Made of Stars

by Kelley York

  (Thinking back, that must’ve been one of the times he vanished for a few days because he’d taken a beating and didn’t want us to ask questions.)

  Close to eleven that night, Roger came knocking on the door to tell us what had happened. A couple of guys wanted a few counties over for bank robbery…and Dad had been a part of the group who had tried to chase them down when they were spotted here in town. He was also the only one who had been shot and almost died.

  We stayed at Roger’s that night, sleeping on a guest bed, Hunter and me together. We begged to stay home because how else would Chance know what had happened? But Roger would hear none of it, leaving us alone all night. We didn’t call our moms. Not right away. Sure enough, when Dad came to and it was clear he was out of the woods, he scolded us, and the next day Hunter’s mom came to get him, and I was on a plane back to California.

  They took us away from Dad, who I was determined needed us, and then—they took us away from each other. I needed Hunter then as much as I think he needed me…and we both needed Chance.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever forgiven my mom for that. Not sure I’ve forgiven myself, either, for not fighting harder.

  This time will be different.

  I reach out and wrap my hand around Dad’s. He startles then squeezes back.

  I find a parking spot right up front. Is the emergency room always quiet this time of night, or are we lucky? I hop out of the truck, circling around to watch Dad—while pretending not to—get out and pick his way on his cane across the icy parking lot.

  “Don’t slip,” I warn.

  He replies with a thin smile, “If I do, at least we’re at a hospital.”

  Inside, the air smells funny. Sterile but not clean, if that makes sense. Like the scents of bleach and disinfectant are masking whatever underlying odor of germs and bacteria is on the waiting room seats, the vending machine buttons, the pens they keep at the front desk.

  Among the others in the lobby, I spot Hunter, hunched over with his eyes locked onto the television mounted in the corner. He doesn’t seem to be watching it, exactly, just staring because it’s something to occupy some part of his brain.

  Dad says his name, and he snaps out of his self-induced trance, immediately standing. He opens his arms with the same reflex that I go into them and hug him tightly. He bows his head, mumbling into my hair, “They won’t really tell me anything. Because I’m not family.” He spits this last word like it’s full of venom. Like the employees here don’t know a thing about what constitutes family.

  “You didn’t tell them who he was, did you?” Dad asks, ushering us to sit. I keep hold of Hunter’s hand in my own. He shakes his head.

  “No. I got sort of…mad they wouldn’t let me in to see him, so I refused to say anything.”

  Dad sighs. “We need to give them his information. Otherwise, you’re going to get busted for helping harbor a fugitive.”

  Hunter pushes his shoulders back. His spine stiffens. The mere idea of calling the cops doesn’t sit well with him. Can’t say it sits well with me, either.

  “How did you even find him?” I ask. Dad nods. Undoubtedly, he’s interested in the answer to this, too.

  “He called me.” Hunt stares down at our joined hands. His thumb touches each of my knuckles, one after the other, distracting himself. “I found out he was on Hollow Island and I…I had to go get him. If he thought the police were coming, he would’ve left again. We never would’ve found him.”

  With a shake of his head, Dad sighs. But a sigh isn’t a reprimand. I’m not sure there is a way he can lecture Hunter for doing something that ultimately saved Chance’s life. Instead, he asks, “Are you okay?”

  Finally, Hunter looks up. Really, he doesn’t have to say anything. Dad knows. I know. I rest my head on Hunter’s shoulder, and his rests atop mine. Dad folds a hand on Hunter’s shoulder.

  Here we sit, a family, in a hospital waiting room, all of us knowing what needs to be done and no one wanting to do it. No one knowing how we all could have failed so horrendously. All of us thinking of every little thing we could’ve done differently. Regretting every little thing we didn’t do.

  Finally, Dad stands. “I’d better go call Roger. You okay here?”

  Hunter doesn’t respond.

  I squeeze his arm tight. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

  Dad fishes his phone out of his pocket and trudges out of the lobby. Hunter watches him go. “I tried calling you. Your phone went straight to voice mail.”

