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The call came in the middle of a heated game of The Beanbag is Lava. He’d almost ignored it, but something in his gut told him it was important, that he needed to answer right now or he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Luckily, his students were absorbed in the game, shouting and laughing and quizzing each other on all the different facts they’d learned today. Ryland sat behind his desk, covered one ear with his hand, and held the phone up to the other.
“Hello, this is St. Mary’s Grace Hospital,” the cheery tone announced as Ryland felt his blood turn cold, “have I reached a Dr. Ryland Grace?”
His stomach dropped as his mouth ran dry. Ryland’s mind buzzed with thousands of possibilities, each one worse and worse than the last. All of them centered around one person, which made his skin crawl.
He tried to respond, but no words came out, just him opening and closing his mouth like a fish as the noise from his students started to rise above everything else. He cleared his throat and responded with a hoarse, “Yes, this is him.”
“Well, Dr. Grace, we have you listed as the emergency contact of-” Ryland crossed his fingers, trying to avoid the fact that only one person in the world would list him as an emergency contact- “Mr. Colt Seavers.”
The name hung in the air like a weight on his shoulders, his throat tightening as the joyous laughter of his students turned to a dull ringing like a bomb had been set off in the back of his mind. “I-” he tried, voice cracking- “What happened? Is he-”
“He is unconscious and currently in the ICU.” Ryland wanted to throw up, closing his fist and trying to ground himself with the sensation of his nails digging into his palms, leaving behind little angry red crescent moons. “We would suggest you arrive quickly. As his next of kin, his doctors will be looking at you to make decisions.”
“Decisions like what?” Ryland choked out, the room falling silent as his students focused on him, the beanbag landing flat on the ground with an unsatisfying whomp. He tried to ignore the crawling of his skin as he felt his students stare attentively at him, turning away from them to hide the panicked expression spreading across his face.
“He’ll be going into emergency surgery due to extensive damage to his spinal cord-” Ryland nearly choked on his own air- “you will need to make decisions on when to withdraw care.”
He stood up, body trembling. “And that means that?”
“Should he go into cardiac arrest during surgery, you will decide how long we will attempt to resuscitate him.”
“But I- you’re-” he sputtered, anxiously running his hand through his hair as his students went rigid, staring at him with a mix of confusion and pity that made his stomach churn. “You’re the doctors, like the real ones with MDs, not PhDs. You’re the ones who need to save him and I-”
“Dr. Grace,” the woman on the other end of the line said softly. “We give this option to families because we want to leave it up to them on how many times they’re willing to let their family member fight to stay alive, or if they just want to end the suffering and let the patient rest peacefully.”
Ryland swallowed back the bile threatening to erupt from his body. “But he-” he’s voice broke as a choked sob ripped itself from his throat. He felt the tension from his students tighten until it was practically possible to cut it with a pair of safety scissors. “Is he suffering?” He whispered, dreading the answer as his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.
“He’s in critical condition in the ICU.” A pause. “I suggest you get here quickly.”
Ryland slowly dropped his hand, tapping the end call button on his phone. He tucked it into the jacket of his navy sweater, running his hands through his hair nervously as his brain turned to TV static broken up only by intrusive thoughts of his twin brother lying unconscious in a hospital bed.
The invincible Colt Seavers, stuntman to the stars, hooked up to countless wires and monitors, all humming and beeping in an oddly comforting rhythm that reminded him that at the very least, his brother was still alive, and he was still a twin.
Ryland blinked back tears, his vision blurry as he looked at his students. “Just,” he pleaded. “Just stay here, I’ll have someone come in and I-” his voice broke, and he wiped at his eyes to stave off the pressure building behind them. “I have to go.”
He slammed the door open, darting across the hall into another classroom. “Ms. Stevens,” he interrupted, twenty-five pairs of eyes turning to look at him. Ms. Stevens quirked an eyebrow at him, her pen hovering over the words to some classic novel projected on the wall. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he blurted, “but I-” he took a shaky breath- “I just got a call, my brother’s in the hospital with a broken spine, and I just need someone to-” he trailed off, gesturing wildly to his class across the hall.
