“Help us!” I scream again. My throat burns raw and torn from screaming.
When the paramedics arrive a few moments later, the blood coating my hands has become sticky. The splatters on my shirt have already turned a deep brown, and when I let Steph go, allowing for the paramedics to take my place and work on her, I already know it’s too late. She stopped breathing seconds ago with me folded over her and praying for her to live. Body numb, I step back until I bump into a car. In a daze, I watch them administer chest compressions while her body remains lifeless.
In a smog of guilt and anger, I stumble away. I break past a barrier of police officers to scour the park for Cait. If she’s not here among the dead, she’s safe. She’s safe. She has to be safe. This is my mantra.
At the far north end of the park, where she usually hangs out, I find her things. The contents of her bag are strewn everywhere. Her phone’s buzzing on the ground, but her blanket’s covered in blood.
“Cait!” I snatch up the blanket and scream into the air as if she’ll hear me and come running. If she’s here she will. We’re connected. She’ll know I’m waiting. But she doesn’t. Instead, there’s only the red and white flashing lights, the sound of sirens and the scurry of people in uniforms. I drop to my knees with my hands covering my face and finally break down and weep.
“Sir?” a soft but firm voice calls to me.
Through my burning red eyes, I can make out the image of an officer. I stumble to stand and ramble in a panic as she nears. “My girlfriend. These are her things. Can you help me find her? I need to see her. I need to tell her. Steph. I have a ring. I love her.”
“Sir, come with me. I can help you,” she says.
She places a hand on my arm and guides me. My mind is a broken record playing one thing over and over. Cait, Cait. Cait. She’ll help me find Cait, and that’s all that matters. There’s a point when I brain shuts off. Everything blurs. My mind has taken all it can. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s exhaustion.
I find myself in a waiting room at a hospital. There’s a crunching Mylar blanket around my back and a half-filled bottle of orange juice on the table next to me. I don’t even remember how I got here. On the TV mounted to the wall, the news reports breaking news. Mass shooting. Twelve people confirmed dead. An unknown number injured. The shooter committed suicide.
I’m sitting in a chair, staring at the floor unable able to hold myself level with the weight of the world crushing me. I slump farther, chest folding toward my knees, my head heavy and waterlogged from tears. I cover my ears. I don’t want to hear. I don’t what to know. I claw my fingers through my hair and pull, wanting to rip it all out.
“Evan.”
I glance up. My eyes wince from the flickering, fluorescent lighting above. Linden’s shape appears in front on me. I reach out to make sure it’s really him and paw at his arm. He leans down and hugs me so tight I wish it would wake me from this nightmare. Cait’s in surgery. Three gunshots. Critical condition.
“She’s going to live,” I tell him. If I believe it, if I put positive thoughts out to the universe like she would, it will come true. It has to. I can’t lose her. I crumble again.
Linden gives me a grim look. He knows the truth. He knows it’s bad. “She will. She’s strong,” he tells me, but the way his brows knit makes me unsure he believes.
“She’s going to live.” My voice is stern, certain. I set my jaw and clench my crusty, blood-covered hands. I’m ready to punch him if he says anything different.
“I’m sorry.” He sighs and refocuses.
“Steph. She...” my words bobble. My face rushes with the singing heat of tears. They feel like kerosene now. I’ve produced so many they’ve morphed into something inhuman, potent and deadly.
The memories of watching Steph’s life slip from my hands replays in my tortured mind. Her eyes were focused on me one minute and then in the next, she drew a long, slow breath, her mouthed dropped open in awe, and then her attention reached beyond my shoulder until her eyes glazed over and settled on something far away, like she was seeing something the rest of us couldn’t. I squeeze my face so tight I feel the blood vessels pulse on my hairline.
Linden sinks. Face in his palms, mourning her. Steph lived on the same street when we were younger. She was Linden’s first kiss. She’s been my best friend since age five. The Three Musketeers, my dad called us. And now there are only two of us. He places an arm around my shoulder and we cry for our friend. We cry for Cait.
“I told you to take care of her,” a woman’s voice says.
Through swollen eyes, I glance across the waiting room. It’s been a few years but Cait’s mom looks the same. A tall and narrow man with drawn features stands at her side. With his hair grayed and stormy eyes, he needs no introduction, nor does he offer me his hand. Cait’s dad. I’ve seen him on TV but never met him in person. He rips me with his intimidating gaze.
