With Nash, I don’t feel it. Sure, there’s the pain for knowing three people I’ve known since I was just a little girl are dead, but it’s just not the same as losing my best friend in the whole world.
After a few minutes, something—maybe my intuition—pulls me in a solid direction, and I walk with purpose. A multitude of emotions swarm inside me, the need to set my mind at ease and to see him with my own two eyes driving me onward, even though I’m still halfway fearing it’s going to be his brother laying in that hospital bed instead. Guilt makes an ugly appearance over that nasty thought; Hayes has always been kind to me, so inadvertently wishing he’s the one dead starts to weigh on my conscience.
Maybe I’m a horrible person.
All those Sunday school teachings about controlling your thoughts, and how thoughts are just as much a sin as actions makes me question myself.
Is all this my punishment? Have I brought the Lord’s iron-fist down on everyone I love?
I reach the ICU floor, avoiding eye contact with the two people sitting behind the desk of the Nurse’s station, employing the whole tactic of confidence and acting like I’m here doing exactly what I’m supposed to be. I roll back my shoulders, and ensure my spine is straight, holding my head high as I continue the set direction my instinct has led me. I round the corner, and my footsteps slow at the sight of Marlowe Hudson, Nash’s aunt, leaning against the wall outside of one of the room doors, her eyes squeezed shut and face still swollen red.
My socked feet arch upward so that I’m almost on my tip-toes, ensuring I’m silent and don’t alert her of my presence as I continue my approach. Each window I pass by is open, some beds having patients and some beds empty, but all of them with the curtains drawn back so that anyone can see inside. It doesn’t take but a few moments to realize this is the children’s wing of the ICU, and even in a tiny little town like Central Valley, there’s more children than one would expect.
I’ve finally made it to the window of the room Marlowe is posted up outside of, and the sense of certainty I’ve somehow convinced myself to believe in, begins to wane. Conviction is a false sense of perception. You can believe with all your heart something is right, that it’s true, but that doesn’t make it so. Just a little over a year or so ago, I learned the hard way when fate says your time is up, there’s no bargaining to be made; it’s a done deal. Yet here I am, thinking I can wish something into being reality. Fuck, don’t let me jinx myself.
Marlowe’s eyes are still squeezed shut, almost as she’s sleeping while she stands, and I ease a little closer, trying to see inside. Two feet sticking out from under the baby blue hospital blanket are the first thing coming into my view. The one closest to me is showing skin from the thigh down, a long and gruesome, Frankenstein-ish wound takes up an area at least eight inches long. I gulp as I continue to examine the injury, remembering that my father has two broken legs himself.
Taking a deep breath, I inch forward, the torso of the patient slowly becoming visible. In my head, I’ve begun to beg the universe, to pray to God, and to wish upon every star.
Please. Please. Please.
I pause when I come upon the final step that will lead me to the answer to my question, knowing once I take this step, it’s going to change my life in one way or the other. I’ll know for sure whether my best friend is dead. I’ll find out whether he’s the one who survived, or if it was his brother.
I’m still holding the same breath inside, my lungs burning as if they might burst. I close my eyes and proceed forward a few more inches, before opening them again. I only see the patient for a split second before my vision is clouded with an ocean of tears that won’t subside no matter how many times I blink, and that breath I’ve been holding inside rips its way out of my body in one long-winded, ugly sob.
A venomous voice slashes the air instantly. “You. Need. To. Leave,” Nash’s Aunt Marlowe snarls. My vision clears a little, my eyes cutting over to where I forgot she was standing. “Your family is the cause of this—the reason my nephew is in there with a concussion, a fractured rib and cuts all over his body. The reason my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and my other nephew are dead…It’s no secret your father has a drinking problem, but everyone just feels sorry for him and lets him go on his merry way. Well this is what happens!” Her voice zig-zags off the walls and all the way to the nurse’s station I’m sure.
I try to push past her, to let myself in the room and go to him. She steps in front of the door, blocking my way inside. “He needs me. We need each other right now. Please,” I attempt to explain, my eyes gliding past her and inside the window once more. From this point of view, I can see his bruised face, a slew of tiny cuts marring up his handsome features in a way that causes me to flinch. Then, I realize he’s awake. He’s conscious. His emerald eyes are on me in a way they’ve never seen me before, staring like he’s seeing me and seeing right through me at the same time.
“He doesn’t want you here. You’re just causing him more pain. Now go. Your family has already destroyed ours. We never want to see you again. He never wants to see you again…”
A wounded cry claws its way up from deep inside me, and I tear my gaze away from the boy I love, my best friend in the entire world, and run away.
I don’t stop running until I’m back to the room I started out in, passing through the door and going full speed, until I slam into my brother. He catches me when I all but fall into his arms with another fit of sobs, whispering reassurances in my ear about being home now, and how he’ll never leave me again, and I know he’s telling the truth. It doesn’t help fill this hollowness inside. Maybe I knew the moment I finally saw the face of the sole survivor that my whole life was about to change…but I didn’t understand how much.
Another one of those bright fires in my soul was just snuffed out.