“Of course,” she responded, holding a hand to silence her class’s anxious murmuring. “I’ll tell the office and see if-”
He barely heard her finish her sentence as he sprinted down the hall, his mind racing in a haze as his feet pounded rhythmically against the linoleum, occasionally squeaking against the soles of his converse. His badge flapped against his chest, keys jangling as students and staff gaped at him as he ran by. Mr. Grace, notorious for clumsily fumbling during every staff vs. student competition suddenly breaking into a dead sprint like he was racing the Olympic 100 meter dash, and winning.
He ran through the parking lot, down the streets, lungs and legs burning, tears streaming down his face. Every emotion, every pain, every scream inside his head desperately pushing to escape but all held back by one single branch holding the dam together. Running. He was running. He was running towards his brother. He needed to, no, he was going to get to the hospital in time. He was going to walk right through those doors, find Colt’s room, and walk in to see him awake and talking with that stupid grin plastered across his face and his thumb already up proudly. Colt was going to be fine, he was a fighter.
Colt needed to be fine.
The rest of the journey was a haze, Ryland wasn’t sure if he’d found a bus, taxi, or honestly just ran there, fueled by the levels of adrenaline that give mothers the strength to lift cars to save their children. Or for a brother to run up and down the hills of San Fransisco to get to his twin’s bedside. His face burned with the salt from his tears and the exhaustion from the effort as he kept running, his mind spiraling to places he’d never even considered it could go.
He wasn’t ready to be the oldest.
Colt’s five-minute head start on life had always driven him crazy, especially with how Colt lorded it over him when they were kids. And how he tried to be some protective older brother when Ryland was only five minutes younger. But it had always been comforting in a way; not only did he have his twin, his other half, but he got to enjoy a few of the perks of being the baby of the family, if only by five minutes. He’d never even considered a reality where that wasn’t the case, but the thought of being the oldest, of being the only child, made him nauseous.
Please God please let him be okay.
Ryland stumbled through the door of the hospital, heaving with effort as the adrenaline began to crash. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, gulping air down. “I-” he panted- “I’m here to see-”
“Ryland?”
He took another deep breath as he stood back upright, turning to face the source of the voice. Blonde hair tied back into a low ponytail, blue eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red from sobbing, and in her arms was that damn red and black Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket. Colt’s voice echoed inside his head. “The jacket? I’ll take it off when I’m dead.”
His vision was blurred so much as he fumbled to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, barely registering that the girl standing at the edge of the row of chairs was Jody–Colt’s Jody. The Jody that Ryland first heard about when Colt announced that he had found the future Mrs. Seavers–clutching Colt’s jacket to her chest as tightly as possible.
He took a few steps forward, only for Jody to slam into his chest, nearly knocking him backwards. One arm wrapping around his neck, and the other still holding the jacket. Ryland hugged her back, feeling his shirt dampen where her face was pressed into his shoulder. He stayed like that for a moment, trying to forget why they were both even there in the first place.
“What-” he tried to say, his voice failing almost immediately as they pulled apart. “What happened?”
Jody squeezed the jacket to her chest, biting back a sob. “He- there was an accident. We were doing this stunt where he’d be lowered and just-” she sniffled, wiping her hand over her eyes- “I don’t know what happened. One minute he was hooked in, thumbs up, ready to go, and the next-” she choked on a sob- “the next he was falling.”
The pit in Ryland’s stomach opened wider as every memory of Colt’s dangerous stunts flooded his mind. The purple and yellow marks all over his skin, the scraps and cuts and raised bumps of fresh stitches, the sting of antiseptic that practically became his twin brother’s signature scent.
He’d asked Colt to stop talking to him about stunts the second time he’d come home with a cast on. Colt had shrugged it off, agreeing to it without much dissent, probably assuming that his twin brother was too busy with grading homework or getting into fights about his research topics.
