“G, I’ll call you when your dad gets back here,” Carson assures me.
“Thanks, Carse. And thank you for picking me up. I appreciate it.” I pull him in for another brief hug, then follow Liz to Kenna’s room.
The monitor’s beeping sounds like a haunting chorus. One I never thought I’d hear again after my mother lost her battle with cancer almost ten years ago.
Seeing McKenna hooked up to a ventilator, knowing she’s in a medically induced coma, and not knowing whether or not Katie is okay . . . it fucking breaks me. I try to cover my mouth, but the sob still chokes out of me.
Theo squeezes my shoulder and tells me she’s going to be alright, but nothing about this situation is right. He must not know what I overheard the nurses saying in hushed voices about the driver that hit them having failed his tox screening. They said he was nearly three times over the legal limit to drive.
A drunk driver. This happened to my sister and to the girl I love because of a goddamn drunk driver.
If they don’t make it, and he’s still in this hospital, he’ll be a dead man walking.
I’m consumed with so many feelings—anger, rage, fear, regret—that I don’t hear what Theo just said to me.
“What? Can you repeat that?” I ask him.
He sighs, not in frustration, but in exhaustion. “I said the doctors said she would likely be in a coma for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. After that, we will have a better idea of any long-term complications.”
Jesus.I hadn’t even brought myself to consider the long-term complications.
I nod in thanks to Theo, patting him on the back as I pass him, then pull up the chair beside Kenna and sit down. I enclose her hand in mine and bring my forehead to where our hands are joined.
“You and Katie both need to be okay, Sunshine. Please just be okay,” I plead to her unconscious body—her chest only rising and falling steadily because of the tubes and machines pumping life into her.
I hear my dad’s voice murmur something in the hallway before his footsteps sound through the door and then stop. Not willing to take my eyes off Kenna’s sleeping form for a second, I stare at her while I ask him, “How much longer until Katie’s out of surgery? God, it’s been hours now. Is this normal?”
Deafening silence falls over the room before a deep wail sounds from my dad’s chest. I snap my head toward him, “Dad?” I implore.
The shake of his head and his answering look hit me like a slapshot to the chest. Pain and loss radiate throughout my body.
“No. Please, god, no.” I shake my head, petitioning the truth.
“Katie—” My dad’s voice breaks. “She’s gone, Griff.” I watch him take a deep, steadying breath. “There was nothing they could do. There was a complication during surgery, and the resulting damage to her brain was too extensive. She was declared brain-dead. I was only allowed in the O.R. to see for myself before the transplant team took over.”
“Don’t you dare flip the switch on me,” I shout at him, releasing Kenna’s hand and standing up. “I am not a patient’s family. You don’t get to turn into the clinical, detached Dr. Turner right now. I am your son.”
My heart is pounding out of my chest, my fists tremble at my sides, and I feel like I’m gasping through a straw. Panic seizes my lungs. Black specks dot my vision. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to.
It’s been thirty-two hours since I found out my baby sister was declared brain-dead and donated her organs to save eight lives. My only comfort in those hours is knowing Katie would’ve been proud to have saved others.
When I boarded my plane yesterday morning, I never thought this would be the outcome—that I’d lose my beloved sister. Or that the girl I’m in love with would still be fighting for her life.
Earlier this morning, they stopped the medication that was inducing Kenna’s coma. Her doctor said he anticipated her regaining consciousness within six to eight hours due to the swelling on her brain having been relieved significantly.
That was eleven hours ago.
My phone chimes again with incoming messages. I regrettably informed Maks, Nico, and Emmett what happened and that I wouldn’t be back for the first week of classes. They said they would handle getting in touch with Coach, my advisor, and the dean if they needed to.
I appreciate them now more than ever, I do. But the constant string of texts to check in on me is beginning to grate on my nerves. So I don’t bother checking my messages. Instead, I place my hands back on Kenna’s right hand. I run my fingers over the tan line on her finger from where her ring typically is. They took it off her and placed it with her belongings when she was admitted.
A bag of Katie’s belongings is all we were given yesterday. That and a pile of paperwork for my dad to sign and sort through.
Still rubbing that line on her finger, I begin humming “You Are My Sunshine” to Kenna. Tears flood my eyes, and the humming becomes difficult as my throat tightens.
“Please come back to me, Sunshine,” I beg, struggling to get the words out through the sobs wracking my body. “I can’t do this withoutyou. Don’t leave me. I can’t go on without you and Katie. I won’t. Wake up, baby. Please, I need you right now.”
I feel Kenna’s hand twitch in mine and my eyes shoot up to see her eyelids fluttering rapidly. Her monitors begin beeping more frequently before her eyes slowly open. Kenna looks like she’s struggling to keep them open. She begins to cough as her conscious brain fights against the breathing tube.