  “That would be because my phone is lost somewhere in the woods near Chance’s house.” When Hunt pulls back to stare at me, I give him a frown. “I don’t want to hear it. I didn’t go swimming out to an island in a blizzard.”

  “I didn’t swim. I took the raft.”

  “How in the world did Chance get out there?”

  “He had a raft, too. Guess he swung into somewhere and bought one rather than risk trying to steal ours.”

  “Maybe. Or some part of him was hoping you’d realize where he was and run to his rescue.” That thought pisses me off as much as it upsets me. He should’ve never put Hunter in that kind of position or danger. He shouldn’t have put himself in that position. He had to have known we wouldn’t rest until we found him.

  Hunter grunts in acknowledgment. “What were you doing at Chance’s house?”

  I know we’re alone. As alone as one can be in a lobby, anyway. Still, I glance around to make sure no one is listening in. “Nearly getting caught by Zeke Harvey. I got my camera. Chance recorded things.”

  Hunter’s face pales. He seems torn on whether to question me about what happened with Zeke, or the camera. “Things? Did he—”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t have the opportunity to finish looking through them before Dad told me we were leaving to come here. But if so, we’ll have evidence. We’ll have proof of what Zeke did, and Chance will be okay.”

  He nods once, slowly, taking all this in.

  I poke a finger at his ribs. “You don’t look happy about that. It’s a good thing, you realize.”

  “I know.” He doesn’t budge. “I want to see him.”

  “They should let us once he’s awake, I think.” Unless the cops swarm in and refuse to let him have visitors. How does that sort of thing work?

  When Dad returns to our little corner of the waiting room, his expression is unreadable. I don’t blame him. What he had to do…it had to have been difficult. Calling the cops on a boy he considers one of his own children.

  “They’re on their way. I convinced the nurses to let you have a few minutes, if you want to see him.”

  Hunter’s head snaps up. “We can go in? But how—”

  Dad smiles thinly. “Did you forget how much time I spent in this hospital? They all know me here. I explained Chance’s only other visitors were going to be cops.” He inclines his chin toward the double doors. “But you’d better get a move on. The police won’t be happy if they find out I encouraged visitors to pop in there.”

  We don’t need to be told twice. Dad stays behind as lookout while Hunt and I both grab a visitor’s name tag from the receptionist’s desk, get Chance’s room number, and slip through the doors.

  The image of Dad lying in a hospital bed, barely conscious from medication, has dulled over the years but is still fresh enough to make me a little nauseous at the idea of seeing Chance like that. I can only hope he’s awake so we can reassure him everything is going to be okay. Hunter grips my hand so painfully tight, I almost consider letting him go in by himself to give them some time alone, but…no. Call me selfish, but I need to be there, too. I need to let him know about the camera.

  Chance’s room is a double, but the other bed is unoccupied. We step inside, easing the door shut. Chance’s clothing is folded neatly on the table next to him. Chance himself is asleep. Hooked up to machines. Small and vulnerable. Hunter freezes for half a second before pressing forward to Chance’s side, and I follow along wordlessly.

  Staring in
to Chance’s face, I decide this is definitely better than seeing Dad. Chance looks pretty much normal. As normal as anyone can look in a hospital gown, under a ton of itchy blankets, and hooked up to monitors and tubes.

  “How does he look?” I ask Hunt. “Compared to before.”

  Hunt extends a hand. The tips of his fingers brush against Chance’s cheek so achingly soft that it makes my heart break. “Better. Before, he was so…pale. Cold. I thought he was dead when I first found him.”

  “Rude,” Chance whispers.

  We startle. I ease onto the bed, wrapping my fingers around Chance’s hand. “You’re awake.”

  “You’re loud,” he says in a voice that sounds like broken glass. He opens his eyes very slowly, rolling his gaze to Hunter and saying, simply, “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Hunter all but collapses into a chair, dragging it closer and leaning his elbows on the bed. He can’t stop touching Chance. His shoulder, his face, his hair, such utter relief visible in his features. “You scared the hell out of me, you jackass.”

