The OUT OF LINE Series

by Jen McLaughlin

  She laid her hand over mine and I clung to her, needing her strength now more than ever. But I didn’t let go of Dad. It seemed like it took ages for the paramedics to come inside, but when they did, I finally released Dad’s hand, but not Carrie’s, and moved out of their way. They came to the side of the bed and checked his pulse.

  Carrie’s dad leaned down and whispered something to the man. After he finished, they both looked at me. The paramedic bent over Dad, his fingers doing something I couldn’t see. Senator Wallington approached me, his eyes filled with sadness and acceptance. I wasn’t accepting a damn thing he told me. “Griffin, I know it’s hard, but he’s gone. There’s nothing we can do to save him now.”

  “You’re wrong.” I shook my head, my vision blurring. My heart thudded in my ears, and I backed up, dropping Carrie’s hand. I looked at the paramedic, who looked fucking terrified of me. “He’s alive, right? Tell me he’s alive.”

  The man looked at Senator Wallington before studying me. “His heart gave out. If it’s any consolation, he went fast. There wasn’t time to—”

  “No!” I fell to my dad’s bedside and shook him. “Dad. You have to wake up. Wake up right now, and show them you’re not gone.” I shook him harder. “Wake. Up.”

  Carrie let out a sob behind me and squeezed my shoulder. “Finn, he—”

  “No. Don’t.” I shrugged her off and shook Dad again. His lips were already turning that bluish, dead-like color that all corpses got. “But he was just here. He was just talking to me…no.”

  Senator Wallington covered his mouth, his eyes watering.

  Carrie nodded. “I know, but he’s gone.”

  “No.” I swallowed past my aching throat. I ran my fingers over his cold forehead. He looked like he was sleeping. Not like he was gone forever. “I need you. Dad, please.”

  Nothing. He’d left me, too.

  Everyone kept fucking dying.

  I stood up, roared, and punched the wall. My fist sank into it, sending pain flying up my good hand, but it didn’t numb the pain in my heart. The absolute, agonizingly real pain that choked me. So I punched the wall again. And again. And again. I lost count after the fourth time. When that stopped feeling satisfying, I started breaking shit.

  Anything.

  Carrie cried out my name, and tried to rush to my side, but her father held her back. He tossed her to a paramedic, who grabbed her arms and held her back, then stood in front of her protectively. Tears streamed down her face, and she was shouting words, but I didn’t hear anything. All I heard was my own heartbeat thundering at breakneck speeds. And these words kept repeating in my head: I lived. He died. They all died.

  It wasn’t fucking fair.

  By the time I was focused on the world around me again, I had no idea why the hell everyone was crying, or why Carrie was holding her face and sobbing her heart out. I collapsed against the wall, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. I stared at my feet, because why the fuck not? They were the only things standing still right now.

  Everything else was spinning.

  Someone came close to me, and I snapped my head up. It was Carrie’s dad. He looked scared of me. I was kind of scared of myself, too. “Griffin, you need to calm down. Don’t make them sedate you.”

  I stiffened when he came closer, blinking rapidly. The room was in shambles, vases and glasses were broken, and Carrie was sobbing. The paramedic was still holding her back, and everyone was looking at me like I was crazy. Even Carrie looked scared.

  What had I done?

  I tore my gaze from Carrie’s wet face, looking down at my hand in surprise. It was dripping with blood, all over the pristine white carpet, and the skin was ripped back from the knuckles. It looked as if a storm had gone off in the room, and that storm had been me.

  I’d done this.

  “C-Carrie?” I looked up at her, swiping my forearm across my cheeks. It came back wet. I’d been crying? I didn’t fucking cry. “He’s gone?”

  She shoved the paramedic off her and stood, her legs barely supporting her. She took an unsteady step toward me, and then another. Her father watched, looking as if he was going to step in the way. She shot him a look, brushed past him, and walked up to me. “Y-Yes, he’s gone.”

  I choked on a sob, and she threw herself at me, hugging me tight. I clung to her with one arm, letting myself cry. I hadn’t cried since my mom died, and now here I was again. Alone. “I’m alive, and he’s dead. They’re all dead.”

  I buried my face in her neck and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see the senator watching me, looking horrified and sad. Didn’t want to watch as the paramedics zipped my father in a black bag and hauled his lifeless body away. And I didn’t want to accept the fact that I was the only one who kept living, while everyone else around me died.

  Who was next? Carrie? I was a toxic bomb, killing everyone who cared about me.

  She hugged me tighter. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

  But she was dead wrong. It should have been me.

  A little while later, I pulled the blankets over Finn’s shoulders, kissed his forehead, and turned out the light. He hadn’t really said anything after he’d gone insane and started breaking things. He kept just staring off into the distance, talking when spoken to, but in a way that told me he wasn’t really there. He might have been holding my hand, but he might as well have been across the country—or the world, for that matter.

  He was gone.

  Right now, he was buried in grief, and there was nothing I could do to help him. Sure, I could love him and be here for him, but I couldn’t bring his dad back. He’d already been struggling with the deaths he’d seen, and now he had one more to add to the pile. The worst one since his mother died.