My best friend didn’t die tonight, but I’m as good as dead to him.
~~~
Nash
My grasp on reality is questionable. I’m alive—I don’t feel alive. My body is functioning, but I feel nothing. My Uncle Randall broke the news my family is dead. My Dad is dead. My mom is dead. Hayes—he’s dead too. Still, nothing.
I broke free of my loss of consciousness while they were stitching my leg up. The stupid medicine that’s supposed to make it so I don’t feel anything wore off too early. Each stab of the needle and pull of the thread zinged through me in sweet torture. At least now I know my nerves are still serving their purpose. The analgesic wore off, but spread to the rest of my body instead. It infected my soul. It rotted out my heart. My ability to give a shit is fucked.
My life is fucked.
I’m fucked.
My eyes roam the room but find nothing of interest, sliding over the nurse I’d be trying to hit on any other day, passing on her as if she’s the Rosie O’Donnell type instead of the Rosie Huntington Whiteley she really is. I ignore my aunt as she gushes about how much she loves me, and how sorry she is. Finally, she takes the hint—the one that says I don’t give a fuck what you have to say right now, you’re not changing shit—and leaves the damn room, offering me the peace and quiet I desperately want.
Only, the buzzing in my brain mocks me of everything I’ve lost, even though I don’t fully comprehend it yet. Not until the local news pops up on my screen, showing the face of my brother, Hayes.
Local Sports Star, Hayes Hudson, and parents die in car accident. Two others, younger brother, Nash Hudson, and the driver of the other vehicle, Charles Knightley, listed in serious condition.
Every muscle stiffens in my battered, aching body as I read the headline sliding across the bottom of the screen. Can this nightmare get any worse? If Lyra’s dad was involved, she’s probably hysterical—maybe even ate up with guilt and consumed with worry. Images of the wreck flash across the screen briefly.
The front of Charles’ truck is crushed in with the windows broken and the side-view mirror hanging on by the wire, but our car is much worse than that. My mother�
�s sedan is barely recognizable, resembling more of a crumbled piece of paper than a vehicle.
How did I survive that? And why does my memory get fuzzy when I try to remember the accident?
The image changes again, and my brother smiles back at me from the television screen. It’s one of his football pictures taken this past summer, and a tear finally sneaks out of hiding, a tinge of the heart also making a brief appearance.
“God Dammit,” I yell, grabbing the remote someone was kind enough to leave nearby, and pressing the off button before chucking the stupid thing across the room directly at the stupid picture box.
A sharp pain stabs at my side, my ribs aching and throbbing so intensely, my breathing becomes ragged. I close my eyes, biting my lip as I wait it out.
“Come on,” I groan out loud.
When it’s finally bearable, I peel my eyes open again, a funny sensation settling over me. My gaze settles on the window—making me feel like a monkey trapped inside a glass cage, the world watching as I flip out and pitch a fit over my situation and taking pleasure in the shitshow that is my life.
Aunt Marlowe is standing guard like some sort of feisty watchdog, but someone else is with her now…
Aqua eyes meet mine and a calming relief settles over me for the first time since I woke up and heard the news. The fluorescent lights from above cascade over her form like an angelic aura, and she’s dressed in white again—just the plain polyester of the uniform hospital gown distributed to every patient, but her attire doesn’t diminish her beauty.
No fancy hair or makeup, no extravagant dress needed.
My moonlit goddess is here to save me, and she’s just as lovely now as she was last weekend.
Or maybe I’ve hit my head too hard, which brought about this side-effect of Lyra-appreciation. Next, I’m going to be seeing the fucking ghosts of my parents standing over me. I’m fucking losing it. Still, I stare at the beautiful apparition, believing there might be hope for me yet.
I’ve already lost everything, what’s one more thrown into the mix? What’s the big deal over losing myself too?
It’s hard to find the silver lining in this moment. Except, when I lose myself in her tropical stare, it’s easy to convince myself the winds are just right for smooth sailing.
I don’t want to exist right now. I don’t want to feel right now, but she’s forcing me to. She’s providing me with a sliver of light beneath a locked door when I’m lost in a darkened room. Teasing me with promises I don’t think I can handle, but I want to. I want to be strong—no—I have to be.
Then, her lids slam shut, suddenly locking me out of my paradise, knocking me out of my escape and back into the harsh confines of reality. Her entire face scrunches up in pain, and she’s gone in a whirlwind, sucking up the last bit of my hope into her retreating vortex and taking it with her.
It’s a knife driven through the chest when I’m already laying here broken and bleeding.
It’s a cheap-shot knocking me square in the jaw when I’m already down for the count.
I was there for her in her darkest hours—I was there when she lost her mom.
I’ve never held it over her head—never sought recompense for doing something any good friend would do for the other. Yet, she just walked out on me when I needed her the most.
If there was a morsel of a heart left in my chest, Stars stomped all over it when she left, turning her back on me while sealing the fate of our friendship.