  Chance soaks up every bit of attention. His fingers curl against my hand. “Let me guess. The cops are on their way.”

  Hunt and I exchange glances. “Yeah,” I say.

  Chance nods and looks at the ceiling.

  “What about the camera?” Hunter asks.

  This gets Chance’s attention again. “Camera?”

  “The one you hid in your room,” I say. “I snuck in and got it.” I force myself to grin. “It’s the evidence you needed, right? What you were telling me about?”

  Chance looks somewhere between amused and sad. “Lovely. Did you look through it yet?”

  “Some of it. Got called away here before I was able to finish. I’ll give it to the cops, and they’ll release you as a suspect in no time.”

  “You snuck into my house?” He laughs hoarsely. “And Hunter crossed the ocean in the snow to rescue me from an island. You two never stop surprising me.”

  “What is family for?” I ask.

  “That depends. Your family or mine?”

  “You are our family,” Hunter insists.

  Chance makes a noise. Someone knocks on the door, and then a nurse pops her head in.

  “Sorry to interrupt… Your father asked me to come get you. He said it’s time to go.”

  He wasn’t kidding when he said a few minutes, was he? No time for questions, no time for anything. I slide off the bed after giving Chance’s hand one last squeeze. Chance tries to hang on, brows crinkling in distress.

  “Why do you have to leave?”

  Hunter sighs. “No one was supposed to be let in to see you. But we’ll be back as soon as they tell us we can, all right? Just a little longer, and you can come home. To us.”

  “You know…” A serene smile tilts the corners of Chance’s mouth. “I really like the sound of that.”

  “We’ll see you soon.” I blow Chance a kiss and head for the door. From the corner of my eye, I spot Hunter lingering, then leaning over and placing a kiss on Chance’s mouth.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen it. Like, a real kiss. Not the fumbling, playful thing the day Chance kissed us both on the beach. It seems like the most natural thing in the world and brings to mind a lot of questions—like if, when this is all over, the two of them can really sort out what this is between them. If Hunter will introduce Chance as his boyfriend.

  It breaks my heart a little in the same way that it makes me smile. We’re so close to a happy ending.

  Hunter

  When I kiss him, Chance fists a hand in my shirt to hold me right where I am. His lips are dry, but his mouth is warm, and I think…this is how life should be. Chance and me. Kissing him whenever I want. This is how it’s going to be when this is over, and I’m going to use that knowledge to get through this. To get us through this. I’ve come too close to losing him, and I won’t let it happen again.

  Ashlin clears her throat. I pull back, heat rushing to my face, but I don’t look at her. She’s probably got that I knew it smile on her face. Brat.

  Chance’s eyes don’t leave mine. “I love you,” he says.

  The words only make my face burn more, and I don’t trust that the smile I give him isn’t a stupid one. I run my hand over his hair. “I love you, too. I’ll be back soon. I promise.” When his fingers release my shirt, I head after my sister.

  In the hallway, Ash takes my hand again and elbows me a bit, grinning. I know that look. “Hunter and Chance, sittin’ in a tree…”

  I shove her gently. “You’re so mature. What about you, though? Are you…okay with this?”

  My sister shrugs in that way that suggests she doesn’t know but she’s trying to be. That’s Ashlin for you. She’ll be happy for everyone around her, even if she’s hurting. “I think…you two need each other. I think this is how it’s meant to be. Though I do have to ask, does this mean we can go check out guys together? That’d be kind of awesome.”

  It takes everything not to roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. It’s just…” Words fail me. How do I describe it?

  “Chance is special,” Ash says.

  There we have it. Summing up in three words what I couldn’t do with a hundred. My lips twitch into a half smile. “Yes. Chance is special.”

  Dad is waiting in the lobby. No sign of the cops yet, but I’m sure it won’t be long. He gets to his feet, glancing between us. “Well?”

  I drape an arm around Ash’s shoulder, hugging her to my side as she says, “He’s okay. He’s awake.”

