“You can’t wait to get away from Dad and me, can you?” Her words are venom spit at my mom. But Mom’s grey eyes are steel. Lacey stands and begins to pace with fist-clenched hands. “Dad, are you just going to let her leave us like this?” she asks, standing at his back. He takes a deep breath and lets go of the window. I realize he’s been bracing himself against it, letting my mom do the dirty work of telling us that their marriage is over.
“It’s what your mom wants,” he says and I almost laugh out loud. Lacey turns on my mom, and their eyes meet.
“You just want to get rid of us. Like it’s that easy to forget that I exist.”
“Lacey, that’s not it at all,” Mom begins and rises toward her in front of the coffee table. But even I don’t really believe her either.
“You blame me for everything; Lana’s cutting, her spiraling, her accident, and everything that has gone wrong in this family. You probably blame me for your marriage, too.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is! You’ve been cold, distant and can’t even stand to be around me. You fired me and then set ridiculous restrictions on me with Chase. We are grown up enough to make our own choices.”
“Lacey—” Mom interrupts, but she ignores her.
“And now you’re pushing me and dad away because we don’t fit into your world anymore. I don’t deserve this, and neither does he. It. Wasn’t. My fault.” And I think she finally believes it. I want to jump up and hug her. It was never your fault, Lacey. “He doesn’t deserve this or you, and your selfish ways. I’m glad you’re leaving. I hate you, you Bitch!” she screams, but before the words leave her mouth, Mom slaps her across the face causing her head to jerk hard. I cover my mouth suppressing the scream, but Lacey doesn’t; she yells as she clasps her cheek.
“Amber!” Dad steps in between them, but I can see the tears burning Lacey’s eyes.
“Don’t ever touch me again!” Lacey cries from behind our dad.
“You are still my child.” Mom points her finger at Lacey. I stand up before I realize it.
“Dad cheated on Mom!” I yell because I can’t stand that Lacey and Mom are fighting. Everyone stills and turns to look at me. I say more softly, “Dad has been sleeping with Krysta at least since September.” Dad’s face turns red, Mom’s is white, and Lacey’s anger falters.
“Lana?” Mom questions.
“I went to see him at his office, to borrow money for something, I can’t even remember what now, but the back door wasn’t locked. I heard them talking; I thought they were arguing, but when I stood in the doorway of his office I heard them. I saw you,” I turn and say to my dad, but he quickly looks away. “And at first I couldn’t believe it, but. . .” I trail off and slump into the couch.
“You never said anything. I asked you if you were keeping any other secrets. Why didn’t you tell me?” Mom asks softly, maybe shell-shocked herself.
“I couldn’t.”
“You should have.” She moves toward me to hug me; but I watch Dad and Lacey. He turns to her, but she holds up her hands to him, keeping him at arm’s length. The tears are streaming down her cheeks.
“How could you? And the lecture you gave me New Year’s about honesty and integrity?” she whispers in disgust.
“There’s so much that you girls don’t understand,” he says as he steps toward her. She matches his steps moving backwards. “Lacey, please,” he pleads.
“Stay away from me, both of you!” she cries and runs from the room. I pull away from my mom and follow her, but by the time I get to the door, she’s tearing out of the driveway in her car, running away from all of us.