Chapter Sixteen
Lyra
I wake to the smell of fresh brewed coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. A loud rumble in my stomach tells me my body isn’t protesting to the wake-up call. I stretch lazily before sliding to the edge of the bed and forcing myself into sitting position, a smile stretching across my face. I have the best sister-in-law ever. Period.
Cracking my eyes open, I freeze.
There’s a pile of sheets on the floor in the corner of my room. My bathroom door is shut, which I never do unless I have company and they’re sharing the bathroom with me…My body is stiff all over—like I’ve been stretched into several different yoga positions without much warm-up.
No! Everything comes barreling back to me at full force. I had sex with Nash Hudson last night.
“Oh my God,” I groan, swiping my hands over my face. That means there’s a very slim chance my dear, sweet sister-in-law is the one out there in my kitchen right now. I glance over at the clock.
“What the Hell?” I groan again. The red LED light proudly displays the time—four thirty in the morning.
Are you shitting me right now?
Apparently, the powers that be aren’t shitting me because a light knock comes from just outside my bedroom door only two seconds later.
I glance down at myself, realizing I’m still very much naked. I throw myself back onto the bed, yanking the sheet up with me as I go. My eyes slam shut just as the door opens.
My muscles twinge from holding them so tight all over, but there’s no way I’m facing him right now. Not without a game plan. How do I even get away? We’re in my freaking house!
A gruff throat clearing sounds from my doorway, but he doesn’t move—I know because none of the boards creak, and there’s a particularly loud one about four steps in from the hallway.
Crrreeeaaak. I stiffen.
One side of the bed dips down low, and I can feel the warmth of his body even without touching.
Then he does touch me, his hand landing on the naked skin of my shoulder as his thumb strokes back and forth—and my entire being clashes against my chicken-shit personality, dying with the need to lean into his touch even as a small part of me fights to feign sleep.
“Stars,” he reprimands, the edges of his straight sexed-up tone calloused and rough from the lingering confines of sleep. And by God, somehow it’s even more sexy. “You’re a shit actress. I know you’re awake.”
My eyes pop open as I attempt to keep up the act. “Huh?” I say groggily, peering up at him through two tiny slits.
His eyes narrow back.
“Cut the bullshit. Up.” His hand wraps around my upper arm, coaxing me into sitting position. A steaming mug of coffee is right in front of my face, produced out of nowhere.
Being the coffee addict that I am, I snatch it away without question, placing it to my lips and taking a cautious sip.
My eyes flutter shut and a tiny moan bubbles up. I can’t help it. There’s nothing I’m more passionate about than having that perfect blend of straight black coffee first thing upon waking. That, and it being served by a shirtless sex-god who’s carved from pure gold, suntanned skin and all—any girl would have the same reaction.
The way Nash’s fingers curl into my shoulder suddenly and unforgivingly has my eyes popping back open as soon as they’ve closed. It’s then that I realize my sheet has slipped away, my pert nipples hardened and out on display. I scramble to cover myself, which earns me an arched brow.
“Can’t you turn around, or at least warn a girl or something?” I snipe.
“And why would I do that?” He teases with amusement.
“Because it’s called being a gentleman. Which apparently, you’re not.”
His hand swipes over his chin contemplatively.
“I have to disagree with you there, Stars. I made you come multiple times before my big encore. Only a gentleman would do that.”
“Yeah, well you did some other things that weren’t so gentlemanly,” I argue, my face beginning to flame.
He looks taken aback—a show of pretend surprise.
“Damn, I did? I think you’re full of shit. Tell me what they were then,” he prompts, folding his arms over his chest in challenge.
“You jerked off in my shower. Then pulled me in while I still had clothes on. Then, um, you did that thing where you…” I trail off, unable to get the words out. That thing he did was amazing, but there’s no way I can put it into words without turning into a stuttering mess.
“Tha
t thing where I…?” he baits me.
“Were you put your mouth on me when I was…” I gulp.
“Say it, Lyra. What exactly did I do?” He smirks all cocky like and I want nothing more than to swipe that expression right off his face—via nails.
“When you put your mouth on me when I was bent over the bed,” I blurt all at once, throwing in, “that wasn’t very gentlemanly.”
“Call it like it is, Stars. I licked your pussy from the back. You fucking liked it. No need to be shy about it,” he says nonchalantly with a roll of the shoulders. “Then you kicked me out of your bed and sent me on my merry way.” His hand slides over his heart, a hurt look crossing his face although his eyes sparkle with laughter. “But, yeah, you’re probably right. I wasn’t my most gentlemanly last night. Although, you’ll soon find, there’s two sides to every coin—you never know which side you’re gonna get.”
“And the guy always wins—the only choices are heads and tails,” I grumble under my breath, repeating some stupid expression I overheard some of Gray’s pals saying back when they were in high-school. He flipped out on me when I asked what it meant later on.
“Did you just offer to give me head? Or was it some tail?” He grins. I stare back without responding, before rolling my eyes.
“We’ll revisit the topic later. Maybe we’ll flip for it to help us decide.” He shoots me a wink, and I watch like a hawk as he stands, offering me a hand.
Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Page 23