by J. B. McGee
Seconds seem like minutes, and minutes seem like hours. My prayer that it’s not her shifts to also hoping the MRI of my patient lasts long enough for me to have my anxieties eased before leaving this place because I still probably have an hour before I have access to my phone.
When the call comes in for report, I can’t seem to get close enough to inconspicuously peek. It’s like that day at the hospital all over again. I’m left to sit here and wait. But unlike then, I actually have work to do, so I can’t pace the floor while trying to avoid cracks and shit to distract me.
Mere minutes later, the rig pulls up. Stopping what I’m doing, I turn around and wait for them to unload the patient, to get a glimpse of her.
And color me fucking surprised when the first person I see coming out with blood all over his shirt is OliverTwistDick.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself I’m at work—that I need to keep it together. Then, I take another one and remind myself that in the absence of trauma vomiting blood could be due to any number of non-life-threatening conditions. Cammie is not Violet. She’s going to be okay. She has to be.
And once I’ve let all that sink in, I still find myself balling my fists and clenching my jaw shut to keep from charging Oliver. What the fuck is he doing with her?
As they wheel her in, the medics stop to find out where to take her, and that’s when our eyes meet. Hers widen as she glances over at Oliver.
It tells me everything I need to know. Fucking secrets.
Instead of going up to her, I stay right where I am, completely frozen.
“Holden,” she whispers.
I tilt my head, still not saying anything. Words fail me. And I know she’s probably scared, and this probably makes me a coward, but I just can’t.
She reaches her hand out to me. “Come here, please.”
Even though I’m pissed and hurt and scared, I do exactly what she asks. Nine years ago, I couldn’t be with her when she got to the hospital, but here we are, and I am afraid it’s going to end the same way the last trip did. With me heartbroken and alone.
“Can you stay with me?” she asks, completely ignoring Oliver.
I shake my head, glancing away. “I have a patient I have to transport back to the nursing home.” Leaning in closer to her, I whisper, “What the hell is going on? What happened?” I want to kiss her so bad, but I can’t.
“I threw up again this morning, and now this.”
“I thought you were better.”
“I haven’t been feeling well, but I figured it was stress.”
Stress it probably is. I don’t tell her what I suspect. “I’ll come back as soon as I’m off work.” I look back at Oliver, whose face is unreadable. “If you want me to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to?”
One of the medics nudges me. “Hey, Masters. We gotta move her.”
“What number?”
“Room seven.”
I nod and squeeze her hand. “Did you call your parents?” I ask.
She shakes her head. I left a message for Wells earlier, but he hasn’t called me back.
Stupid fucker.
Since Violet got sick, I’ve been going through emotions like I go through underwear. And now that Dad’s gone, that’s just been compounded. One day, I’m using a metal bat to smash whatever I can. After destroying Violet’s car, I’ve decided that probably wasn’t the best choice. There’s this part of me that doesn’t want to ever destroy a coconut, consume it in any way. I just want to hoard them, keep them all safe, and have a little happy coconut family.
But sometimes, it feels so damn good to split one apart and drink up all the milk, eat the flesh, and admire how something so dirty on the outside can be so pure on the inside.
At least before the shit went down with Dad, I was hanging out with some people at school. We didn’t have much in common. I tried to be someone I wasn’t to fit in with them. It felt great because they were anti-Magnolia Grove social elitist. But for the past couple of weeks, I’ve just been a loner. A smartass, smart mouthed loner with little respect for anyone other than my mother. Because if I don’t feel anything for anyone else, then I can’t possibly be hurt again.
And fuck have I had enough to last me a lifetime in the last six months.
Surveying the coconuts I haven’t slayed, I pick the most perfect one and put it in my book bag. Throwing the strap over my shoulder, I holler for Mom, “I’m going out for a walk. I’ll be back.”
She doesn’t reply, so I slap the banister of the stairs in frustration before taking them two at a time. Her door is open, and she’s in bed. Other than the funeral and visitation, she hasn’t dressed since Dad took his life. In fact, she’s worn the same thing every day, her hair is matted, and her face streaked from makeup. She’s tucked into her bed, curled like a ball. “Mom.”
“Hmm,” she says so softly I can barely hear her.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Kay.”
It’s killing me to see her like this. Making my way downstairs, the house is eerily silent. The presence of two lost souls almost smothers me most days. And hell, even though Mom is still alive, I’m pretty sure she’s also lost.
And maybe I’m lost, just in a different way. For some reason, even though everything in me tells me I should be distraught over the loss of my father, the only thing I can think about is getting back to Cammie. That keeps my mind busy, off the fact I’m completely out of control of everything surrounding me. It’s like I’m floating through space, watching the earth get farther and farther away, but I still have oxygen in my tank. Yet, it’s just a matter of time before it all runs out.
And I’m not sure how I see Cammie being the savior for that because there is no way to be saved in that scenario. But maybe, deep down, I keep hoping she’s floating around, too, and she has a lifeline back to a planet we could live on together for the rest of our lives with our own sun. It’s not too bright or destructive. It’s just enough.
