by J. B. McGee
“You went to my parents?” she asks with incredulity.
“I thought you may have been over here. I have been trying to call you.”
Funny because her phone hasn’t rang. I wish she’d just get to the point, ask him if he did this, and then get her shit so we can leave. Or maybe I should just go. She has her keys now, her car. She doesn’t need me. She can call me when this drama’s all over. Damn me for not being able to keep my hands to myself, for needing to taste her even though I swore I wasn’t going to touch her until she’d already trashed her baggage. Walking away from her is going to hurt worse now because of my lack of control.
“I added your number to my reject list, Oliver, where it belongs. The reject list is a beautiful thing. Have you ever used it?”
I stare at the ceiling, unable to wipe the grin off my face. That’s my girl. Fuck, I’m crazy about her. I don’t even think I’m capable of leaving this place without her.
“It doesn’t even ring or flash on my screen when you call. I figured my voicemails were from you, and I didn’t bother listening to them. Because.” She shrugs. “Reject list.”
Trying to keep my laugh to myself, it ends up coming out like a muffled harrumph.
“As for my parents, I only have one missed call from Mom. She calls me every Sunday, as you know. But I let it go to voicemail because I am not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.”
“Funny,” Oliver says with venom in his voice. “Because your dad went looking for you. He said you were quite chatty with Holden at Rind ‘N Grind. Did you spend the night with him? Where did you get the hooker clothes?”
I cock my head. It’s a good thing this motherfucker isn’t here right now because what I’d do to him would make what I did to Brody seem like nothing. My pacing comes to a halt. Pivoting, I stare at the back of her, willing her to look at me. She knows what those clothes mean to me. It was more than a kind gesture. It was a fucking olive branch. No. It was the whole damn tree.
She turns and nearly bores holes through my soul like it’s some kind of an apology. Whether I can smile, whether I have every right to be reserved, hinges on her reaction to this baiting. “That’s right.”
That’s it? That’s right.
“We need to talk,” he says. “I told you that last night. Was last night the first time you fucked him?”
She giggles, almost deliriously. “Don’t project your guilty conscience on me. Besides, if I did or didn’t, it’s none of your business. We’re over, Oliver. Even if you didn’t cheat on me, even if you weren’t gay—”
“I’m not.”
Her giggles turn into a boisterous laugh, but all of this has my fists balled, jaw clenched, and blood pressure through the roof. I can’t laugh. It’s not funny. He’s screwing with her, which is ultimately fucking with me. Cammie rolls her eyes. “Right, Oliver. But I was saying, it doesn’t matter. You don’t owe me an explanation. That would indicate I give a fuck. I don’t anymore. I realized last night you don’t care about what’s important to me.” She grins at me, and I tightly smile back at her, unable to completely let go of my reservations for some reason. “I can’t and won’t marry you. That’s about all that needs to be said other than did someone break in our apartment or did you make this mess?”
“Maybe Holden did it. Was he with you all night?”
I shake my head. I can’t even.
Cammie’s eyes widen. “So, you didn’t do it, Oliver?”
He pauses. “Ask Holden.”
“No,” she says matter-of-factly.
She doesn’t stick up for me. She doesn’t even attempt to defend me. How could she do that? Running my hands through my hair, I swallow back all the profanities I want to say right now. I should leave. I need to get out of here. I can’t fucking breathe.
We’ve been through this before.
I know how this goes, how it ends.
The sirens get louder. From the sound of them, you’d think there was a fifteen-car pileup with an equal number of emergency vehicles on their way. It’s not just one ambulance. The ambulance and fire truck have different identifying sounds. There are multiple vehicles, and at least one of each. I’m not sure why there are so many, but my heart pounds in my chest to their rhythm.
The fire truck arrives first. A few guys grab a tool box and backboard before making their way to our huddle around Cammie. The pool deck is red from her blood. And Brody’s. I’m not even supposed to be here.
Mom and Dad went away for the weekend with Cammie’s parents. I am technically still on restriction because of the fight Mom, Vi, and I had surrounding the dinner spectacle a few weeks ago. I’m supposed to be off on Monday provided Violet doesn’t snitch me out this time. She’s been with her best friend, Heather, this weekend, so I figure the chances of that happening are slim. For all she knows, I’m at home studying like the prodigal son. And it’s not like I am skipping out on my punishment a week in advance. I’m off tomorrow. I could have probably gotten away with this had Brody not been an utter idiot. Had I not been a fool and punched him.
“Give us some space,” one of the first responders says.
I swallow and back away as they step into our circle and do an initial assessment of Cammie.
A paramedic walks up. “Whoa, kid, what happened to you? We got a call for a head laceration, not a head lac and busted nose. On two different people, no less.”
Brody nods. “I’m good. She’s the reason you’re here.”
“What happened here?”
I run my hands through my hair, grasping the strands for a couple of seconds before gripping the back of my neck. The sun has already dried my hair and my swim trunks. Cammie is still dripping wet. I stare at Brody, waiting for his response.
He shrugs, his eyes never leaving mine. “Cammie and I had a collision. Shouldn’t have been running.”