Colt never asked about why Ryland always covered his eyes when he watched him do stunts on set, so why did Ryland need to put the burden of worrying about his feelings while his brother crashes cars and boats and jumps from ledges and buildings?
“The safety equipment failed?” He whispered.
She nodded, “We think so,” she answered hoarsely. “It’s just- the stunt crew checked it like three times, and then Dan, our stunt coordinator, checked it a bunch more times, and then Colt did his checks, and I just-” she gasped- “I don’t understand how they all missed something, and-”
“Jody,” Ryland said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. “How- “ his voice broke- “how far did he fall?”
Jody gulped and held the jacket tighter. “He-” she choked on a sob. “He fell twelve stories, Ryland. I-” she buried her face in the jacket for a moment before looking back up at him, watching his mind quickly convert the number into something more concrete. “The paramedics said it’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
He opened his mouth but quickly closed it as a doctor approached, clipboard in hand, white coat pristine. She looked tired, but still perfectly clinical, perfectly scientific, everything Ryland wished he could be other than a blubbering mess. She’d probably walk away from the two of them and walk straight over to another family to tell them that their family member hadn’t made it as easily as ticking another box on a checklist.
Do not give up on me, Colt.
“Dr. Grace?” She asked, to which Ryland nodded, trying to get a glimpse of her name badge. She looked older than him, so Ryland could only assume she’s had this conversation thousands of times with hundreds of patients’ families. He shuddered, trying to discern if the gaping pit in his stomach had grown any larger. After all, everyone always says that when one twin dies, the other feels it.
Please be alive. Please be alive. I don’t want to be the oldest. I don’t want to be the only child.
She turned to Jody, “Ms. Moreno?” And Jody nodded.
The doctor clicked her pen, flipping through her papers on her shiny plastic clipboard. Ryland swallowed, clasping his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back in a silent prayer to whatever governing body the universe had. Be it God, or maybe the Higgs-Boson particle, or maybe he was just screaming into the void.
Please don’t let me live the rest of my life without being a twin.
“Is Colt-” Jody tried to ask, pulling Ryland from his thoughts, before the doctor held up her hand to silence her.
She turned to Ryland, gaze hard and serious. The nervous sweat trickling down his back turned glacial as dread settled over him like an uncomfortable weight resting on his chest, pressing down on his lungs. “Dr. Grace, your brother has been brought in for emergency surgery on his spinal cord. We need you, as his next of kin, to decide how many times we’ll need to resuscitate him.”
He shook his head, the weight on his shoulders starting to manifest physically as he hunched his shoulders, his lungs struggling for air more than ever. “There isn’t any need,” he laughed deliriously, trying to cover his shaking voice. “Colt’s a fighter, he’ll pull through without-”
“He’s flatlined twice.”
The room fell silent, save for Jody’s quiet, “Ohmygod,” stifled by her hand. Ryland wasn’t even sure he was still breathing. The rest of the room seemed a million miles away, the general hum of the inpatient waiting room becoming a distant haze in the back of his mind, overpowered by the sound of his heart beating in his ears.
“What?”
“Colt Seavers has needed to be resuscitated twice so far. With the damage to his spine, ribs, not to mention the organ and nerve damage, there is a very high chance that if he does survive, he could have severe health complications for the rest of his life, or be paralyzed entirely, or any other number of complications. So, Dr. Grace, we need to know how many more times we will have to resuscitate him before you decide to let him go.”
Jody speaks first as panic grips at Ryland’s throat, rendering him immobile. “Colt could be paralyzed?” She whispered, her grip on the jacket nearly turning her knuckles white.
“How far was his fall?” The doctor asked, genuinely curious.
“Twelve-”
“One hundred and forty feet,” Ryland breathed, stiffening as though speaking it into existence made it real. Except for the critical fact that it was already real. His worst nightmare was playing out in front of him. And this time, he wasn’t going to wake up into a world where everything was okay.
He heard the doctor suck in a breath through her teeth as he said the number. “Well,” she said, her voice wavering, “that increases the risk of paralysis,” she paused, “exponentially.”