Opening the door, I glance over my shoulder at the top of the stairs, wishing it didn’t feel so alone here. Wishing Violet would come running down calling me an asshole, or something. Wishing Mom was telling me how I couldn’t do something she’d figured out I was going to do because, “Boy, I made you.”
But instead, there’s no one. It’s just an empty house with a warm body in it. Maybe with time she’ll come back around, we can be okay again.
Instead of driving my car to Cammie’s, I decide I have a better chance of getting to see her if I don’t have my vehicle, which Mr. Spencer clearly knows and seems to have a radar for detecting its proximity.
Walking along the sidewalk all dressed in all black, the only thing keeping me visible to others is the reflective strip on my L.L. Bean book bag, I’ve put far more premeditation into my plan than ever before. I’ve had nothing but time, and this has given me something positive to think about instead of the rage at my father and the blame about Violet that consumes me.
Instead of being impulsive and coming when I had the coconut-revelation, I’ve waited for the first Monday of the new month because that’s when Mr. and Mrs. Spencer attend Magnolia Grove Business Afterhours. I know because my parents used to go with them. Obviously, since my mother can’t get her shit together, she’s skipping tonight’s. Hell, even after this one, she may never go again. Why would she?
Well, because she’s given Mr. Spencer millions to save the business, effectively buying him out. He’s her bitch. The thought makes a smile curve on my lips. Of course, no one really knows that. It’s all hush-hush. It would have looked worse for Mom to have been named as the investor. Instead, the headlines read, Anonymous Investor Bails Out Spencer and Masters Consulting. New Name To Be Announced.
Ten minutes later, and I’m finally approaching Cam’s house. Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I send Wells a text because Mr. Fucking Spencer had Cammie’s number changed, which means I no longer have it. But Wells’. They left his the same like geniuses. I fi
gure he owes me, brother to brother.
Me: Hey, will u tell Cammie to come outside.
Wells: No, why would I do that?
Me: Because.
Wells: Need a better reason than that.
He’s kidding, right?
Me: I need to talk to her.
Wells: She doesn’t need to hear anything you have to say.
Me: I know I’ve been a jerk to her. It’s complicated. Please just tell her.
Wells: Complicated like your dad fucking Heather?
Deep breaths, Holden. Inhale, exhale. Because you are not a volcano. He’s baiting me. When did Wells become such a douche?
Me: News flash to the Spencer boys. I’m not my father. Do you feel bigger putting me down, more justified? More a man?
Wells: Was that an insult? Pathetic, Holden. And that’s not gonna help your case, persuade me to send Cammie outside. You’re delusional.
Me: Dammit, Wells, I’d do it for you. You practically fucked my sister in front of all of us that night in the theater & I didn’t object or go alpha brother on you.
Wells: I didn’t practically fuck her, asshole. That happened later after I fell in love with her. You weren’t the only one hurting when she died. Some of us didn’t use it as an excuse to hurt the people left behind. By the way, you didn’t go alpha brother because you’re not an alpha. You’re a loser.
Running my hand through my hair, I blow out a breath. My heart feels like a wrung-out rag. No matter how much I thought I had tonight figured out, I wasn’t prepared for this. I just know I can’t give up on her, so I’ll take all that Wells has to dish out. I’ll keep fighting back this time.
Me: Do you think this makes you an alpha brother? She’s not going to appreciate or like that you contributed to manipulating her when she finds out. Don’t be this guy.
Wells: You’re right. I shouldn’t be involved. I’ll just send Dad out to deal with your ass. Oh, and I dare you to tell her about this conversation, Masters. I’ll kick your ass.
I totally ignore the blackmail. What an idiot to put that in writing.
Me: He’s not home.
Wells: He is.
Me: Tonight’s Business After Hours. You’re bluffing.
Wells: They are waiting for things to die down a bit before they go back. Don’t want to answer a bunch of questions about how your father fucked things up for us with his little confession. Poor Heather.
Me: Goddammit. And yeah, poor Heather. She was my friend too.
Wells: You should probably run now, Holden.
Me: Fuck you, Wells. Fuck. You.
Wells: Stay away from Cammie.
I wish I could type back for him to stay away from Violet, but we all know how that ended.
Instead of leaving this time, I run down the side of the yard on the outside of the fence until I’m at the back of the yard where I can see Cammie’s light on in her room. Her blinds are open, and she’s fucking changing clothes. Why would she do that with the windows open for all to see?
Granted, there are woods behind her house, so she probably thinks she’s safe. But me being here just proves how dangerous that is. I’m not sure what I’m going to do at this point, but just being close to her, seeing her for more than a few seconds in passing at a time, is better than nothing.
I have paper in my backpack, but I don’t have anything to attach it to a coconut with. Yeah, I’m actually seriously considering throwing this damn thing through her window. At least she’d get the message instead of it getting cock blocked by her father and brother constantly.
The back door opens, and I freeze. A light flashes right at me, blinding me like the sun. It gets closer and closer. “Masters, is that you?”
Worried my breathing will be audible, I hold my breath, refusing to move. My heart beats so fast, it’s the only thing I hear. In fact, I worry it’s so loud and fast someone else can probably detect it.