“Must’ve been a heck of a collision,” another paramedic says, eying Cammie’s head and his nose speculatively.
“Yeah, she slipped and fell backward.”
It’s only a half lie. I guess in a way, Brody has just as much to protect as I do. What I did was wrong, but he’s the reason she’s about to get her first ambulance ride. We’re both stupid.
They load her on the stretcher and nod at Brody. “You should probably have that checked out. You’re welcome to follow us.”
“Holden,” Cammie says.
“Yeah?”
“Will you ride with me? I’m scared.”
I nod. There’s nothing I won’t do for her. “Yeah.”
“Sorry, but minors aren’t allowed to accompany patients,” the first paramedic says. “You don’t look like you’re eighteen quite yet.”
“I’m not. Sorry, Cam. I’ll meet you there.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah. I promise.”
Eddie is behind us. Amie’s driving Brody’s car because he’s still holding his bleeding nose, and I’d decided to leave mine at home earlier, instead choosing to run to the pool. My reasoning being my parents would be easier on me if I got busted since I didn’t drive anywhere. Losing my car was my punishment. Last night, Brody even drove us to laser tag.
Then, today, he stopped by on the way to the pool to pick up Cammie and Amie since they’d stayed the night at Amie’s while her parents were off with my parents for the weekend. I’ve never understood why Cammie and Violet always have to stay over at someone’s house, but our parents let me stay home alone. Especially when I’m on restriction. It’s like they are testing to see what I do under temptation. Was this a set-up? Why does it always seem like things go from awesome to horrible when engaged in rule breaking?
Amie called Mrs. Spencer on the way to let her know about the accident. I made sure to tell her not to mention my presence or the fact I’m pretty sure I broke Brody’s nose. Still unsure of how I’m going to talk my way out of this, I’ve been running different scenarios of how I managed to get here. In my swimsuit and T-shirt no less. My subconscious keeps telling
me the truth is how I explain it. Lies just lead to more deception.
I’ve never been one to get in trouble. If hanging out at the pool is the worst peer pressure I succumb to, then my parents should be grateful.
Brody calls his grandfather, letting him know he thinks he broke his nose. The paramedics barely bought Brody’s lie. Anyone who knows him knows he sucks at being dishonest, so his grandfather manages in a matter of seconds to pry the real story out of him—that I’m responsible. They decide he’ll skip being evaluated because there’s really not much the doctors can do for a broken nose and the bleeding’s stopped now.
Instead of teasing Brody like I want to about this being a great opportunity to fix his crooked nose, to get a rhinoplasty like half the women in Magnolia Grove have already done, I use my better judgment. After all, I like my face. And if Brody touches it, we’re both likely to get arrested. Blowing out a breath, this is the first time since he threw that stupid snake at Cammie I’ve been able to nearly crack a smile.
The ambulance parks in the bay, and we find a parking place in the emergency room parking lot. “Have you decided what you’re going to tell your parents, Holden?” Amie asks.
“Nope. Still secretly holding out hope they won’t find out.”
She laughs. “I’m not sure if that’s optimism or pure idiocrasy. Your parents were with hers. Even if they don’t show up here, they’ll probably definitely come back early.”
“Shut up, Amie.” I smirk. “You don’t think I’ve thought about this already?”
We get out of the car, and she pushes me. “Don’t tell me to shut up, Masters.”
“I’ll figure something out. At least I’m dry at this point.”
“True. We could say we swung by and picked you up on the way.”
“I don’t want you to lie for me, but I may use that one if I decide to lie myself.”
Brody shakes his head. “Dude. Your mom has the biggest bullshit meter I’ve ever seen. Do you think she’s going to buy anything other than the truth?”
Eddie walks up, joining us.
Brody’s right, though. “Can we please just change the subject and go see about my girl?”
“Your girl?” Amie lifts her eyebrows up and down.
“Did I say my girl? I meant our girl. Yeah. Our girl.”
“Suuuurre,” Eddie says.
Ugh. They’re never going to let me live this down.
When we get inside, the first person I see is not the Spencers or my parents. It’s Violet’s best friend, Heather, and her family. What the heck? She rushes over to me, nearly tackling me with her embrace. “Oh my God, Holden. How is she?” I guess that answers my question. My parents are either here, or they called the Springfields to let them know to meet them here. Violet is probably in the bathroom making herself puke because that’s what Vi does these days.
“Um, good, I think. She’s gonna live.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God. She was unconscious. I thought she was already gone. They could barely get a pulse.”
“She was fine, though.” What the hell happened to Cammie on the ambulance ride over? If only I could have gotten to her before she fell. I want to murder Brody for throwing that snake at her. My heart starts to race. I don’t understand. I don’t get it. Everything is closing in on me. The people in this waiting room vanish. The only sound I hear is the increasingly fast thumping of my heart. “I don’t understand,” I say, starting to pace back and forth.
“I know. It happened so fast,” Heather says.
I sense a body beside me, and Amie’s covering her mouth with her hands. She shakes her head. “I didn’t think it looked like enough blood loss for her to lose her pulse. Oh my God, Holden. What if Eddie was right to be checking her neurologic status? What if her brain has been swelling all this time?”
