that Joe had that power over her.
* * *
Luc Marshall did the ninety-minute drive from LA in an hour ten, which was fast, even for him. Throwing his Mercedes-AMG into the first parking space he could find, he shot out of the car, and his long legs ate up the distance to the hospital entrance. He barreled through the mirrored automatic doors and nailed the blonde at the reception counter with a hard look. “ICU?”
She responded to his brusque, taut tone with succinct directions, and Luc lifted his head in thanks. Too tense to wait for the elevator, he found the stairwell and ran up to the third floor, slowing down at the top of the stairs to rake his hand through his hair, to smooth down his tie. He was the medical professional in the family; if his mother and siblings saw how worried he was, they would lose it. It was better that he appear calm, that he pretend that their world hadn’t been tipped upside down, that he establish the facts and plan a course of action. All he knew was that his father had been in a car accident, that he was coming out of surgery and would be moved to the ICU shortly. He needed more facts, and it was his job to translate the medical jargon into words his family could understand and then guide them as to what to expect. To do that, he needed to detach, to be a doctor, to temporarily forget that the patient was his father, his role model, his flawed hero.
Luc took a deep breath and pulled open the door to the waiting room just outside the ICU, immediately noticing that Rafe stood by the window, staring down at the parking lot below. Rafe looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed—his hair was mussed and his jaw was heavy with stubble.
“New car?” Rafe asked, not bothering to turn around. “Your Tits and Ass practice must be doing well.”
Luc jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. He knew Rafe was trying to act normally—he jabbed Luc about being one of the best boob surgeons in the state and Luc mocked him about his inability to commit to anything—but today he couldn’t summon the energy to step into the ring with his younger brother.
“Not now, Rafe.” Luc said. He looked toward the closed doors leading to the entrance of the ICU. “Is he in there yet?”
Rafe lifted one shoulder. “They won’t tell me or Mom anything. She got so angry that she went outside for some air. Maybe you can find out.”
Luc nodded his agreement. He walked away from Rafe and crossed the room to the nurses’ station. Explaining who he was, he asked the duty nurse to page Harrison’s doctor, his doctor-in-charge voice suggesting that she not argue. The doctor was paged, and Luc was told to wait. He placed his hands on the counter and straightened his arms, looking down at the floor below him. He should join Rafe, should try to comfort his brother, but he needed a minute—or ten.
It was at a time like this that Luc wished that he and his brother were closer, that Rafe was someone he could lean on, who could sometimes support him instead of the other way around.
But, God, they were just so different and always had been. He was, on paper, the perfect child. He was everything his father had wished for in a son—handsome, brilliant, the top of his field—but not the field Harrison wanted Luc in. Instead of following his dad into the family business, Luc had followed his passion and become a doctor. Luc often wondered if Harrison ever looked beyond what he did to who he was. Luc had done everything right—he’d been a varsity athlete in college, a brilliant student in med school. Still, Harrison seemed to love him but didn’t know anything of the man he was beneath the model-son facade.
Luc felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, and he pulled it out, glad for the distraction. Relief turned to disappointment when he saw the name on the screen. His girlfriend Rachel wasn’t the person he most wanted to talk to. Luc knew that wishing she’d call him was like waiting for a boat at an airport—consistently futile. Luc let Rachel’s call go to voice mail and immediately regretted the decision. Rachel, and her father, Congressman Nicholas Franklin, would not appreciate hearing the news about Harrison via a friend or a news feed. Not up to talking to Rachel, he sent her a quick text message updating her on the situation. Luc stared down at his phone, resisting the urge to make another call...
That way madness lay.
She was out of his reach. He should accept that and move the hell on.
Luc heard hurried footsteps approaching and snapped up his head. He straightened as he watched the lanky frame of the middle-aged doctor approach, his tie askew and his eyes sunken from exhaustion. A hand was thrust in his direction. “Dr. Grant. You are Dr. Marshall?”
Luc shook his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “What’s the status on my father?” He saw and appreciated the respect that flashed in the older doctor’s eyes at his unwillingness to be mollycoddled.
For the next ten minutes, Luc listened to Dr. Grant detail his father’s injuries, the steps they’d taken to treat him and his prognosis. The explanation was full of technical and medical terms, but it was a language they both understood. Joe had passed on the information he’d gathered from talking to the cops about how the accident happened—too fast, car flipped, Dad was thrown through the windshield—but now Luc had solid and concrete information about Harrison’s prognosis.
“So, basically,” he mused, “I need to tell my family that Dad’s brain smacked against the inside of his skull on impact with the steering wheel or the windshield. After hitting the front of the skull, the brain probably bounced back and slammed against the back of the skull. Major forces were involved. There is tissue and blood vessel damage. And swelling. That’s why he had to be rushed into the OR to relieve the pressure, but the trauma has caused him to slip into a coma.”
“You know this,” Dr. Grant added. “If he survives the next two nights, he’s got a fighting chance, but the chances of him making a full recovery are—”
“Minimal at best.” Luc finished the sentence for him.
Dr. Grant nodded. “Yeah.”
Luc sent him a hard stare. “We’re not going to give up on him. Our family has resources...”
Dr. Grant sent him a sympathetic smile. “You and I both understand that there are some situations that money can’t fix—only time and luck can.”
Luc closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Dr. Grant was striding away. Luc threw a quick glance across the room and noticed that Rafe hadn’t moved from his position at the window, his bottom lip between his teeth.
God, Rafe. It was easier to focus his attention on his brother than to think of his father hooked up to machines, bruised, bloody, broken.
Damn, his brother annoyed him. Luc didn’t give a shit about his sexual orientation, but Rafe’s lack of motivation, his aimless life, irritated Luc. Like him, Rafe was naturally talented at pretty much everything, including sports and academics. Everything Rafe touched turned to gold. He could be anything he wanted to be and be the best at whatever he did, but instead Rafe dabbled, moving from one interest to another—interior design one week, furniture design and landscape gardening the next. He was the dilettante Marshall, helping Mariella design and stage their bigger catering events, and he also worked as a consultant when one of the many Marshall hotels or restaurants needed a design revamp. From what he’d gathered, Rafe strode in, tossed his ideas around and left as abruptly, fully expecting the minions to implement his ideas. Rafe didn’t believe in getting his hands dirty.
Luc, as artistic as a lettuce leaf, knew Rafe was talented. He could see his distinctive signature all over the Marshall properties. He could be an amazing architect, interior designer, set designer, artist—he was that talented. He just had the attention span of a puppy. God, what a waste of that phenomenal brain.
Luc flicked a glance at the doors leading to the ICU. Harrison appreciated Rafe’s talent, but he related better to Luc, who was, he supposed, the more “conventional” of the two. Rafe had once told Luc, in a moment of rare, deep conversation, that he’d never lived up to Harrison’s expectations and walking in his macho older brother’s footsteps hadn’t helped. Of course, some of Rafe and Harrison’s