  The relief in Dad’s face is almost tangible. “Good. That’s good. The police will be here any minute, so we should get going. Imagine they’ll have questions for you tomorrow about finding Chance.”

  Goody. Just what I wanted. But if something I say can help in any way, if I can reiterate to the police that Chance was only running because he was scared, maybe they’ll let him off easy for evading them for so long.

  I can hope, can’t I?

  The drive home is a quiet one. Ash and Dad take the truck so it’s just me in the car, and I’m too tired to even bother with the radio. In a few hours, it’ll be dawn. I have the day off from work, thankfully, so I plan on going home, getting a couple hours of sleep, then going back to the hospital. Dealing with the police comes somewhere in there.

  I wonder if Ash told Dad about the camera. He hasn’t mentioned it, so even when we get home and Dad heads back to his room, I don’t think to bring it up. If she hasn’t said anything, she must have a reason for it. We trek upstairs to Ash’s room. Only once inside do I feel I won’t jinx myself by saying, “I can’t believe I got away without being lectured.”

  “You saved Chance’s life and helped the police. I think he has to let your stupidity go for the time being.” She plops down in front of her computer.

  “You’re one to talk. What would he say if he found out you not only broke into someone’s house but ran into a wanted murderer in the process?”

  “To be fair, he wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  I take a seat on her bed where I have a view of her monitor. “You didn’t tell Dad about the camera.”

  She shrugs, flicking on the screen. “How could I? He’d ask me how I got it, and— Well, the whole Dad-flipping-out thing. It’ll be easier if Chance tells the police he gave the camera to me or something. I don’t know. I haven’t thought up a story yet.” She pauses and swivels in her chair to look at me. “Are you sure you feel up to looking at these? They’re…I mean. I know you think you’ve got the stomach for it, but it’s Chance, and…”

  My spine stiffens. “I’m not shying away just because it might upset me. Chance didn’t have that option.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Ash nods. “I only had these last few pictures left, and another video or two…”

  To tell the truth, I don’t know if I have the stomach for this any more than I would have the stomach for seeing something happen to Ash, or Dad and Mom. Seeing the people you love the most not only hurting, but being
hurt by someone else?

  But I meant what I said: Chance wasn’t given the choice. Ashlin went through all that danger to get these pictures. The least I can do is know what we’re handing over to the cops.

  She opens the last folder and begins with the first image. This one isn’t of Chance at all, but his mom. Tabitha has her back to the camera, so she likely doesn’t realize she’s being photographed.

  “Look.” Ash touches the screen, tracing a band of darkness around Tabitha’s arm. Bruising, I’d wager. There’s another along her lower arm. Her wrist. Like she was hitting something or had her hand slammed into something. Proof that Chance wasn’t the only one being hurt, right? Proof that Zeke wouldn’t hesitate to beat his son and his wife.

  “In one of the other videos, she was telling Chance about a lawyer and some money.” Ash clicks to the next photo. This one is of a hole in the wall, likely put there by Zeke. Another, of a closet somewhere in the house, where a heat lamp is turned on over a growing pot of weed. “It sounded like she was planning on getting her and Chance out of there. Maybe things were escalating…”

  “Then Zeke found out, and it set him off,” I finish. Ash nods.

  There are, thankfully, no pictures of Chance. Ash gets to the last recording and hesitates. Hell, we could be getting worked up for nothing. Maybe this video doesn’t have anything to do with Tabitha’s murder. Maybe it’s the same as the other videos on here. If so, will this still be enough evidence worthy of giving to the cops? It is proof of the abuse, proof that Chance isn’t the one to be looking at. But it doesn’t entirely clear his name, either.

  “Are we ready for this?” she asks.

  “It’s now or never.”

  Ash sets the video to play.

  …

  Chance’s room is a mess. Clothes, books, junk scattered on the floor. Chance himself is messing with the camera. He’s breathless. Eyes wide.

  Footsteps. Someone is rushing down the hallway.

  He jerks upright, muscles tense, poised, ready to run. The door flies open and—

  It isn’t Zeke, but Tabitha.