“What do you mean blood? And when and why was Eddie checking her neurologic status?” Heather asks.
I shake my head. That can’t be it. She was fine. She. Was. Fine. “Eddie was asking her to hold up fingers and all.”
“Holden, who do you think I’m talking about?”
“Cammie.” I stop dead in my tracks, looking into her blue eyes. Her face is now white as a ghost. “Who are you talking about, Heather?”
“Vi, Holden. It’s Violet—”
Before she can even finish her sentence, I’m sprinting to the triage desk. I bang my hands down on the counter. “My sister’s here. Violet Masters.”
“Can I see your ID, please?”
Reaching for my back pocket, I realize in this moment I don’t have my wallet. I didn’t bring it. There was no point since I wasn’t driving. “I was at the pool. I didn’t bring it with me. My best friend is also here, Camellia Spencer.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you back to see Miss Masters at this time,” the young nurse says.
A choked sob escapes. “Please. I’m her brother. She’s my sister. I need to see her.”
A hand is on my back, rubbing it. I know based on her perfume immediately who it is. Mrs. Springfield. “We came in with Violet. I can vouch that this is her next of kin.”
“I understand, but they are still working on stabilizing her.” Everything she hasn’t said is all over her face. Sadness, regret. Pity.
Mrs. Springfield turns me around and envelops me in her arms. “Your parents will be here any minute. Hang in there. Would you like me to say a prayer with you, Holden?”
I nod, but then shake my head. “What happened to her?”
“She collapsed. That’s all we know.” She takes my hands in hers and starts to recite the Lord’s Prayer. I don’t even pay attention to the words. Her voice is soothing, though. The only thoughts running through my mind are replays of my interactions with Violet over the last month and a half, but more so of the last time she spoke to me. I didn’t know it was possible for a girl to hold a grudge so long. I thought they all eventually caved. The last time she talked to me was the day I got put on restriction. I told her I loved her.
She told me she hated me.
The cold, crisp air in the ER waiting room only helps to numb me more. What is wrong with Violet? Why won’t they tell me anything?
I’m not sure how much time passes. The television has a news channel on that I’ve drowned out. Kids are crying. There’s a hum in the room from chatter. Every now and again, familiar voices converse around me. My eyes have been going between the glass panel sliding doors and the entry to the back where the patients are. There are only two people I care about seeing or hearing from right now: my mother and the physician treating my sister. Because when everything is falling apart, when I’m sick, or when I am scared, it’s my mom who gives me comfort. And the only other person who could remotely come close to that is a doctor telling me my sister is going to be okay.
Every time one of them opens, my heart starts racing in my chest. My posture straightens, and I shift to the balls of my feet so I can jump up in an instant. But so far, I’ve been let down each time. I might as well be alone. In hell.
What if Violet is dead? What if they won’t let me see her until Mom and Dad have? They wouldn’t let me ride in an ambulance, so why would they let me see her before them? No. Surely, they’d come get me if she were gone, let me see her, let me be with her. Anything. I jump up from my seat and start to pace, running my hands through my hair. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I focus on the square tiles on the laminate flooring. I count my steps and avoid stepping on any of the cracks or lines so as to avoid breaking my mother’s back. Maybe if I don’t step on them, it’ll save Violet. Mrs. Springfield has her prayers. I have stupid superstitions. Every little thing helps, I would think. I shrug as I rub my burning eyes, unsure if the culprit is the chlorine or the tears that have been threatening their escape.
So focused on the tiles, on avoiding cracks and lines, my watchful eye totally neglects the entrances. When all the people I know in this waiting room shift at the same time, I avert my gaze from the floor to t
he direction they’re focusing their attention on. The sliding double doors where my parents and the Spencers enter.
I make my way over to Mom and Dad, but it’s like they have blinders on. They don’t even see me. There’s this side of me that wants to wait for them to acknowledge me, my feelings, my anguish. It takes everything in me to hold back a wail that for the past fifteen years of Violet’s life where I say, “Look at me. I’m here. I’m hurting too.” I don’t do that. But I’ll be damned if I sit here and do nothing.
My pace is brisk as I cross the room and walk up behind them, listening in on what the triage nurse I had zero success with earlier tells them. “Let me see if I can get more information for you.”
That’s more than she offered to do for me. When she gets up and walks away, I tap Mom on the shoulder. Her body jumps as she jerks her head around. “Oh, Holden,” she says as she covers her heart. “You scared me. How’d you get here?”
“It’s a long story.” My thoughts go back to Cammie for the first time since I walked into this hospital. She’s the real reason I came here, and I have no clue how she’s doing. Didn’t even cross my mind to ask. Bile creeps up my throat. I tried to help Vi and look at where she is now. I couldn’t save Cammie. And the first question my parents have for me is how I got here. “I didn’t drive if that’s what you’re wondering about.” I can’t believe that’d even cross her mind in these circumstances. What I want to tack onto that is a question. Why would it be so hard to believe, so farfetched, that someone would actually think about making sure I made it to the hospital where my sister is fighting for her life? Of course, maybe they tried to call me. I did leave my cell at home because I didn’t think we’d be gone long or that I’d need it.