I glance away. I can’t bear it. I failed her. If I had stayed with Cait instead of working, we would have been looking at buying her little house and dreaming of our future. If I had stayed with her where I should have been, this never would have happened.
Linden rises to greet them. They talk, though I’ve already zoned out. I lean back and place my head on the wall and stare through the TV. The president is speaking on gun control. After the speech is done, experts debate the issue. Fuck them. Fuck all of them on both sides for not dealing with this sooner. For not coming to some agreement that fixes this, whatever it is. How many times does this have to happen? Do something, one way or another. Make a decision that protects us. No word wars will make Cait well or give us back Steph or any of the people who died today or every time before this tragedy.
I close my eyes, seeking images of Cait. I find her smile, her laugh, and the way we teased each other. I want to find comfort in them but remembering them breaks me more. How could I ever live in a world where Cait doesn’t exist? Where we don’t exist?
Linden’s words bring me back. “She’s out of surgery.”
CHAPTER 41
“Let me see her.” I grind my teeth. Anxious hands flex at my side. I stare into the stormy eyes of Cait’s father. I’ve been waiting for hours, and now I’m crazed needing to hold her again and irritable because I haven’t slept in over a day. Linden left an hour ago, and he’s been the one mediating between us. I promised him I would sleep in the waiting room, but how can I when she’s right here, and I need to see for myself that she’s okay.
“Family only.” Her mother raises a palm with quiet authority.
“I am her family!” I scream, causing everyone in the nurse’s station to turn their attention to me.
I know what I look like in this bloodstained undershirt. I’m jittery. Steph’s dried blood covers my skin, my eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and my hair’s a wild mess. Compared to her parents, who are composed and dressed in business attire, I’m the crazy one.
Her mom waves for security. With the senator’s appearance, the hospital has been swarming with them, but no way are they keeping me from Cait. Though he appears wary, her father stands unmoving at her door. He crosses his arms, unwilling to let me pass.
“Get out of my way.” I grab his shoulders and push him aside, and he stumbles. For a fraction of a second I glimpse Cait. She’s out cold, laid out on the bed, a white sheet pulled up to her waist with tubes connected to her mouth and arms. I recoil at the shock of seeing her this way, so helpless and broken. But then press forward again, more eager than ever to be by her side.
I’m a few feet away when someone grabs my arm, flinging me backward, but I’m exhausted and tired of this bullshit. I swivel, jack my arm, and swing. I don’t care who the hell I hit. My fist connects with her dad’s face. His bones crack beneath my anger, and he hurls away, arms flailing. But I don’t stop there. No. I descend on him and strike him again and again with her mom screaming in the background. With each impact, I’m realizing it’s not just his face shattering; it’s me who’s brea
king under the pressure.
Several men in suits tackle me to the floor. With my face and chest pressed into the cold linoleum, I yell Cait’s name. I fight them, arms swinging and legs kicking. My fingers grasp the air in her direction. I can see the wheels on the bottom of her bed. If I scream loud enough, maybe she’ll know I’m here.
The security mob wrangles me upright. My wrists are zip-tied behind my back before security hauls me down the hall, my toes dragging behind me. They hustle me into an open elevator and slam my chest against the cab’s wall. My cheek presses into the cold metal paneling, strong hands brace my shoulders, while someone’s elbow knifes into my back.
The elevator dings and the doors slide shut. But before they do, I take in her mother’s face. She’s standing on the far side of the hall. Despite her husband’s bloody and broken nose, she’s smiling. It doesn’t make sense—until it does. In a small moment of clarity, I realize she baited me when I was at my wits end. She wanted me to react. She wanted to get me kicked out and or arrested. She wanted to get rid of me because that’s what she’s wanted for years.
***
Linden picks me up at the police station on Monday.
“Motherfuckers,” he says.
He knows. He understands. Her parents will forever hate me because of what I represent. They believe that in me loving her, I enabled her to prosper here. I aided her so she wouldn’t have to run back to them. They wanted her to fail and return home.
