take his hand. I simply sat there, wondering how I should tell him. As a doctor, I would attempt an empathetic approach, but I would be stoic in the face of delivering the news. However…

I’m not just a fucking doctor in this instance. I’m Phil’s other half, his fiancée, a friend of the slain man who had no regrets.

For about an hour, I let the thoughts churn in my brain, when Phil squeezed my hand. Startled, I looked up to find him watching me.

“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard about somethin’.” His voice was as rough as sandpaper.

Silently, I stood and poured him a cup of water, which he gulped down and asked for more.

“So, what is it?”

“I have bad news,” I said.

“What?” he asked. The heart monitor spiked.

Walking around the bed, I clicked the morphine button, hoping the dose would keep him calm.

“Kenna, you’re scarin’ me.”

“I know. I’m scared, too.”

He could see me shaking. Feeling faint, I sat back down, hoping it would pass.

Taking his hand in both of mine, I met his gaze. “Phil, X didn’t make it.”

His eyes widened, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”

“He was killed in the accident.”

“No…” he whispered. “No, Baby…”

The pain in his voice, his eyes…it broke me.

I dropped my head to our hands and tried to hold in my sobs. “I’m so sorry!”

“It can’t be,” he whispered and then choked. Then, the enormity of the situation slammed into him full force.

Carefully, I sat down on the bed and put my arms around his shoulders, cradling his face to my neck. His right arm came up and crushed me to him, his hand fisting in my hair. I welcomed the pain. It made it easy for me to internalize it.

Behind me, the bed sagged under the weight of Jason. Phil pulled him in, and I was sandwiched between two wretches, heavily grieving for their fallen brother. An eternity passed before they were able to silence their cries.

Phil fell back into his pillow, taking me with him. “What about everyone else?”

I’d delivered the worst of it.

Jason simply picked up where I’d left off. “Tim and Mack are dead, too.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” cried Phil.

“But Flipper’s going to be fine,” I said quickly. “And Sheri’s going to pull through this. Viv had only minor injuries. Connor and the rest of the crew made it out without a scratch.”

“Oh God…” Phil moaned, his right hand releasing me and covering his face. His swollen, busted lips quivered as he attempted to control the urge to cry again. “This isn’t happenin’. It ain’t real.”

Jason sniffled. “I don’t know what to do.”

None of us did.

Between X’s parents and Alys, it was decided that X would be cremated, and a funeral would be held when it was possible for everyone to attend. After the cremation, Alys returned to New Orleans with his remains and moved back into our house. Lili and Lewis went with her to make sure Alys wouldn’t be alone in her misery.

A week after the accident, Sheri was awakened from her coma, and her improvement over the following days was borderline miraculous. Jason refused to leave her side, and two weeks after being in a horrific nine-vehicle pileup, Sheri walked out of the hospital and onto a plane back home.

Flipper and Viv left a week after that. His arm was healing, and his crushed ribs were doing well enough for him to venture back home, too.

That left Phil.

Out of ICU, it had become mostly about keeping his pelvis stable, so the healing would be clean. He was put in a private room where an extra bed was brought in for me or his dad or sometimes Connor to sleep in. We kept one room at the hotel, so we could return, shower, and relax in intervals.

Day by day, Phil’s body healed, but his heart and mind slipped further into depression. His demons grew in strength, giving him night terrors, making him dream of X dying over and over. At first, he would talk to me about them, but after a while, he closed up.

Even though his bones were mending, the restricted activity and lack of decent food had Phil dropping weight. His huge frame started to poke through his dwindling musculature, and it was frightening to see the hollows in his face, the sharp cheekbones protruding. His collarbone severely peeked through his shirt.

I brought him food that should’ve made him happy to eat, but he mostly prodded and pushed it around on his plate.

“I’m not hungry,” he told me for the millionth time, clicking the morphine drip again. “I feel sick when I eat.”

“Because you won’t eat at all,” I snapped. “You have to eat to heal, babe. The longer it takes, the longer it will be before you can get out of here.”

“If you want to go home, just go,” he spit.

Shocked, wounded to my core, I asked, “How can you say that to me?”

Looking uncomfortable with himself—as he should, the prick!—he couldn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll try to eat later.”

“Do you want me to go?” I asked.

“No.”

“You sure about that?”

He nodded. “I’m just sick of everythin’, Kenna.”

“I get that,” I told him, placing the Tupperware of seafood gumbo on the bedside table, within reach if he changed his mind. “I’ll be back later.”

“Where are you goin’?”

“Just have a few errands to run. Your dad should be here in a few minutes.”

Heart sore, I left the room, not bothering to kiss him good-bye. Guilt flared in me, but he was being an asshole. Heading to another wing in the hospital, I made sure no one I knew saw where I was going.

Obstetrics.

A few days ago, I’d snuck into the bathroom of yet another wing of the hospital, and I had taken a pregnancy test. It hadn’t even taken the full three minutes before it showed two pink lines, confirming what I’d already known. Afterward, I’d made an appointment with a gynecologist, and that was where I was headed.