Page 116 of Split Decision

The notebook goes face down on the table.

"How bad?"

"He's at Piedmont. They said he's stable—head laceration, two cracked ribs, and an injured wrist." Her voice is controlled in the specific way of a woman who has been holding herself together for however long it took to make this call. "He was conscious when the paramedics arrived. He asked for me."

He asked for her. Not Marin. I file that.

"I'm on my way," I say.

Andi is at the center. I call her while I grab my keys—she picks up immediately, hears my voice, and saysgo, I'll get myself therebefore I've finished explaining. I tell her to stay at the center, I'll call when I know more, and she agrees in the tone she uses when she's agreeing because it's the right call and not because she wants to.

I drive to Piedmont.

Brandon isin a curtained ER bay when I arrive, with my mother already beside him. His wrist is wrapped, and sutures line his forehead above his left eye. He resembles someone who lost a fight with a busy intersection. But above all, he looks like my brother—something that strikes me first—just the relief of seeing him conscious,annoyed, and alive.

"Before you say anything,” he says, "I know what it looks like."

"What does it look like?" I ask.

"Like I wasn't paying attention." He shifts against the pillow and winces. "I was. The light was green. The other car ran the red from the left." He looks at me directly. "He didn't stop."

I sit down in the chair beside my mother.

“Who did this? Did you get the plate?" I ask.

"Partial. Police have it." He pauses. "They said hit and run. They said it happens."

It happens.

I look at my hands.

"Where were you coming from?" I ask.

"Marin's," he says. There's something careful in the way he says it—not defensive, careful. Like he's watching how I receive it. "She called me this morning. Asked me to come by. We talked for a couple of hours, and I was heading home."

I don't say anything.

"Luke."

"I'm here."

"Say what you're thinking."

I observe him—his sutures and the unique intensity of someone who has survived an accident, still fueled by adrenaline, which often reveals honesty in ways they usually don’t show.

"I'm thinking I'm glad you're okay," I say. Which is true. It's the first thing that's true, and I'm going to let it be the only thing I say right now.

He holds my eyes for a moment. Then he nods.

My mother gets up to find the nurse. The curtain falls back into place behind her, and it's just the two of us and the sound of the ER moving around us.

"She was already here when I got here," Brandon says quietly.

I look at him.

"Marin." He's looking at the ceiling. "I didn't call her. I called Mom, and Mom called an ambulance. But when the ambulance brought me in, Marin was in the waiting room." He pauses. "She said she'd been trying to reach me. That she had a bad feeling."

I let that sink in for a moment.