The Contract

Kane

“What the hell is wrong with you, Kane?!” my father’s voice echoes through the sterile, white hospital room.

“It was just an accident. No one died.” I huff out in response while laying one of my arms over my eyes to shield them from the searing lights.

“You were driving while intoxicated! You dragged our family’s name into the news AGAIN! Why do you insist on working so hard to destroy everything that your grandfather and I have spent our lives building?!” I knew he would be mad, but this is a little overkill.

“I already said I’m sorry! What more do you want from me?!” I rarely raise my voice to my father, but this is one of the instances where I feel justified.

“I want you to grow up! You're here for at least the next 1-2 days, but once you’re out, you'll either get your act together, or you can kiss your future in the company goodbye. I’m done, Kane. I can’t do this anymore. The PR team can’t continue to clean up your messes. Your drinking, partying, gambling, illegal street racing and fornicating with any woman who looks your way, regardless of her marital status...” I pull my arm away from my eyes just in time to see his back as he leaves the room and turns down the hall. I figured he would be upset with my antics, but this was something much more than that. I sigh in frustration as my father’s words sink in and take root. I ’ve been known as the black sheep of the family since my teen years. I’m the rebel, the playboy and the heartless bastard. How the hell does he expect me to change who I am in 2 days? I’m drowning in my thoughts when I hear the voice of a man somewhere outside my door.

“There have been no improvements. His condition is stable, but at this point, it’s the machines keeping him alive. I really think it’s time to consider the quality of life. Is this what Matthew would want?” The man comes into view and I catch sight of the petite red headed woman he’s talking to.

“There has to be something you can do. We can’t just give up on him! He may not want this, but I know he wouldn’t want to die either!” I lay my head back and silently will them away.

“It isn't just a matter of what we can do, it’s a matter of what you can afford. You’re already drowning in medical debt and the hole is only getting deeper by the day. You need to think about more than just Matthew at this point.” While I want them to shut up, I can easily admit that this doctor sounds like a prick.

“And you need to do your goddamn job! I’ve been making my payments on time and will continue to do so. My finances are hardly your concern, but Matthew is!” Oh, she’s feisty.

“Ms. Carter, you have to understand that we can’t simply provide treatment when there’s little chance of payment being received…” I’m waiting for the doctor to finish when a loud sound of skin hitting skin grabs my attention. I move my arm and it’s easy to see, judging by the way the doctor is holding his cheek and her shoulders are rising and falling rapidly, that she just slapped the doctor. She turns away from him, leaving her facing me through my open door, her blue eyes glistening with tears. She takes a deep, trembling breath. Her eyes suddenly meet mine and she quickly wipes her tears then turns back to the doctor, who’s still standing in a state of shock.

“Doctor, please, just take care of him and I'll worry about the rest.” She storms off down the hall and, after shaking his head, the doctor leaves in the opposite direction. After the strange interaction outside my door, I finally manage to find the sleep that I so desperately crave.

Braylee

Sitting in the cold, white hospital room that's become a second home, I can’t help but replay the doctor’s words in my head. I take Matthew’s hand in mine, noticing how frail his broken body has become in the 3 months that he’s been here.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t lose you.” I rest my head on top of his hand and let my tears flow. It’s been 3 months since the accident that took my father’s life and landed my brother, Matthew, in the hospital. He was diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury and in 3 months, he has shown no sign of improvement. I know it’s selfish of me to keep him like this, but how can I let him go? He’s the only person I have left. I hold his hand in mine and soon I find my eyes growing heavy as sleep takes hold once again.

I wake up to the sound of arguing in the hall and find myself slowly moving toward the door. I spot the man who had witnessed my outburst from his hospital bed standing in the hall, arguing with one of the nurses. I check the time on my phone and decide I need to get some coffee. I slowly walk out, pull the door closed and try my best to sneak past the two of them.

“I'm perfectly capable of getting my own damn drink and I want coffee! I was told they were getting my discharge paperwork together over an hour and a half ago, I'm tired, I'm hungry and I just want a damn cup of coffee!” The tall, dark and handsome man in a hospital gown shouts at the nurse.

“The last I heard, doctor said you can’t have any caffeine, Mr. Phillips.” Her snotty voice and the way she practically spit his name out like it's poison on her tongue makes me slow my pace. Is everyone here a dick? I continue to the waiting room where the coffee machine is and quickly get 2 cups of coffee then peek out into the hall and make sure they’ve cleared out before exiting the waiting room and sneaking down the hallway. I notice the nurse at the nurse’s station is busy focusing on her cell phone, so I slip into the tall man’s room. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring at me when I enter, looking at me like I sprouted 2 heads.

“I thought you might like some coffee since the Nazi nurse from hell refused you.” I hand it to him and turn to leave, but his deep voice wraps itself around me, halting my movement.

“Thank you.” I give him a slight nod over my shoulder and exit the room to return to my brother’s side. I spend most of the day holding his hand and telling him about all the things that have changed in his absence, secretly hoping he will open his eyes, but someone like me could never be so lucky.

“Can I come in?” The deep voice snaps me out of my suffocating thoughts, leaving me staring at the man from down the hall, only now he’s fully clothed in a well-tailored suit.

“Um, yes. Sorry, I was…I was stuck in my head.” He smiles, but my eyes don’t linger on it long enough to appreciate the sight, returning to watching my brother.

“I wanted to thank you for sneaking me the coffee, but I couldn’t bring myself to give anyone the crap they serve here, so I got you one from the shop a few blocks away.” I turn toward him to see him holding a cup of coffee in his hands.

“That’s nice of you, but you didn’t have to do that. So, you got discharged?” He nods as he walks closer and hands me the cup.

“Thank God, yes. That's why I couldn't understand the nurse's issue with me having coffee since I was technically a free man. So, how long have you two been here?” I take a trembling breath, feeling uneasy with being spoken to by anyone here.

“I was a patient for nine days. Matthew has been here three months, one week and two days.” His eyes widen and I catch him sneaking a quick glance at Matthew before looking back at me.

“I barely managed the 36 hours I spent here. You must have the patience of a saint.” I give him a weak smile, still holding my brother’s hand in one of my hands and the coffee in the other.

“I can’t afford to move him to a different hospital. I can barely afford to keep him here.” I lower my eyes as I feel the shame washing over me.

“Medical care is a joke. They charge more than anyone can afford to pay then offer minimal care. Do you have insurance at least?” I shake my head, eyes still downcast.

“No. I have 2 part-time jobs, but neither provide insurance. They barely pay enough to cover the monthly payments here and the mortgage on the house, but they allow me to work hours that allow me time to be here with Matthew.” I look up and see the look that so many people give me when they learn about my situation, a look I hate…pity.

“I’m sorry. I…” A deep, raspy voice cuts him off and causes us to direct our attention to the doorway.

“Kane, are you ready to go, son?” The old man with the grey hair and expensive suit calls out.

“Yes, dad. Thanks again for the coffee earlier. I hope things work out for you.” I nod and watch him walk out, not failing to notice that his father lingers in the doorway a little longer, staring at me, or maybe his eyes are focused on Matthew? He gives a half smile then leaves, following his son. I look at my brother and slowly fall into a maze of memories and regrets.