Lacey
I drive. At first, I’m not sure where I’m driving to. I can’t believe I rushed home for this. I left Chase alone. He’s had a killer headache since last night. He was so stubborn, refusing to go to the hospital. He said if he still had the headache on Monday, he’d see the doctor. Still, I hated leaving him, but I had to. Mom wouldn’t allow me to spend the night last night, even after Mike asked her. After I told Chase every detail about Byron’s revelation, I left Mike sitting in Chase’s room, watching him sleep. I rushed back over first thing this morning and have been trying to take care of him all morning, like fixing his breakfast, which he threw up almost immediately. I turned off my phone as soon as I got into my car when I left my house; I think I just have to wrap my head around this. The tears sting my eyes. I don’t want to believe this is really happening. This is not happening. No way this is happening. I shake my head as a heavy tear slides down my face. I quickly wipe it away and just. Drive. I end up at our spot. I park and stare at the stark woods. In two months, Mom and Lana are leaving. Dad and I are staying. She’s leaving me with a cheater. He cheated on her with skanky Krysta. What was he thinking? The tears flow freely now. And I sob. The stability, familiarity, the reassurance of their love for each other, and their love for us dissolved right in front of my face. Everything I knew as fact is now complete fiction. All of my truths are fabrications. How did I not see this coming? I hit my steering wheel in frustration. Then I yell, I scream, at the top of my lungs as tears stream down my face. I scream until I hyperventilate. Then I calm down a little, and after my tantrum is over, I take a deep breath. I want to get all of this out of my system before I return to Chase. I don’t want him to be concerned. I’m already worried too much about him. He just needs to rest and relax. Before I start the car, I check myself in the mirror and touch up my makeup. Then as I drive to Chase’s house, I swing into Steak and Shake and get Chase, Mike, and me some burgers, fries, and shakes. I try not to think about my mom slapping me, or my dad cheating on her . . . or the fact that Lana knew this whole time and said nothing. I rush to his house so that the food is still warm when I get there. I park beside his car and carry everything inside.
“Chase, I’m back, and I brought food. Are you hungry? Do you feel like eating?” I call as I set our food on the counter and go into his room. He’s not there, but I hear the shower running so I knock on the bathroom door and repeat myself but there’s no answer. I wonder if he heard me. I race up the stairs to take Mike his food.
“Thanks,” he smiles as he comes down from the second floor in fresh clothes, his hair still wet from a shower himself. “Chase is in the shower.”
“I heard it going. I’m going to go back down and make sure he’s OK,” I say, as I turn to go back to the door.
“Is everything alright at home?” I stiffen, frozen.
“Yeah, why?” I ask evasively, not turning to look him in the face.
“Well, you left in a hurry; I just wanted to make sure everything is OK.” I hear Mike unwrap his sandwich and take a big bite of it.
“It’s been a really stressful weekend,” I sigh before I go back down the stairs. The shower is still running, so I go to Chase’s room and pick up the dishes from earlier and spread his duvet, smoothing it delicately. Then I go to the bathroom door and knock. “Are you OK?” I ask. He still doesn’t answer. I go back to the kitchenette and put our food on plates. I take them into his room and set them on his desk. I go to the bathroom door again. I turn the knob. “I got us Steak and Shake, are you hung—” I stop as I open the door, and for the second time today, I scream. This can’t be real. I have a sudden flashback to finding Lana lying on the floor with blood surrounding her, as I stare at Chase. In his gym shorts, blood trickling from his nose, he lies on the floor, eyes closed, lifeless beside the running shower. I race to his side and touch his neck with shaking hands. His pulse is strong. Then I turn his head and hold his face in my hands. “Chase? Chase? Baby,” I plead. His head is limp in my hands. I pat his cheek gently. This is not happening. What’s wrong? Mike appears in the doorway and looks at us.
“What happened?” he asks, but he must already know that I don’t know. He clutches his stomach, and I watch all the color drain from his face as I answer.
“I found him like this.” My voice trembles. “Chase, please, come on, wake up.” Mike takes his phone out of his pocket and dials a number as he rushes in beside me. My tears fall onto Chase’s cheek and stream to his tiled floor. “Is he br-breathing?” he asks breathily. He checks his neck for a pulse too, as I rise and wet a washcloth.
“Yes, what’s going on?” I ask, though I know he’s as clueless as I am. I delicately wipe the blood from his face. “Chase, wake up,” I beg. I expect him to open his eyes and begin to rise shaking his head, giving me his crooked smile, and saying something like, “I didn’t see that puddle of water, I’m such a klutz.” But there’s no puddle of water on the floor. There’s nothing that he could have slipped on.
