Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

did not need to see his chart. The equipment in the room told the story. Pleur-evac connected to wall suction for the pneumothorax. Ventilator to assist breathing. Three IV pumps pushing fluids and antibiotics. NG tube to wall suction to keep the stomach empty. Pulse ox monitor. Blood-pressure monitor. Heart monitor. Urinary catheter. Surgical drains. A crash cart was pushed against the wall, the defibrillator on standby.
    They weren’t expecting Jared to rally anytime soon.
    With great resignation, Sara forced herself to look at the corner opposite the bed.
    Lena was sleeping. Or at least her eyes were closed. She was balled up in a large chair. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, knees hugged to her chest. She was wearing hospital scrubs, probably because her clothes had been booked into evidence.
    She seemed much the same. A yellowing bruise arced underneath her left eye. The bridge of her nose had a linear cut that had started to scab. Neither was unexpected. Sara could not think of a time when Lena didn’t have some visible bruise or mark that came from living her life so hard. The only thing different was her hair. It was longer than the last time Sara had seen her. At the funeral?Sara couldn’t remember. No one in the Linton family could bear to utter the woman’s name.
    Sara took a deep breath, then walked into the room.
    In many ways, seeing Jared was much harder than seeing Lena. He looked so much like Jeffrey—the dark hair, the tone of his skin, the delicate eyelashes. He was built like his father. He walked with the same athletic grace. Jared even had the same deep voice.
    Sara put her hand to his face. She couldn’t stop herself. She stroked her thumb along his forehead, traced the arc of his eyebrow. His hair was thick and surprisingly soft, like Jeffrey’s had been. Even the scruff of his beard felt familiar, was growing back in the same pattern as Jeffrey’s.
    Lena still hadn’t moved, but Sara could tell she was awake now—watching.
    Slowly, Sara took her hand away from Jared’s face. She would not let herself feel ashamed for touching him, for thinking the obvious thoughts, making the obvious connections.
    Lena shifted in the chair. She unfolded herself, rested her feet on the floor.
    Sara held Jared’s hand. The palm was calloused. Jeffrey’s hands had always felt smooth. His nails had been trimmed, not bitten to the quick. His cuticles weren’t torn at the edges. Sometimes, Sara had caught him using the oatmeal-scented lotion she’d kept on the table by their bed.
    Lena stood up from the chair.
    Sara’s heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t know why. Just being in the same room with Lena made her feel nervous. Even with the cop outside. Even knowing that there was no way Lena could harm her, Sara felt unsafe.
    And Lena, as usual, was oblivious. She stood by the bed. She didn’t touch Jared. Didn’t reach down to ease him or to reassure herself that he was still there. Instead of holding him, she held herself.Her arms were wrapped around her waist. She had always been so goddamn self-contained.
    “Sara—” Lena breathed. It was more like a sob. Lena had never been ashamed to cry. She used it to great effect. She hissed in a mouthful of air, her body shaking from the effort. Her hand gripped the railing on the bed. Her wedding ring was yellow gold with a small diamond. Blood was caked into the setting. She was waiting for Sara to say something, to make it all better.
    Automatically, the words came to Sara’s mind, the advice she had given over countless hospital beds:
It’s okay to touch him. Hold his hand. Talk to him. Kiss him. Ignore all the tubes coming out of his body and lie beside him. Let him know on some basic level that he is not alone. That you are here to help him fight his way back
.
    Sara said none of this. Instead, she chewed at the tip of her tongue until she tasted blood. Her heart was still pounding. The fear was gone. A coldness had taken over. Sara could feel it moving through her body, its icy fingers wrapping around her torso, scratching at her throat.
    “I can’t—” Lena’s voice caught. For Sara, it was like listening to herself five years ago. Just with those two words, she felt it all over again. The devastation. The loss. The loneliness.
    “I can’t—” Lena repeated. “I can’t do it. I can’t live without him.”
    Sara gently pulled her hand away from Jared’s. She smoothed down the sheet, tucked it in close around his side.