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A tear tracks down my cheek as I pull my car into the first available parking spot I see. Yanking the keys from the ignition, I jump out and race toward the front entrance.
A familiar face stands outside, talking to two police officers. I recognize him as Keaton’s friend, Sander. It shouldn't surprise me that he’s here. The guy is in love with her.
He turns his head when I approach, and it’s the look on his face that sets me off.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl, heading straight for him.
“Me? I could ask you the same thing, Kane.”
He says my name like he knows me, only pissing me off. I notice his street clothes, and the police officers he was talking to standing behind him. They probably work with him. Still, they don’t stop me from reaching out and grabbing Sander up by the front of his shirt, jerking him into me as I seethe.
“Hey,” one of the officers yells, and Sander throws up his hand to stop them.
“Why are you here? Why aren’t you out there? Doing something?” I ask.
I’m livid. He should be doing something. Not just sitting here.
“What is it you think I should be doing, Bodhi?” He asks, tone even, but I can see the careful way he holds himself back.
I realize that I don’t know all the details about Keaton’s accident. Milo didn’t give me much when he called. Only that she was in bad shape, and I needed to hurry.
Sander stands there, not even worried about the hold I have on him, and watches me with a guarded expression.
“What exactly do you know?” he asks.
I swallow hard, focusing on the facts, and not the images my mind procured while driving back to Sancte Alto.
“Not much. My friend called and told me she was in the hospital. He said it’s bad,” my voice cracks on the word bad. “He said I needed to hurry home.”
“And why, based on that, do you think I need to be out there doing something?” he asks. I know it's time he found out what has been going on with his best friend. I'm shocked that he doesn’t know what she’s dealt with for two years.
“Listen, I… I don’t know what happened, but I have a good idea why, and who is responsible,” I start, and Sander becomes rigid.
I release his shirt and step back, clearing my throat.
“Sorry,” I say, gesturing to the wrinkled fabric.
He runs his hands over his shirt front, smoothing it down. I’ve got to give the guy credit. I would not have been so cool if someone did the same to me. That calm demeanor may pay off in the near future.
“You mind explaining what you think you know?” He asks.
I see the police officers behind him shift, listening to every word of our conversation. Hell, let them. The more people who know what’s going on, the faster we end this bullshit.
“I will, I promise, but…” I swallow again, trying to force down the lump in my throat.
“But?”
“I need to see her,” I whisper, unable to make the words come out any louder. “I need to know if she’s…” I can’t say it.
Sander drops his head for a moment, and my heart sinks. Tears well in my eyes and it feels like he just knocked the wind out of me. I stagger backwards a step before he lifts his eyes to mine.
“Hey,” he reaches toward me, his brows wrinkled with concern.
“Is she…?”
“She’s okay. She’s stable, but she’s unconscious right now,” he says, and I sag forward, dropping down onto my haunches and letting the tears flow. Relief fills my chest, and I just know that she’s going to be okay. She’s too strong not to pull out of this.
After a moment, I stand, wiping the tears away and turning to face Sander. He has this look in his eyes. Like acceptance or understanding. I don’t exactly know what it is, but when I ask, “Can I see her?”, he nods his head and leads me inside.