Ryland’s stomach churned with that news, settling uncomfortably in his body. He barely registered the fact that the doctor had walked past him, meeting with another group of people huddled nervously around her. Jody stared at him, still holding the jacket as if it would cause her physical pain to be apart from it.
“If he wakes up paralyzed-”
“He’s going to be fine,” Ryland muttered, running his hands through his hair anxiously. “He’ll wake up and be-”
“You don’t know that!” Jody argued.
“He’s going to be fine!”
“And what if he wakes up paralyzed, Ryland. You’re his brother,” she pleaded. “You know that will ki-” she caught herself, the words lodged in her throat. “You know it will break him.”
Ryland turned away from her, hands tucked into his pocket. He let out a shaky exhale. “I don’t care,” he stated, hearing Jody’s breath hitch and the few paces she took to put distance between the two of them.
“How could-” she tried, before her face twisted into something closer to anger. “And what if Colt doesn’t wake up?”
“He’s going to wake up. He’s going to survive.”
“You don’t-”
Ryland whipped around on her, glasses nearly flying off his face with the speed. “He’s. Going. To. Live. I’m not letting them withdraw care. They are going to shock him back to life every time he flatlines, so help me God.”
“He’s flatlined twice already-” Jody argued.
“I know.”
“Ryland-”
“Just-”
“He’s suffering, Ryland!” She shouted, marching forward and slamming the jacket into his chest. “I know that Colt’s a fighter, but they’ve already had to bring him back twice. He doesn’t deserve to keep suffering like this-”
“Jody-”
“He wouldn’t do this to you!”
“Well, I don’t give a shit!” Ryland exploded, snatching the jacket back from her. “I don’t care that he’s suffering because right now,” he heaved, choking back a sob, “right now the ends of him being alive justify the means. So they are going to keep reviving him, and I’m sorry, but he is going to keep suffering until he wakes up.”
Jody’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide in horror. “And what if he wakes up paralyzed. What if he wakes up-”
“As long as he wakes up, I don’t give a shit, Jody,” he barked. “He’s my goddamn twin brother, and I will be damned if I lose him like this. He doesn’t get to die on me this early.” His breath was choked as his body shook with something that Jody couldn’t in good conscience label as just rage. It was something deeper.
“He doesn’t get to abandon me now,” Ryland sobbed, burying his face in Colt’s jacket. “I can’t- I can’t be an only child, Jody. I need him. I need my brother.” He wiped at his eyes, drying his tears with one of the black and red leather sleeves. “So no, I really do not care that he’s suffering right now or if he’s paralyzed for the rest of his life because it means that he gets to live and he gets to live a longer life-”
“A longer life?” Jody asked, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow
“Is it stupid to think that people who aren’t Hollywood stuntmen live longer?”
She blinked, cocking her head to the side. “You hate that he’s a stuntman,” Jody whispered, the realization washing over her like a wave on the beach.
Ryland grimaced, laughing darkly. “Yeah, no shit.” He looked down at the jacket in his arms, Colt’s stupidly arrogant grin that always preceded him doing something immensely stupid coming to the forefront of his mind. “Look where it got him.” He gestured around the room, at the hospital signs, at the nurses and residents running back and forth between their patients.
“Ry-”
He sighed. “I thought he’d stop after the arm. Or the collarbone. Or the leg. Or his ribs. But no matter how many beatings he’d take-” Ryland ran his hand through his hair, a memory of Colt holding an icepack to his bruising black eye in the office at school after getting in yet another fight bubbling up to the surface of his mind- “he just. He wouldn’t stop. And I hate it, Jody,” he said, exhausted as the adrenaline finally started crashing, staring down at the lettering on the back. Stunt Team.
“He was always the brave one, but there’s a line where bravery turns into stupidity,” he bit the inside of his cheek, “And I think Colt crossed that line a long time ago.”
