Page 49 of The Bad Brother

T HE ONLY THINGS I KNOW ABOUT ORTON Redford, other than his sketchy medical history is that he’s fifty-six years old, his daughter is one of Colt Montgomery’s deputies, and that whoever attacked him tried very hard to kill him.

Patient is a fifty-six-year-old white male smoker with multiple laceration and puncture wounds to the chest, back and abdomen.

So far, I’ve repaired a lacerated liver, removed a ruptured spleen, closed multiple intestinal punctures, and patched four arterial bleeds.

One of the stab wounds nicked his right lung.

Another came to within a half inch of his left atrium, which tells me the most important thing I know about Orton Redford.

He's lucky to be alive.

… Billy found him, laid out in the dirt between his shop and the house…that poor boy. Reese too, after losing their mom that way …

Deb’s husband was on call last night when it happened. Tank Barrett’s truck was set on fire… they’re thinkin’ who ever attacked Red is the one who did it.

Things like this don’t happen here. They just don’t… I hope Colt finds whoever did this and puts him away, quick.

I listen to the nurses and surgical techs gossip around me while I work, concentration zeroed in on my hands and the tools I’m using to repair the damage done to the man I’m standing over.

Delicately probing Mr. Redford’s intestines, I make sure I didn’t miss anything before I call it good and close him up.

“Who’s Tank Barrett?” I ask without looking up while I check to make sure the arterial patches are holding. Everything looks clear. His pressure is stable and there is no evidence of new blood in the thorax.

For a second, no one answers me. While I’m friendly with my surgical team and they all seem to like me well enough, they’ve come to expect nothing from me beside laser focus and quiet concentration when we’re in a surgical suite.

I’m not one of those surgeons who plays music and likes to chat while I’m operating.

I prefer to focus all my attention on the task at hand.

“ Uhhh …” I can feel them exchanging looks above my head.

Three of the four nurses on my team live in Barrett, but only one of them grew up here.

She’s the one who answers me. “Tank was Penny Montgomery’s brother but he died a few years back.

He used to own The Mill before he left it, and just about everything else, to Jensen Pryce. ”

For a second, it doesn’t register.

None of the words floating above my head make sense.

And then they do .

“Jensen?” I say his name carefully. Like maybe we aren’t talking about the same Jensen after all. “You mean Jensen Barrett ?”

“One in the same,” she says while my eyes blur and my hands start to shake. “My husband played football with him in high school and?—”

Jensen is a creeker.

I knew that.

Figured it out, all on my own.

But he’s not just a creeker.

He’s a Pryce.

He’s Ethan’s brother.

Because you knew Hanna’s name and my brother hates me enough to send someone across the river to open me up with a razor blade, Peach…

“Dr. Gaines,” I say, stepping away from the table. “Close up and prep Mr. Redford for transport to recovery.”

“Really?” Gaines is a recent transplant from Dallas and third-year surgical resident. He’s spent the last six-weeks assisting me in surgery and the most I’ve let him do is watch. That I’m allowing him to step in and close is akin to winning the lottery.

“Really.” I offer him a faint smile behind my surgical mask. “I’m going to scrub out and go update the family.”

WHEN I GOT HERE, IT WAS EARLY morning—before 6AM.

Barely light enough to drive without headlights.

Judging by the way the sun is slanting through the windows of the corridor that connects the trauma center to the rest of the hospital, it’s early afternoon by the time I make my way to the surgical ICU waiting room.

Even though I told my team I was scrubbing out to update the family, I ended up hiding in the locker room for the past hour. Trying to wrap my mind around what, the more I think about it, becomes more and more obvious.

Ethan and Jensen are brothers.

Once I accepted that and nothing about the last few weeks with Jensen has been real, the rest of it fell into place. I just need to get through the next few hours and I can put this whole thing behind me. I can move on—from Jensen and Ethan both.

Start over.

Pressing a shaking hand to my stomach to calm the sudden flutter of nerves, I keep walking.

I’m not Sloane right now.

I’m Dr. Merrick and Dr. Merrick has a job to do.

Stepping into the waiting room, I find a pretty woman, thick, golden-brown hair pulled back in a lumpy ponytail, sitting next to the vending machine staring off into space.

Next to her is a young man in his early-twenties, laid across a row of chairs, sleeping, his jacket balled up into a pillow.

Across the room is Jensen. When he sees me, he stands up.

I’m not surprised he’s here but I don’t acknowledge him.

He’s not who I’m here to see. “Reese Redford?”

Hearing her name, the woman shoots out of her seat like someone zapped her with a cattle prod before looking down at who I’m assuming is her younger brother, Billy. After a few seconds’ debate, she leaves him where he is, sleeping, and approaches me on her own .

As soon as she’s close enough to speak quietly, I give her my neutral, doctor smile. “Ms. Red?—”

“Is he dead?” Her face is white. Wide, gray-blue gaze flat with exhaustion and something else.