“Yes, I have an emergency, my son is unconscious . . . yes I’m sure he’s breathing. No, no drug use. No! No alcohol abuse . . . I understand . . . We found him in the bathroom. There was blood coming from his nose; he might have hit his head.” Mike rises and begins to pace as he gives the 911 operator their address. My tears continue to fall. I delicately push Chase’s messy hair away from his face.
“You promised me you wouldn’t leave me. Don’t leave me,” I whisper desperately in his ear. I feel as though I’m dying. Our life together flashes before my eyes, him leaning on the post by my front door on a spring day, our first kiss, playing video games, sitting on the trunk of his car at our spot looking at the stars in the sky, drinking coffee in his car as we talked, riding on the back of his bike, sitting in a secluded corner of a quiet restaurant, all those nights together. I see his face, happy, sad, laughing, angry, content, wistful, sexy, and finally blank. Two paramedics arrive, and Mike pulls me away by my shoulders so that they can look at him. He answers their questions as we leave the bathroom, and I collapse on my knees on the floor by the bed. I think I’m having a heart attack because this aching in my heart, in my chest, in my stomach feels as though my insides are being ripped away from me.
“Lacey, I’m going to ride in the ambulance. Are you OK to follow us to the hospital?” Mike asks me hastily as he follows the paramedics out of the bedroom. I try to stand, but I fall again on my knees. He rushes back to my side. “I need you to be strong for Chase and for me,” he says in a low, shaking voice. I wipe my eyes. I try to speak, but I don’t have words. “Lacey?” he asks again almost in desperation, while rising and pulling me to my feet at the same time. “Can you follow us?” I nod, grab my purse from the counter as we pass it, and follow him out of thet basement. I follow him all the way to the ambulance. He climbs in, and I stand there staring at Chase as the paramedics hook machines up to his fingers, put tabs onto his chest with wires leading to other machines, and place an oxygen tube under his nose. “Lacey, we’ll meet you at the hospital,” Mike commands. The doors close in my face, and I’m startled. The ambulance pulls away, and I blink wildly. He’s leaving. Chase is leaving me. I stumble to my car and start it. I go to follow them, but they are racing down the country road by the time I exit the housing addition. I floor it and drive erratically. With rolling stops at stop signs, and cutting off other drivers, I travel at speeds I’ve never attempted before. I have to be with him; I have to know he’s safe, that he’s going to be alright. When I reach the hospital, I race inside to the emergency room. I advance straight to the reception desk and ask about Chase. The woman behind the desk tries to smile a comforting smile as she tell me she’ll see what she can find out, but it only heightens my fear. She tells me to have a seat, but I don’t want to sit. Instead, I reach in my purse and grab my phone to go outside. I turn it on and find a multitude of text messages from my parents, Lana, Tasha, and Jade. None from Chase; it’s silly to focus on that, but I always have messages from Chase. I grip my phone as I dial the house number. I don’t want to talk to anyone; I want to get the voicemail.
“Hello?” Lana answers on the second ring.
“Lana, something happened to Chase. I’m at the hospital with Mike and him. I don’t know what’s going on because we just got here. But I wanted you guys to know where I am if you didn’t hear from me for a while.”
“Lacey, what do you mean?” I hear panic in her voice. I don’t want to hear that because I’ll panic too.
“When I got back to his house, he was passed out on the floor. He’s with the doctors now. I guess when I know something, I’ll call you and let you know. OK?” I have to get off the phone. My head is starting to hurt from all the crying, and I need to take out these contacts.
“OK,” she says softly.
“I’m turning my phone back off now,” I say as I hang up over her objections. I go back into the waiting room and take care of myself in the bathroom, splashing cool water on my face, holding cupped hands of water to each eye for soothing, pulling my hair up into a pony tail, and putting on my glasses. Back in the waiting room, I settle into an uncomfortable bench seat near the receptionist’s desk. I pull my feet up and hug my knees, watching the door that leads to the ER, willing it to open and produce Mike with Chase strutting out beside him, rolling his eyes at our overreaction.