Jody looked at him silently for a moment, letting the words settle around them, the other noises of the hospital a dull hum in the background. “If he wakes up paralyzed,” she said gently, “he will never forgive you.”
“But he’ll wake up,” Ryland breathed. “The never forgiving me and hating me for the rest of our lives is a risk I’m willing to take. But he needs to wake up.”
He took off down the hall, leaving Jody alone in the waiting room. He barely made it a few steps behind the double doors when the doctor, still pristine and put together, appeared from a door in the hall. “Dr. Grace,” she called. “Have you made your decision?”
His words died in his throat as his brain pushed Jody’s scenarios to the front. Colt paralyzed for the rest of his life, utterly miserable, hating him for the rest of their lives. Or he could be fine.
Or he wouldn’t ever wake up.
“Dr. Grace,” her voice was more impatient, “Have you made your decision on when to withdraw care?” But all he really heard was “have you made your decision on when to let your twin brother die?”
“He’s not-” Ryland choked out. “I can’t- He’s not dying here. Please. I don’t care what you have to do, just, please.”
The doctor tucked the clipboard under her arm, looking at him, “He could-”
He cleared his throat, rocking back and forth on his heels as some futile self-soothing method. “I understand the risks, I do,” he choked out, blinking back the pressure building behind his eyes. He looked down the hallway, willing that by some miracle, Colt would come walking down the hall. For just a flash of his smirk, of that stupid thumbs up. Just wake up, Colt. Please.
Ryland swallowed, hard. “I can’t lose my brother,” he told the doctor. “Not like this. Do whatever you need to do but just, please. He has to wake up.”
He didn’t sleep the first night.
Ryland knew he should, but something about the nightmare of seeing his brother pale and hooked up to machines and wires that beeped and hummed with different data points and variables all calculating the probability of Colt ever waking up again right in front of him seemed oddly more comforting. So long as he was awake and Colt’s machines beeped as they should, he was still a twin. He didn’t want to risk what would happen in his dreams.
A hospital meal tray and scratchy blanket laid untouched, neatly set on a chair by the window by some nurse who’d tried to strike up a conversation. She’d been sweet, patient, great bedside manner, frankly. Ryland had just developed some irrational fear that he was going to miss the moment Colt woke up if his attention wavered for even a moment.
Or he could miss his moment to say goodbye. And after hearing that it took eight different rescuitations to get Colt through his surgery, he wasn’t going to miss it.
He’d dragged one of the chairs to Colt’s bedside, pulling his knees to his chest. Colt’s jacket was draped over his shoulders, the lining oddly comforting. He could understand why Colt had basically lived in that jacket for years.
The sun lowered and rose, and Ryland stayed unmoving for three more days. Jody stopped by periodically, not interacting with him besides a nod of acknowledgement. As well as a bag of takeout from his favorite restaurant on the waterfront and a change of clothes he hadn’t asked for. He’d whispered a thank you when she handed him the clothes, his fingers brushing over the worn fibres of his knitted cardigan with the foxes, but she hadn’t reacted. Just walked to the other side of the room, silently watched Colt sleep for a few hours, listened intently as nurses provided updates on his condition, and left wordlessly once visiting hours were over.
He did, however, finally allow himself to sleep. Wrapped in his worn quilt that Jody had shown up with without any further explanation, his head resting on Colt’s jacket that he’d balled up into a makeshift pillow. Finally sleeping until the sun poked through the blinds, bathing him in the golden light of the morning.
Ryland groaned, his eyes blurry as he blinked awake, fumbling for his glasses and immediately focusing on Colt’s hand…that was giving him a thumbs up.
A hoarse chuckle. “You look like shit, Ry.”
He looked up, his eyes watering with tears as he saw Colt grinning from his hospital bed. Ryland shot out of his seat, rushing over to wrap his brother in a hug as Colt winced from the pressure and pain.
“You asshole,” he laughed through tears, letting Colt out of his grip.
“Is that really how you should be talking to a bed-bound hospital patient?”
“You fell twelve stories!”
“Tis but a scratch!”
