“Only you could think of your stomach at a time like this,” Mason said from a couch on the opposite wall, and Cole realized one side of his own mouth was tugging upward in a hint of a grin. They didn’t have reason to feel lighter, no cause for relief, but there was something about the hour and the extreme circumstances, the isolation of the waiting room, that made everything feel surreal. Surreal beat the hell out of cold fear, Cole thought.

“Wrong. If Zane was here, he’d agree with me,” Drake said from his nest of blankets. “Probably could even be convinced to go out and find some food for us. And beer. I could use a beer.”

He was probably spot on, as the twins’ united goal in life had always been to eat the family out of house and home. Cole figured that’s where the majority of their dad’s life insurance had gone—toward feeding the three active, athletic sons who’d still lived at home. Drake and Zane seemed to have an ongoing competition for who could eat the most.

“Anyone talk to Z yet?” Cole asked. Last he’d heard, their brother was deployed overseas somewhere, but he wasn’t sure how up-to-date his info was.

“I sent him an email,” Mason said. He’d staked a claim on the other couch, next to Cole’s chair. “There’s not much else we can do at this point.” The truth hung heavily over their heads that if they needed Zane home for a funeral, their options for contacting him would increase. “I haven’t heard back yet.”

It was almost funny how, even now, with all of them in their thirties or late twenties, the brothers still fell into their usual roles.

Mason was the leader, acting as the spokesperson with medical personnel. He couldn’t not take the lead in anything in life, Cole was pretty damn sure of it.

Drake was the baby, the one who got by on charm alone, who’d managed to convince a good-looking nurse to share a piece of the chocolate cake the medical staff had behind closed doors in celebration of a fellow nurse’s birthday.

If Zane were here, he’d probably fill the hours by talking their ears off about his passion—planes and flying—just as he had since he was a grade-schooler.

Gabe was the quintessential peacemaker, the guy who made sure everyone was okay, or as okay as they could be with their mom currently under the knife.

And Cole, he was the asshole brother, the keep-to-himself guy, the black sheep. Tonight, he’d mostly just sat quietly, pensively, consumed by thoughts of his mom and brothers and his relationships with each of them. His conclusion? He sucked at relationships. Always had.