When Revelin got the call, he’d just slung his lab coat over his arm and began swinging his car keys around his finger. He was leaving the hospital heading towards his car, fully intent on leaving his twenty-two hour shift behind in favor of his husband. When Revelin got the call, he was already thinking of how he’d make up his absence to Caleb, who held a particular disdain for such long shifts, especially now that they were both older. When Revelin got the call, his phone vibrating deep in his pocket against his thigh, he answered without looking at the screen. He assumed it was Caleb, or his son, Maddox. Someone who’d been anxiously awaiting his departure from the hospital. He expected questions of ‘Are you on your way home?’ and ‘When’s a good time for me to come over? I haven’t seen you in weeks.’ When Revelin got the call, he stopped in the middle of the parking lot, met with his brother’s voice on the other end. “Jarrett?”
“Revelin,” and Jarrett’s voice was shaking, audible tremors quaking the syllables of his name. “It’s Louis. He—”
“He what?” Revelin ran to his car, cradling the phone against his shoulder as he yanked the door open and started the engine. A quick glance to either side found him racing from the lot with squealing tires, a familiar sound from his thrill-seeking youth, but far foreign when his brother was barely containing tears through a connected call.