Ryland blinked, wiping a tear away as he laughed. “Don’t you dare quote Monty Python at me, you jackass.”
Colt rolled his eyes. “Well, Ry, you’re a smart guy. What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?” He asked, smirking that same, cocky, familiar, literally death-defying smirk.
His twin brother rolled his eyes. “An African or European swallow?”
The bed-bound stunt man snorted, reaching out for a less-painful side hug as Ryland leaned against his shoulder. “Thought you were a goner for a bit there, Seavers,” he sighed, his grip on Colt tightening. “Scared the shit out of me, dude. Never, ever, pull shit like that on me again, I swear to God.”
“Please,” Colt scoffed. “I’m Colt Seavers. I can jump a boat through fire with my hands tied behind my back. A little fall was not going to kill me.”
Ryland’s face fell as he sank back into his chair, the endorphins wearing off a bit to get him out of the haze of realizing his brother actually survived. “Colt, you fell twelve stories.”
“Well yeah.”
“You broke your spine in three places, you broke your ribs, you had severe internal bleeding. Colt, you shouldn’t be alive.”
“Ryland, I’m fine,” Colt assured him, rolling his eyes.
“Colton Seavers-Grace, I swear to all that is holy that I will put you back in that coma if you do not recognize the severity of what just happened to you. You almost died. You scared the shit out of me. You scared the shit out of Jody-” Colt perked up at the mention of her name- “you are not fine, you’re in the hospital after being in a coma for four days after having emergency spinal surgery,” Ryland huffed, wiping at his eyes.
Colt swallowed, the aching pain radiating through his body making it harder and harder to ignore the truth of the situation. To flash a thumbs up and a grin and feel it all melt off with a bit of ibuprofen in an hour or so. His face tightened as Ryland continued rambling about different things that the doctors had told him.
“-and then the very high risk that you could be paralyzed-”
He froze, looking down at his hands, moving each finger individually slowly. Relief washed over him as he opened and closed his fists with ease. He looked down at his blanket-covered body, inhaling sharply as he slowly tried to wiggle his toes. Ryland went silent, staring at his legs as Colt shook his legs slightly, finally exhaling the breath he’d been holding as Ryland ran his hands through his hair, shock and solace written across his face.
Colt blinked. “Well,” he announced, a breathy, slightly delirious laugh escaping from his chest, “I’m not paralyzed.” He looked up at his twin brother, one hand pushing his bangs back and the other covering his hand as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
There was a click from the door, and the brothers turned to see Jody in the doorway. Her eyes widened as she saw Colt’s face light up in recognition, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Holy shit,” she whispered, slowly walking towards him.
He grinned madly, “Well, I lived bitch.”
She wiped at her eyes, rushing into a hug, her face burying into his shoulder as his hands tangled in her hair. Jody shook as sobs racked her body, holding him closer. “Holy shit, Colt,” she whispered. “I thought you weren’t going to wake up, I swear to God.”
“Well, I woke up,” he laughed a bit. “And I am definitely not paralyzed, so that’s a bonus.”
Jody looked up at Ryland, her face hard.
“You got lucky,” she mouthed.
Ryland’s mouth was in a thin line as Colt continued talking to Jody. He nodded solemnly as Jody narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t need to say anything; Ryland already heard her, their argument playing over and over again in their head like a broken record on loop.
He looked at his twin brother, blissfully unaware of what could have been the end of more than just his career, but the end of his life. Metaphorically, and-
And. Literally.
Ryland buried his face in his hands as Colt blabbered on to Jody, trying to catch himself up on everything that had happened during his four-day nap. His four-day coma. That there was a staggeringly high possibility he wouldn’t wake up from.
But odds were that even after extensive physical therapy and rehabilitation, Colt Seavers was never going to do another stunt again. And Ryland could stop the selfish feeling bubbling up in his chest, the twisted, angry, selfish relief that this horrible accident meant that Colt was saved from his own recklessness.
And Dr. Ryland Grace would never again have to worry about going the rest of his life without a twin.