“This one?” I point to the letter on top with hand-scrawled letters.

“Yeah. Maybe around four? But I told her not to disturb you. I thought you were sleeping.”

I smile, but it’s weak. No, around then, I was picturing my brother’s pain-stricken face as he realized what had happened to him.

“Let’s go.” Bek wraps her arm around my shoulders, my purse somehow magically slung over her other arm, and guides me outside.

My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely turn the key. I have no idea how I’ve lasted ten hours since Brody was shot.

To be fair, I think I’ve spent eight of them in shock.

Angry shock, albeit, but still shock.

I climb into her car and drop the tied-up mail bundle into my purse when she hands me it. Then I pull out my phone, which has somehow made its way into it, and bring up Drake’s name. I hit message.

Going to the hospital... I text.

His reply is quick. Let me know. How you doing?

Okay, and nope, I reply. That’s how I feel right now. No. Just no.

Talk to you later, cupcake.

I sigh, rest my head back on the headrest, and close my eyes.

“Noelle?” Bek says my name, softly shaking my arm.

“I’m awake.” I pinch the top of my nose and blink harshly when I open my eyes. “Are we here?”

She smiles. “Yeah, and we aren’t the only ones.”

I pull my eyebrows together in a frown, but she doesn’t elaborate as she gets out of the car. The only damn elaboration is the growth in her smile.

I’m glad she can smile.

She takes my hand and tugs me toward the entrance. A lone figure is standing by the doors, their face initially obscured by the brightness of the lights streaming out from the hospital. It only takes a few steps before I realize it though.

“Drake?” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand.

“Yep,” Bek replies, squeezing the hand still clasped in hers. “He called me when you were sleeping. I love you, Noelle, but I ain’t gonna hug your fiesty ass all damn night. Or let you cry on me, for that matter. This shirt was expensive.”

My best friend really is the best.

I hug her tight. “I hate how well you know me.”

“No you don’t. You love it, you silly bitch.”

That smile I didn’t think I could raise? Yeah. It doesn’t matter how badly you’re hurting inside as long as you have the people who are your rock-hard pillars of strength around you.

I let Bek go and turn to Drake. He holds his hands out to his sides in a well? motion, and I take the few steps between us, running, and all but throw myself at him. My arms tangle around his neck, and his wrap around me so tight that I can barely breathe as I bury my face into his neck.

“Thank you,” I whisper against him.

“He’s important to you. He’s important to me. You’re important to me. Like I wouldn’t be here,” he rumbles back against the side of my head, kissing it when he finishes speaking. “He’s on the sixth floor and about to come out of surgery, so you’ll know within fifteen minutes how he is.”

I pull back, taking a breath so deep that I feel the oxygen spilling right down to my toes. “We will? How do you know?”

Drake nods. Then, with a slight smile, he pulls his something out of his pocket, flips it open, and taps the gold badge exposed to me. “This was my VIP ticket tonight.”

“Of course.” I smile and look down before extracting myself from his arms to look at Bek. “Coming?” I ask her, warmth flooding me as Drake slips his fingers through mine and squeezes.

“It’s okay,” Bek replies, but I can see the worry in her eyes. She isn’t fooling me.

“Come,” I demand, holding my free hand out to her, my purse on that shoulder. “Now.”

“Yes, boss.” She tries for another smile, but it’s a pathetic attempt at one.

She does, however, take my hand, tightly curling her fingers around mine. The three of us, with Drake slightly in the lead, enter the hospital, and I look down so the bright lights don’t blind me. I wouldn’t put it past this place, you know.

Drake lightly squeezes my hand as the elevator doors open, and we step in after everyone has emptied it. I can’t remember the last time I felt this weak, honestly. Not knowing how Brody is really is a hole inside me, and the tears lingering behind my eyes aren’t playing any games. If they make their way to the front, they’re gonna go, and I’m gonna lose it. I’m hoping, and maybe even somewhere deep down I’m praying, that I won’t have to.

Floor six is intensive care.

Every part of me tenses.

The man in front of me is as powerful as ever, though, as he rings the buzzer to get in and explains who we are. The doors are clicked open, but it does nothing for my tightly wound stomach as the stench of sterility and illness winds its way around me.

“This way.” Drake leads me straight down the hall.

I tug Bek after me. Her hand is covering her mouth, and I wish I could do the same. Instead, I simply look down, burying my face as far into my shoulder as I can. I’ve never been this terrified in my life. I’ve never felt such acute fear rocking its way through my bloodstream unapologetically the way it is right now.

I really, really hate hospitals.

We stop outside a room with a plaque on the door marking it Family Waiting Area.

Awesome. We have to wait with another family with their own pain. Because, with the size of ours, there won’t be enough.

Drake pushes the door open, and I’m thankful for his strength. For everything I am, I don’t even think I can twitch a finger knowing that knowledge is imminent.

The room is empty except for my family.

Mom is sitting in the corner, her head on Trent’s shoulder. Devin is the other side of her, his arm looped through hers, but his head is resting back against the wall as he stares at the ceiling. Trent is leaning against Mom, his hand clasped in hers. His other is curled around Alison’s thigh. The absence of the kids tells me that they dropped them by her parents’ before they came here.

Nonna is sitting in front of the window next to Dad. Both of them are on their knees, knelt up, their hands held together in front of them. Even as the slowly setting sun sends cascading waves of orange and red over their faces, they look into it, their noses tilted up, their eyes closed. Nonna’s lips are moving quickly, but her words are completely silent. Her rosary beads are hooked over her thumb, and she rubs them gently, in her own world.

I’d bet she’s been there for hours. Praying. Believing. Begging.

Guilt hits me at the way they’ve been here, vigiliantly, while I’ve been hiding.

That guilt drives me to let go of both Drake and Bekah, walk across the room, and kneel next to Nonna. She squeezes my knee, refusing to let go of her rosary, and still speaking. Now, I’m so close that I can hear her, and it’s all in Italian. Her mother tongue has always been her own source of strength, and I breathe in deeply, close my hands in front of me, and shut my eyes like she has, just to listen to her.

She’s always done this—spoken Italian in hard times. I wonder if she knows we’ve all noticed. That even Mom will sit and listen to her as she hands her hopes and dreams over to her Lord’s hands.

I do this now. I listen. I want to feel the comfort of her still-thick accent and romantically fluent words flow over me.

“Bless this child,” she whispers, each word flowing into the next in perfectly smooth Italian. “Give him the strength he needs to keep his spirit on this Earth. Bless his laughter and his smile. Lend him your bravery so he may fight this obstacle that’s been thrown into his path. Bless his sweet disposition and selflessness. Allow him to draw on your everlasting knowledge so that he may give himself everything, so that his soul and his mind may align as one to give him the power he so desperately needs. Lord, I beg of you to give your son all that he gives to you without asking you for a single thing.”