He offers an understanding nod and moves in closer to Connie and me. “Mr. Dandridge, Chase sustained quite a few injuries; the most critical were to his head.”
“But he’ll be okay, right? You worked on him for hours, so he’s going to be okay.”
“Mr. Dandridge—”
“My damn name is Dylan. Tell me my brother’s going to be okay,” I yell.
Connie takes my hand in hers, squeezing it almost like she’s preparing for something. The doctor looks to me. “Dylan, you’re brother’s currently on life support—”
“But that just means he can’t breathe on his own. He can still come out of it.”
Dr. Stalin shakes his head, but before he says anything, I see it in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but your brother no longer has brain function. Dylan, there’s nothing more we can do.”
It’s like all the air has been knocked out of my lungs. The room’s spinning and my legs fall out from underneath me. It’s faint, but the only other thing I can hear are the broken cries from Connie as she falls beside me.
“I’ll give you both a moment to process. It can be a lot, so please take your time. We can discuss the next steps when you’re ready.”
I look up to the doctor. “Next steps?”
“Dylan, as Chase’s guardian, you still need to give us your consent to remove him from life support.”
“Are you telling me I have to decide to end my brother’s life?” My words are barely audible through my choked sobs.
“I understand it’s difficult,” the doctor replies.
“Really? Do you? Do you have any idea what you’re asking me? You’re asking me to kill my seventeen-year-old brother,” I let out, standing to my feet.
“Dylan, you’re not killing him, he’s already gone. The machines he’s hooked up to are what’s keeping his body alive and nothing more.”
I rub my eyes with the heel of my palm and clear my throat. “I need to get out of here.” Moving past the doctor, I leave him and Connie in the room.
I can’t do this. Not now—not ever.
Chapter 20 Velyn
When I first woke up, I had no recollection of anything that had happened. All I knew was that I couldn’t move.
Joan was the first person I saw with her gentle eyes lighting up as I came to. Then sadness followed. She didn’t tell me much at first, only revealing little by little. She kept saying that there was plenty of time for the details and that all I needed to do was focus on getting better. It wasn’t until a week after that I’d learned of Chase’s passing. At that point, it had already been three weeks since the accident. They had a small burial for him with most of his family and friends in attendance—all except for Dylan.
No one’s seen or heard from him since the day of the accident. The day he found out his brother was gone. I’m worried about him. Chase kept him grounded. He was his family, the only one he felt he had. Without Chase in his life, Dylan will be lost, much like my father was when my mother died.
“Velyn, sweetheart, are you up for a visit?”
I look to the door, and this is one of the rare times I feel happy. The one time of day that everything seems like it’ll work out and be okay again and that the pain, both physical and emotional, will go away.
“Daddy,” I greet with a smile.
“Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling today?”
It had to take almost losing me for my father to sober up, but none of that matters. He’s currently forty-two days sober, not having touched a drop since the day of the accident. Thankfully, Stu and Joan were there to help get him through the first few days of detox then managed to get him into a rehab facility in the area. His journey’s going to be a long one, but I believe in him because when I look into his eyes, I now see the man I always remembered from before…my father.
“How long do you have?” I ask.
He comes to my side taking my hand in his. “Thirty-minutes. I have a new worker today, and she’s somewhat of a warden.”
I let out a chuckle. “Keeping you in line, is she?”
“She is.”
“How have your meetings with the clinic psychologist been going?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Okay, I guess. She’s still really trying to get me to open up about your mom. She seems to think if I can’t get through my feelings about that, I'm just going to be caught in a cycle. I don't know; I just don’t feel like I'm ready to talk about her yet.”
“Dad, I don’t know how any of that works, and honestly, I’m just over the moon with excitement that you’re working toward getting better. But maybe try it. She’s a professional and deals with this stuff every day. She may have a point when saying that dealing with your feelings about mom’s death is what’s really going to progress your recovery.”
He shrugs then smiles, squeezing my hand. “Enough about that; I’m boring. I want to hear about you. Have the doctor’s been in today? Is there any news?”
“Not yet, but when I had my physical therapy this morning, Clyde said I was doing great. I’m still struggling with my coordination, but I guess that’s expected,” I explain.
“That’s good,” my father says, a smile wide across his mouth.
I let out a breath, not sure if I should bring up the next topic, but I feel it’s better now than when he gets home. “Dad, I had to tell Joan to speak with Mr. Volpe, our landlord. I’m behind on rent and we
won’t be able to come up with the
