Smart, Sexy and Secretive (The Reed Brothers 2)

I look down. He’s completely motionless, and my mom has his head in her lap. She’s sobbing and rubbing his quiet face. I watch, knowing it has to be too late for my dad. He is as still as Logan. No one was giving him CPR, though. Not like they were with Logan. The emergency responders load my dad in the ambulance, and I stand there. I feel dead inside. I don’t know what to do or where to go. My mom gets in the ambulance, and they close the doors behind her. This reminds me so much of the time that Matt was sick, and I had to call the ambulance for him. They let me ride with him, though. No one left me waiting in the street not knowing what to do.

Matt and Sam drag me toward a waiting police car. “Get in,” Matt says as he pushes my head down like you see the police do on cop shows. He slides in behind me and drops an arm around my shoulders pulling me into him. He looks down at me, getting in my face. “You didn’t get hit, did you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “It wasn’t me. It was Logan.”

Oh my God. It was Logan. Logan got hit by the out-of-control car. He rolled over the hood and into windshield. Then he lay on the cold concrete, unmoving. Pete and Sam did CPR.

“He wasn’t breathing,” I say. I start to shiver.

“No, he wasn’t.” Matt’s hand rubs absently along my shoulder.

“Are you scared?” My voice is quivering.

“Terrified,” he admits.

“The car was going to hit my dad.”

“I know,” he grunts.

“Why did he do that?” I gnaw on my fingernail, tearing at my flesh until I feel pain.

“Why does Logan do anything?”

“I saw the look on his face.” Tears roll unheeded down my cheeks.

Matt tips my chin up. “What look?” he asks.

“I saw him make the decision to shove him out of the way.” I can’t believe he did that. Why would he do that?

“Mother f**ker had better live,” Matt murmurs. “If he doesn’t, I’m going f**king kill him.”

The police officer lets us out at the Emergency Room doors. Matt takes one of my hands and Sam takes the other. I wish Pete were here. Shoot! Pete. “Did anyone call Pete?” I ask.

“Pete can’t get phone calls,” Sam reminds me.

“You’ll have to go see him.”

Sam nods.

My mom runs toward me when we walk into the waiting area. She wraps me in her arms, but I shove her back. “Where are they?”

“They’re in the ER. They said we can’t go back.” She wrings her hands together. “Logan wasn’t breathing.” She looks into my eyes, her brown eyes looking for confirmation. Of what, I don’t know.

“Was Dad?” I ask.

“Was Dad what?”

“Breathing,” I suggest.

“Yes, your dad was breathing.”

The weight doesn’t lift from my chest. Not at all.

“But Logan…” she says. “I’m afraid it’s not good, Emily.”

“I’m scared, Mom.”

Paul walks from the back of the hospital, running his hands through his hair. He tugs on the tips and then does it again. Matt and Sam approach him, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t know anything.

“Why did he do that?” Paul cries. Then the big guy crumples into a heap on the tiles. Matt goes down with him, wrapping his arms around him, and Sam squats down beside them and puts his hand on Paul’s arms. Paul’s body is wracked with sobs.

I know why he did it. He did it for me. Did my eyes silently plead with him? Did I somehow ask him without using my voice to save my dad? He read something in my eyes that made him do it? Did I beg him? Is this my fault?

Emily

“I don’t want to be here,” I whisper to Paul as he leads me into the church. My legs are shaking. I’m afraid the casket will be open for everyone to view the body, so I make sure not to look in that direction.

“I don’t either,” he whispers back.

“Ditto,” Matt says from behind us. We squeeze into the pew and slide down, making room for Sam. Sam looks lost without Pete. It’s like he’s lost part of who he is with his brother gone. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder for his other half. But Pete’s not here. Pete’s still waiting for arraignment.

Tears fill my eyes when the preacher starts to talk about the loss of life and the tragedy of losing a beloved brother, son, and friend. He talks about divine will, the power of the soul, and the healing hand of faith. I’m not feeling healed. When will that start? Soon, I hope.

It has been four days since the accident. Four days to reflect on what could have been, what might have been. What was. Four days to think about all the ways I should have lived my life differently. And all the ways he could have lived his differently, too.

My dad reaches from behind me and squeezes my shoulder tightly. He’s more likely to touch me now than he used to be. He’s more likely to show affection and tell me he loves me. It’s like he realizes everything that has been lost, and he doesn’t want to miss a day or a word or anything important again. My mom didn’t come. She’s busy taking care of important business, she said.

The preacher drones on, and I tune him out until Matt takes my hand and squeezes it tightly as the casket is carried from the building. We’re not going to the graveside service. It’s enough that we’re paying our respects here. We file out of the church, and I look into a wounded mother’s eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say.