Something I’ve seen too much of—acceptance.

I know without a doubt, she’s been sitting here, for hours now, killing her father in her mind, over and over, so that when I inevitably come in here and give her the news that he’s gone, it will hurt less.

“No.” I say it as gently as I can because in my experience, this is where they fall apart. When I give them hope because hope is heavy. Harder to carry than despair. “Your father made it through surgery, very well, I might add.”

“He did?” Those flat, glassy eyes flood with tears and she gives me a short, fast head shake like she’s sure she misheard me. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say on a quiet laugh. “They moved him from recovery into a room about twenty minutes ago.”

Reese sways on her feet like she’s standing on the deck of a ship. “So, he’s okay?”

“There were several lacerations and extensive damage to his internal organs,” I tell her, doing my best to balance hope with realistic expectations. “Right now he’s listed as critical but stable condition.”

“What does that mean?” Her voice trembles slightly.

“It means your father has a long, hard road ahead of him, but barring any complications or infections, I expect he’ll make a full recovery.” I hesitate, unsure if I should say anything else but if the roles were reversed, I’d want to know. “One of the lacerations?—”

“Stab wounds,” Reese says, her tone hardening slightly. Showing me a bit of the cop beneath the worried daughter. “My father was stabbed .”

Nodding, I try again. “One of the stab wounds came very close to puncturing his heart. While I was checking its integrity, I noticed signs of a mild heart attack but there was nothing noted in his chart.”

She stares at me for a moment like her brain is playing catch up. “He had a heart attack?”

“From what I saw, yes—a mild one,” I tell her, treading as lightly as I can. “Men his age can often suffer minor cardiac arrest without even knowing it. They chalk it up to stress or indigestion and ignore it.” I wait a beat. “Your father is a smoker?”

“Not anymore he’s not,” Reese tells me firmly, instantly confirming what I already know. I like her. “Can we see him?”

“Of course.” Nodding, I flick a glance at the young man still sleeping behind her.

“He’s still under sedation but he should be waking up shortly.

His patient code is 2750—same as his room number.

Doors are at the end of the hall. Key in the code and they should open.

I’ll join you shortly and give you all a debrief on surgery details and what you can expect in the next few days. ”

“Thanks, Doc.” Reese reaches for me, pulling me in for a hard, quick hug. “Colt said you were good—that he was in good hands. He was right.” Letting me go, she rushes over to wake her brother. Within seconds, they’re both gone, down the hall. Hurrying to their father.

“Sloane.”

I wish I could say I forgot he was here but I didn’t.

I could feel him while I was talking to Reese.

Filling her in on her father’s status. Telling her that her father needs to take better care of himself—watching me.

When I finally let myself turn to look at him, I feel my heart do something it’s never done.

I feel it break because when I look at him, I don’t see Jensen Barrett.

I don’t see the man who’s driven me crazy and taken care of me for the last several weeks.

I don’t see the man who’s taught me things about myself that I never knew.

Showed me that I’m worthy of being loved, just the way I am.

The man I’ve fallen in love with, against every ounce of self-preservation and rationality that I possess.

I see Jensen Pryce.

I see Ethan’s brother.

“Did your brother do that?” I ask quietly, not trusting my voice above a whisper and I suddenly understand that I’m hoping he doesn’t know. That he’s somehow as oblivious of the facts as I was. That he didn’t lie to me. Use me to get back at Ethan.

When I ask, his expression shifts from concern to something else and he steps forward, hand raised like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. Keep it from bolting. “Sloane?—”

“No.” Taking a step back, I shake my head, instantly angry because it’s suddenly clear to me that it was stupid to hope. He knows who I am. Who he is to me . “Answer my question— did your brother do that ?”

That something slowly turns to comprehension because my tone tells him that I know. Somehow, I know. Dropping his hand, Jensen swallows hard like he’s going to be sick. “Yes.”

Nodding, I shove my hands into the pocket of my lab coat. “What’s your last name, Jensen? ”

“Barrett.” He says it like it’s the truth. The only truth that matters. “My last name is Barrett .”

“What was it before it was Barrett?”

It’s like I hit him. He stares at me, stunned. Mouth slightly open, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. Trying to find the right thing to say. The right words to make what’s happening okay.

He shouldn’t bother.

I don’t need words. I don’t need an explanation.

The way he’s looking at me is all the answer I need.

“We’re done here.” I give him a nod and my vague doctor smile, using both like a shield to cover up the fact that I’m reeling. Falling apart. “But for the record, it’s not who you are. It’s the fact that you didn’t tell me.”

“I tried.” He looks sick. Like he might be dying. “I tried but?—”

“Yeah?” I shake my head while I back out the door. “Well, you should’ve tried harder.

“Goddamnit, Sloane.” He reaches up to swipe a hand over his face, so hard it looks painful. “Please, just let me explain. I?—”

“If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll have you escorted off the property by security.” I turn around and walk away before I can fall apart.