  I was scared he was going to drift away from me. Heck, he’d already started to. Absentmindedly, I touched the tender spot on my cheekbone. When he’d started bashing the wall, I’d tried to stop him. Tried to calm him down. Stupid, really. When a huge guy is going insane and breaking things, you shouldn’t jump in the way.

  If he knew something he’d broken and/or thrown had hurt me by accident, he’d never forgive himself. That’s why he’d never find out. It hadn’t been on purpose, after all. He didn’t need to know.

  I stood up, ready to find my bed. It was already five in the morning, but I could maybe sneak in two hours before the household rose and started preparing for the funeral. I almost cried out when he grasped my hand. He’d finished almost a whole bottle of whiskey and taken two pain pills. For once, I hadn’t even harped at him for mixing the two. But I thought he’d been out.

  “Carrie?” His voice slurred. “Where are you going?”

  I sat back down. “Nowhere. I’m right here.”

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you, too.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, love.”

  He drifted off to sleep again, and I rested my head on the mattress. Dad came up behind me, his shadow falling over the two of us. “Are you going to bed now?”

  I shook my head, but didn’t bother to lift it. “He needs me tonight.”

  “Carrie...” He came closer. “I care about him. I really do, but if he continues in this self-destructive behavior, this has to end. He’s dangerous right now. He could hurt you.”

  I sat up straight and glowered at him. “His dad just died. Think about that before you go judging him. When he flipped out, he wasn’t himself.” I looked back at him. His brow was wrinkled, but his breathing was even and deep. He appeared to be asleep. I hoped he was. He didn’t need to hear this. “He wouldn’t…he doesn’t do this stuff. He’s not himself right now.”

  Dad nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

  “I’m not leaving him. I love him.”

  “I know, and I know he loves you. I never disputed that.” Dad headed for the door. “You can spend the night. I happen to agree with you on one point—he needs you right now. But lea
ve the door open.”

  He walked out into the hallway, leaving us alone. His words kept ringing in my head. I pressed my fingers to my cheekbone. Dad hadn’t seen me get injured, thank God. His reaction would have been just as bad as Finn’s if he ever found out about it.

  “He’s wrong.” Finn’s eyes opened again. He pulled the covers back with his bandaged hand. “I would never hurt you. I’d sooner kill myself.”

  I couldn’t tear my eyes off his injured hand. The paramedics had taken care of it after they removed Larry’s body. They’d also asked us if we wanted to press charges against Finn for the damage done to our home. Dad and I both said no immediately. Mom had agreed with us after a small moment of hesitation.

  He had a broken arm and a busted hand. How was he supposed to take care of himself now? Easy. He wouldn’t. I would have to be his hands.

  “I know,” I whispered, climbing in beside him. “Don’t listen to him.”

  His unbroken arm wrapped around me, holding me close. He kissed the top of my head, letting out a shaky sigh after. “I love you, Ginger. You know that, right?”

  I blinked back tears and nodded, not answering him.

  “I’m sorry I lost it like that. Something just…I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d lose him, too. Not yet.” His voice cracked, and he let out a strangled groan. “I didn’t know I’d be so alone. Didn’t know I could hurt more than I already was.”

  I lifted my head and cupped his cheek. “You’re not alone, Finn. You have me and my parents.”

  “I know.” He paused, the words slurring together. “But it’s just not the same. Nothing’s the same anymore. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

  “Things don’t have to be the same to be good,” I whispered. I ran my thumb over his lower lip, like he used to do to me. “People change. As long as we change together, we’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think you have any idea how much I need you, Ginger.” He rested his bandaged hand on my hip. “I love you so damn much. You have no idea how much.”

  “I do, because that’s how much I love you.” I kissed the spot above his heart before resting my hand over it. “Now get some rest. It’s almost morning.”

  He nodded sleepily, and within seconds he was breathing evenly again. Tears fell from my eyes, and I didn’t wipe them away. If anything, it would draw notice to them and possibly wake him up, and he didn’t need to know how upset I was. I needed to be the stronger one right now.

  For him. For us. For me.

  These next couple of weeks would suck for all of us, but once we got through them, the healing process could start. Finn would bury his father, and over time he would stop drinking so much. His arm would heal, and then he would stop taking meds. Maybe he would be able to laugh again. Smile again. We could go home to Cali, and he’d be able to surf, ride his bike, and start school. Everything would be fine.

  Everything had to be fine.

  A few hours later, I woke up when someone knocked on the door lightly. I rolled over and squinted toward the noise, trying to remember where I was and why someone was knocking. Then I remembered it all. Oh, boy, did I remember it all.

  Mom looked at Finn and the way he was holding me, her lips pressed together. “It’s time to wake up. We have to start the funeral arrangements.”

  “All right,” I whispered. “I’ll be right there. I think he should sleep a bit more, because—”

  “I’m up.” Finn’s bicep flexed under me. “I’ll be down.”

  Mom nodded, giving me one last look before she left the room. I lifted my head and studied Finn’s face. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. His blue eyes met mine, and he tried to give me a small smile. “My arm’s asleep, I think.”

