Never Standing Still (The Never Duet #1)(68)

I found my purse where it had been dropped yesterday as Riot carried me into the bedroom and saw a light flashing inside from my phone. I pulled it out and swiped the screen and my heart jumped into my throat when I saw I had over twenty missed calls and just as many text messages. All from Nancy.

My fingers trembled as I pressed the phone icon to return her call, and it seemed like it took forever for the call to connect. Finally I heard ringing, and a few seconds later I heard Nancy’s frail and frantic voice.

“Kalli?” She said by way of greeting, and I could tell she was crying.

“What’s wrong, Nancy?”

“Oh, Kalli,” she sobbed. “You need to come back to Seattle. It’s Marcus.”

“What happened? Is he all right?”

“No, he’s not all right. He’s in the ICU at Seattle Children’s Hospital and you need to get here as soon as possible.” I heard her continue to sob, my mouth slack, pulse frantic. I heard muffled noises and then Bob was on the line.

“Kalli,” he said softly. I could hear Nancy in the background still crying and I could find no words. “We took Marcus to the park to ride his bike after dinner. He’d had sort of a rough day and Nancy thought if he got some of his energy out he’d calm down and sleep better. But when it was time to leave he didn’t want to go. He started to become slightly combative and when we tried to convince him to calm down he took off on his bike, not stopping at the sidewalk and rode right into the street.”

I knew where the rest of the words were going to take me. I knew exactly the words Bob would say, but I wasn’t strong enough to hear them, so I dropped the phone and just started saying, “No,” over and over again. My voice got louder as my panic took over, my fear and grief overshadowing my awareness of my volume.

Riot was at my side, asking me what was the matter, and when he finally picked up the phone, he heard the words I couldn’t take in, and I watched as his face paled in the moonlight, as the pain filled his eyes, and I knew for sure Marcus was slipping away.



Without much help from me, Riot took us both to the airport and got us on a flight back to Washington. I was practically catatonic. I knew once I opened the gate to my emotions, I’d drown in them. Riot tried constantly to comfort me by touching me, holding my hand, but I pulled away. Any emotion was unwelcome, even if it was love. Perhaps especially because it was love.

I was both anxious to get to Marcus, but also dreading it. I couldn’t be sure what I would find when we got to the hospital, but I knew it wasn’t going to be a few scratches and bruises. It was more substantial than that; more devastating.

The plane landed and I let Riot get us a cab to the hospital and then soon I found myself walking into the pediatric ICU. I gave them my name, then gave them Marcus’ name, and was taken to his room.

I first saw Bob standing outside the room in the hallway, leaning back against the wall, head hanging low, body looking tired. When he heard our footsteps approaching he looked up and our eyes met.

“Kalli, thank God you’re here,” he said stepping toward me. I held out my hand, motioning for him to not come too close.

The nurse turned to me and said, “This is Marcus’ room and he’s resting comfortably. I’ve alerted the doctor that you’re here and he’ll be by shortly to answer any questions you have.” She looked back and forth between Bob, Riot, and me, and then added, “There’re only two visitors allowed at a time.” With that, she gave a sad smile and returned to her station.

“Nancy’s waiting for you in there,” Bob said, quietly. I nodded and then walked toward the door, pushed it open slowly, and walked inside.

I was greeted with all manner of beeping and machines, the glow of computer screens illuminating the room, and the sight of my baby brother lying in an uncomfortable-looking bed, nearly unrecognizable.

His face was swollen, with gauze wrapped around most of his head, leaving only the oval of his chin to his forehead visible. He still looked like the boy I loved, just broken.

When Nancy turned to look at me, I saw all the heartbreak I’d heard on the phone, and when she stood, walking toward me, I couldn’t keep her at bay. Didn’t want to. I let her hug me and cry into my shoulder and listened to her tell me she was sorry over and over again.

“He rode his bike into the street and in a flash he was hit by the truck,” she sobbed. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have had him out that late. The sun was setting and it was starting to get dark. We’d been arguing with him, trying to get him to come home with us, so I’d unbuckled his helmet.” She let loose a round of sobs, gut-wrenching cries that I’d only ever heard from myself when I learned my mother had died. The kind of cries where one lost a part of one’s soul. “I’m so sorry,” she said through the sobs.

For a few minutes we just stood there, holding each other, and I wasn’t sure who was getting more comfort from whom. I was holding on to her because she was all that was keeping me upright, but I felt like she would collapse without me, too. There was nothing for either one of us to do except be with the other, so that was what we did.

Finally, a man in a white lab coat came in and introduced himself as Marky’s doctor, said he was a pediatric neurologist. Once all the introductions were made, he wasted no time at all telling me something I never thought I’d hear.