I even clench my eyes closed, like if I can’t see him then maybe he can’t see me. My shoulder is pushed, causing me to lose my balance and crash into the ground. Okay. Closing my eyes wasn’t the smartest tactic, but I must admit being pushed down feels pretty good, and for a moment, I consider letting whoever this is beat the shit out of me. It’s the first time my body’s not felt numb in a long time.
“Get up,” Mr. Spencer says. “Get up and get the hell out of here.”
Standing, I lift my chin. “I’m not leaving this time. I have something to give her, and I need to tell her something.”
He laughs. “You’re damn sure not doing either of those things.” He glances over his shoulder. When he looks back at me, my eyes have had time to adjust to the new lighting due to the flashlight. The wrinkled lines on his forehead, the narrowed eyes, let me know he’s actually the volcano.
But maybe it’s good that I’m numb, though, because I don’t care. He can’t hurt me more than I’m already aching.
He nods, his jaw ticking. “Stay then. Suit yourself.”
Hmm. That’s progress. He turns, cutting the flashlight off, and walks back into the house. Sitting down, I pull my backpack into my lap and unzip the part that has my pens. Maybe there’s a Sharpie in there. I think I borrowed one from Charity and never gave it back. Oops. I can’t remember if I took it out, though.
Roaming my hand around, I pull a bunch of writing utensils out. I can tell by the way they feel what they are. An eraser with plastic? My favorite mechanical pencil. A little tip that can be pushed down and retracted? The best gel pens ever invented. Finally, I narrow them down to a few I don’t recognize. Going through them individually, it’s easy to identify whether it’s the one I want based on how chubby it is. And the way the cap is. It’s just got a very distinct feeling, and I get the whole concept of one sense being heightened when one’s removed. Although, that didn’t work out great for me a few minutes ago when I closed my eyes.
Yes! Shoving the rest of them back into my bag, I do my best to scribble my message on the husk, but it feels like the felt tip of the Sharpie is losing this battle.
Cammie,
I’m sorry. We need to talk.
Love,
Holden
Just as I’m pondering whether my arm is strong enough to propel this heavy ass sucker through her window, the potential of hurting her with it, and the fact I’m basically identifying myself as the person who committed the crime, sirens wail in the distance, and with each rotation get closer and closer.
My phone beeps, and I snatch it.
Wells: Hmm. What’s that I hear? Three words for you. Fuck. You. Holden. Well, one more. Run.
Shit. Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I toss the coconut in my backpack along with the Sharpie, I zip it, and take off through the woods until I’m a few houses in the opposite direction from the entrance. Once I feel like I’m a safe distance from their house, I run back up through someone else’s yard and peek down the street to see if I see any police. None. Maybe he was just messing with me. Swallowing, I sprint across the street and don’t stop until I’ve gone two blocks and am in Brody’s backyard. I haven’t talked to him in forever, either. Who knows what he thinks about me. But at least if I were caught here, I think I’d be safe. Pulling my phone from my pocket, my fingers swiftly go to work.
Me: Mom, I’m in trouble. Come to Brody’s, but don’t call. I’ll meet you in the driveway. Hurry.
What if she doesn’t get it? Is her phone even on? Is she awake, capable of even driving?
Seconds feel like hours, years when my phone finally beeps again.
Mom: I’m coming. Be there in a second. I love you.
No judgment. No, “Holden, you’re grounded.” Yet, at least. Tears well in my eyes. Fucking tears. I hate them, and I’m not sure why they keep coming so much lately. Especially since most days I don’t feel anything.
When the sound of an engine approaching grows louder and louder, I make my way toward the front of Brody’s house. When I see it’s a cop car, I duck down behind a bush. Fuck. My puls
e pounds in my neck, adrenaline coursing through my body. Another car approaches, but I’m not sure if the police turned around or if it’s Mom. And if it’s her and law enforcement is still around, how will I walk out there to get in her car?
Peeking up over the bush, I see Mom’s car. My phone dings again. Dammit. I should have put this stupid thing on vibrate.
Mom: I’m here.
Me: Are there police still on this road?
Mom: No. What did you do?
Me: I’ll explain. Be there in a sec.
Standing, then running to the curb, I jump in the driver’s side backseat because it was the closest to the curb. “Go,” I say, climbing through the center console to the front. “And, Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. But I was so scared something bad was wrong with you.”
“Just the Spencers being fuckwads.” Oops, did I just say that out loud?
She glances at me with an arched eyebrow. “I’m not going to condone your language. But if it makes you feel closer to your sister, or something, fine. Just try not to do it around me, okay?”
“Seriously?”
“That’s why you do it, right? Your sister had a filthy mouth, her little rebellious streak. And you picked it up dishing it back to her, and now you’ve grown fond of it because it makes you feel like you have something left.”
My mouth is agape. “Honestly, I never gave it much thought.” But that’s not really true, is it? Maybe she’s right.
She smiles. “I made you. And I made her. And I raised you both. I get you better than you…better than you know yourself.”
I swallow. “I miss her so much. And even Dad—like old school Dad.”
“Me too. What’d you do?”