  “Oh.” I scooted back and sat on the side of the bed, facing him, hugging my knees. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” He lifted his arm and rotated it, flinching. “Ow. What the hell happened to my hand?”

  I looked at him, not certain what to say. “You don’t remember?”

  “I remember losing my shit, but I’m a little sketchy on all the details.” He reached out to brush my hair off my face before glaring down at his bandaged fingers. “Oh, fuck. I broke stuff, didn’t I? Punched the wall and all that?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yeah. It’s okay, though.”

  “In what world is that behavior okay, Carrie?” He sat up and rested his arm on his knees, in almost the same position as me. His slinged arm was the only difference. “Hitting things and throwing fits are never okay. I’m not a child.”

  “Your dad just died.” I flinched when he paled at the words, reaching out to squeeze his foot. “I think we all understand why you lost control like you did. No one holds it against you.”

  He met my eyes, but glanced away just as quickly. “I do. I hold it against me.”

  “Finn…”

  He got out of bed. “Don’t make excuses for my behavior. You deserve better, and you know it.” He turned back to me, his bandaged hand at his side. “What if I had hurt you? What if I…?” He broke off, his jaw flexing. “God, what if I lose it and hurt you, Carrie? I’d never forgive myself.”

  I fought the undeniable urge to press a hand to my cheek, hiding the mark he’d made last night. I knew he hadn’t meant to. He’d been out of his mind. Inconsolable.

  But I wasn’t making excuses for him.

  I shook my head. “It will never happen, so you don’t need to worry about it. You’d never hurt me like that.”

  “I promise to try to do better. I know yesterday was—” he sighed, “a fail of epic proportions. Today will suck too, and the next day. But I’ll do better.”

  I gave him a small smile. “You’re doing just fine.”

  “No, I’m not.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, glowering down at his bandaged hand. “Can you take the bandage off? I need to have at least one hand.”

  “Are you sure—?” When he gave me a look that clearly said take it the fuck off, I came around the side of the bed and knelt at his feet. “If it hurts too much, I can put it back on. I watched them do it yesterday.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Just like that. No matter how much I see death, no matter how many times I lose someone, I will never get over how fucking fast it happens. One second they’re there, and the next…just gone.”

  I undid the silver clasp that held the Ace bandage on before slowly unwrapping it. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling right now, because I can’t possibly understand it until I’m there, but I know it sucks, and anything you need? I’ll give it to you.”

  He met my eyes. “I know. You’re too good to me.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  He shrugged with one shoulder. “Because it’s true, and I promised not to lie to you anymore.”

  I shook my head and bit down on my lower lip, focusing on the task at hand. From what I could see of his knuckles, things weren’t looking promising for him. He thought he’d be able to use his hand, obviously, but it looked mangled, bruised, and thoroughly unusable.

  After I finished the task at hand, I settled back on my haunches. He flexed his fingers, paling and flinching. “Fuck, that hurts.”

  “I know.” Automatically, I reached for his pain pills. At some point, the bottle had fallen to the floor and rolled partially under the bed. There were only three left, so I’d have to get more this afternoon. That meant he’d taken more than he was supposed to. There should still be six. “I’ll open this and—”

  “No.” He rolled his shoulder, flexing his hand again. “I’m done taking those things. They’re fucking with my head. Flush them.”

  I looked down at the bottle in my hand. “What if the pain gets worse later?”

  “It’s going to get worse. There’s no way it won’t.” He looked back at me, his eyes solemn and way too somber. “But if they’re here, I’ll find a reason to take them, and then I’ll tur
n into a raging fuck-head again. I’m done with those, and I’m done with drinking. I’m just done with it all.”

  I blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the tears of relief I felt. For a while there, I’d been worried he might become addicted to the escape the pills and booze gave him. I worried he might fall apart, and there would be nothing I could do to save him. But he was saving himself. Thank God.

  “Okay. I’ll get rid of them.”

  “Thank you.” He held out his hurt hand, and I latched on to his wrist so he could pull me up to my feet without too much pain. “For everything.”

  I reached up on tiptoe and kissed him. I’d expected him to be a mess this morning, but if anything, he seemed stronger than before. More determined to be the man he wanted to be. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. My dad wouldn’t have wanted me to fall apart. I promised him—” His voice broke, and he stopped talking. He ran his hand over his head, watching me. “I promised him I’d pull myself together and stop being an ass. I’m starting now. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  I rested my hand over his heart. “He was very proud of you. You know that, right?”

  “I know he was proud of me.” He closed his eyes. “But he wasn’t proud of the man I’d become since I came back home.”

  The thin wound that ran down his forehead looked more pronounced this morning. I reached out and traced my hand over it. “I think you’re wrong. He knew you were in there, and he knew what you were going through—what you went through to get back here. He didn’t judge you at all.”

  He caught my hand, trapping my fingers against his jagged gash. “He didn’t, but I did.” He gave me an inscrutable look and released his hold on my hand. I didn’t miss the pain that crossed his eyes at the movement. “Let’s brush our teeth, then we’ll go down. There’s a lot to get done today. I have to contact the church, get a coffin, write a eulogy…”

  I nodded. “One step at a time, together. Okay? First step? Teeth.”