Shatter (Unbreakable Bonds 2)

And that included taking care of the people who meant the most to him.

“Have you slept?” Lucas’s voice was little more than a rough murmur, as if he’d worn it out.

“Some,” he lied. Snow couldn’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes. “Rowe?”

“About what you’d expect.” Lucas lowered his head and shoved his fingers through his hair, tousling it more. “Not talking. Not eating. Not sleeping. When I go back tonight, I’m going to try to get him to do one of those things.”

Snow grunted and shoved to his feet. He paced over to the windows at the back of the house, looking out over the Ohio River as it wound its way past the edge of his property. The jogging path was empty, leaving him with only a barren parking lot, brown water and dead, brown trees to stare at. But it was better than trying to look into Lucas’s eyes, letting the man try to tear down the wall that was holding him together.

“Andrei said you stayed with Ian for a while. How is he?”

“Broken leg. Some bad bruising across his chest and neck from the seat belt that will likely keep him off crutches. Mild concussion. A few cuts that required stitches.” Some of the tightness in Snow’s chest eased as he listed Ian’s injuries. He took the young man out of the equation, the person he loved, and thought only about the recovery time and the necessary rehab. Sinking in to the clinical gave him a sense of control, a safe zone in which to operate. “I’ll check on him again tonight before I start my shift. If he can go without the sedatives, they’ll send him home tomorrow.”

“Do you have to go in tonight? Can’t—”

“No, I need to work.” He paused and he could feel an ugly smile twist on his lips as he turned back to look at Lucas. “Besides, I already switched shifts for Friday night.”

Lucas’s head popped up. “What?”

“I was supposed to work, but I swapped with another doctor. Got her to fill in for me.” Snow stopped, not wanting to explain that he’d been exhausted before chaos poured through their lives. Let Lucas think the worst of him, let him think that he’d taken off work to get his dick sucked. It was certainly what Rowe thought. He’d heard for years from his family that he was trash. Maybe they were right.

Lucas rose and walked over to Snow, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. “Ash, it’s not your fault.”

“Fuck you! You don’t know—”

“I spoke to the surgeon who worked on Mel and I talked to one of the paramedics on the scene.”

Snow jerked at Lucas’s announcement in surprise, blinking at him as he tried to order his sluggish thoughts. “You spoke to Torres?”

Lucas shook his head, looking a little confused. “I don’t remember her name. Both said that nothing could have been done for Mel.” He placed his hand on the back of Snow’s neck and squeezed. “She flat-lined while they were getting her out of the SUV and again on the trip to the hospital. There was nothing you could have done to save her.”

Knocking Lucas’s arm away, Snow stepped back, clinging desperately to his anger. He sneered. “Why are you even here?”

“Snow—”

“Your friend’s wife just died. Shouldn’t you be with him? You’ve got another in the hospital. Maybe you should be hovering at his bedside. Or even keeping an eye on your boyfriend. He was close with Mel.”

“What the hell, Snow? So were you.”

Snow shook his head, knowing he was making little sense. He balled his fists at his side, fighting back another wave of memories of Mel. This time it was a summer cookout where Rowe was in danger of setting the back of the house on fire. Mel and Ian were trying to pepper the rest of them with water balloons she’d filled with ice water.

“I’m fine,” he bit out. “Just go. I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Ash, you’re not.” Lucas placed his hand on Snow’s shoulder when he tried to walk past, but Snow knocked it away with a low snarl.

“Just go. You can’t fix this just because you want to. Mel is dead and the world has to keep moving. Go check on Rowe or your boyfriend. I’ll look in on Ian tonight. If you’re needed, I’ll call.”

Snow pounded up the stairs, not slowing until he reached the third floor and the master bath. Work would clear his head. He’d take a blistering hot shower and then he’d bury himself in the twisted, wrecked bodies of his patients.Chapter 6Snow drove under the Spring Grove Cemetery arch, his hands tight on the wheel. The trees had lost most of their leaves. A few golden survivors hung on—the last gasps of fall. The only other splashes of color were the stands of evergreens spread about the gently rolling hills of the graveyard.