Time passes. Seconds turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours. Mike appears, and says Chase is in a coma and something about surgery to relieve pressure from swelling. Then he disappears again, back into the ER. I watch the shadows slowly move across the floor in front of me. The lights come on, and I can no longer see the traffic through the large plate-glass windows in my peripheral vision; I only see the waiting room reflected. I stare at the empty chair across the walkway from me. I’m not sure how long I’ve sat like this, hugging my knees. The only comfort comes from memories because if I don’t think about them, my mind will wander to many horrible scenarios.
“Hey,” I hear Byron’s voice, but I don’t acknowledge it. He sits beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me to him. I hear him hiss softly when my head reaches his shoulder. Tears slide heavily down my cheeks, and everything looks abstract through them as they refill my eyes. “He’s going to be all right.” He lets me lean on him. I look up at him. His cheek is swollen, his left eye is bloodshot and blackened, and his bottom lip is swollen with a large gash. I finally look around. Mike, my mom, my dad, Lana, Tomas, Jade, Evan, Stain, A.J., Thax, Tasha, Paul, Byron, Bea, Stacey, and Henry all sit around me. When did they all get here? I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Mr. Livingston?” a Hispanic doctor in green scrubs asks. He looks familiar, but before I can even think, Tomas leaps from his chair.
“Dad, how is he?” he asks the doctor. His dad looks around the group, resting briefly on my parents.
“Mr. Livingston?” he asks again. He must want to speak to him in private. This can’t be good. Mike rises and runs his hands through his hair as he and Tomas’ dad step to an isolated part of the waiting room. The doctor talks with small, concise hand gestures, and even draws something on the paper he’s holding as Mike, watches, listens, nods, and narrows his eyes every so often like he’s digesting the information. My heart pounds in my ears. Finally, Mike comes back over, and I can’t look at him.
“He’s out of surgery. He’s going to be in recovery for a couple hours. But then we can go see him.” I look up at him, and he’s looking right at me. “He’ll be in the ICU at least overnight before they transfer him to the neuro-unit. He’s still in a coma and will be until they are sure he’s OK. I have to make some phone calls.” Mike turns and crosses the waiting room to go outside.
“He’s going to be OK,” Mom says, relieved. I stare at her.
“Why are you here?” I ask, surprised at the acidity in my voice while Mom blanches.
“Lacey,” my dad warns.
“For that matter, why are you here?” I turn my gaze on him. Everyone is in shocked silence, eyes wide, just staring at me, as I glare through glassy eyes at my parents. “I need some air,” I say, rising and crossing the waiting room to the main lobby where I exit through the main entrance, completely on other side from w
here Mike went to make his calls. Once I’m outside, a crisp spring breeze assaults my face. The fallen wisps of hair dance around my cheeks. All I feel is numb. All I want to do is disappear. I step off the sidewalk and collapse onto my knees in the grass, burying my face in my hands.
It’s two a.m. Mom and Dad have gone home. All of Chase’s bandmates are crashing at his house. All of my other friends have gone home while Chase’s mom arrives in a whirlwind of messy hair and mascara-streaked cheeks. I sit outside of the ICU while Mike and Melissa are sitting with Chase. I’m scared. Finally Melissa comes out, wiping her eyes and nose with a tissue. I stand to meet them, and she embraces me in a tight hug and begins to sob. I hold her until she’s only sniffling. She releases me and sits in the chair.
“Come on, sweetie,” Mike encourages. We go through a door and down the hall. I pass rows of windows that show men and women hooked up to wires, tubes, and breathing machines, and walls of flat-panel screens showing stats and graphs. “Don’t be scared by what you see,” Mike soothes as we pause by a door. I look through the glass first. Chase, my Chase lies there, swollen, bruised face, with tubes coming from everywhere. A machine helps him breath, and my stomach turns.
“His hair,” I gasp. His head is bandaged, but I don’t see any of his wavy locks peeking out from underneath.
“They were just going to shave where they needed to for the surgery, but I know Chase would want all or nothing so I asked them to just shave it all.
“Can I go in?” I ask, fingers trembling at my side.
Mia Castile - [The Butterfly Chronicles 02] Page 26