It shows how little they know or understand Cait. She’s strong enough to survive on her own. She never gives up. And she sure as shit didn’t need me to get what she wanted. She gets what she wants on her own. When we met, I thought I would save her, but she’s no damsel. She’s a fighter. A warrior. And it’s why I love her.
As soon as we pull away in Linden’s Range Rover I say, “Take me back to her.”
“I wish I could.” He palms the steering wheel.
“Stop and let me out.” I reach for the handle but the locks click. I fire Linden a death stare. My crazy is coming back. I may have slept a little in my cell from sheer exhaustion, but I’m not beyond fighting my own brother to return to Cait.
He bypasses the city streets, heading straight for Lake Shore Drive. Today is gray and cloudy. The waves from Lake Michigan crash over the bike path that Cait and I run on. I watch it stream outside my window as Linden flies down the highway. I anchor my elbow on the door and bite the cuticles on my finger.
“The Londons filed a temporary restraining order against you. That’s why they held you in jail for so long.”
“What!” I slap the console. In ten seconds I’m exploding.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
“Things work faster when you have power,” he says.
I squeeze my fists until they turn white. Seven. Six. Five.
“If I take you back, you’ll end up in jail again. And that will give them power to extend the restraining order.”
Four. Three. Two.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says.
My body stiffens, and I clench the edge of my seat. My mind’s imaging the worst thing it can. I can’t help it. It’s automatic. I hold my breath as my eyes burn like they’re filling with bleach, waiting for him to say it because I can’t bring myself to ask.
“I have sources at the hospital.” He shifts gears, blows a red light, and turns into his neighborhood. “Besides her gunshot wounds, she’s in a coma from a traumatic head injury. They think she fell and hit her head in the chaos.”
But she’s still alive. She’s still breathing. She’ll be okay. “When will she wake?”
“They don’t know. Sooner is better. Longer is...”
“No good.” I finish his sentence, but my thoughts have turned to the worst again.
We pull into his driveway and park. Viv stands out front, outside their open front door. She’s burrowed into a large gray sweater. Her auburn hair blows in the breeze. I reach to open the door with my bruised hand, but Linden has yet to unlock them. When I glance over, I can see he’s not done with me. A muscle ticks in my neck.
“You have to promise you’ll stay away from the hospital until we can meet with the attorney.”
“You know I can’t do that.” My voice is still hoarse.
“She’s getting the best care at a first-rate hospital with the best physicians in the world. I know you want to be by her side, we all do, but the best way to deal with this is to play cool. It’s a shitty thing for me to ask. I understand. In fact, I’d understand if you told me to fuck off and bolted when I open that door. But you’re tired, you need a shower, and you need sleep so you can be clear minded. You’ll be better for her tomorrow. You can’t face her like this.” He gestures to me.
I look down though I know what I look like. Or at least I did yesterday. Now it’s a day later and I’m still a wreck inside and out. I glance at Linden, trying to decide. He’s always watched out for me. He tells me the truth even when it hurts, and it’s never hurt like this before. I nod. Either way, it’s the only way I’m getting out of this car.
The locks release. I snap open my door and slide out.
As I approach Viv, her red hair coils around her face and strands stick to her maroon lips. She opens her arms and folds me into the warmth of her sweater. I should find comfort in her hug. She’s been a constant rock of support in my life, more than my own mother, but still, I’m numb.
“We’ll figure this out. Come inside,” she says, guiding me into their home.
In the guest bedroom, I shower and dress in fresh clothes I borrowed from Linden. My guilt is overwhelming when I hold out my blood-soiled pants and shirt, ready to discard them. It’s the last of Steph. I’ve been too unfocused to consider her family, her other friends, and Trevor. When is the funeral? Should I call them and tell them I was there? What will I even say? I couldn’t save your daughter? My expression folds, and I shake my head.
“I’ve already talked to her family. The funeral’s later this week,” Linden says.
“Did you tell them... I’m sorry. I tried...” Linden’s right. I can’t think straight.
“They know.”
I nod and release the clothing. They drop into the trash bag and Linden ties it shut. “Viv’s making food. Can you eat?”
“Sleep.” My voice is resigned.
He agrees and closes the door behind him, leaving me in the quiet bedroom. I sit on the edge of the mattress. My misery and headache increase the longer I fight to maintain consciousness. I’m scared if I sleep, if I miss one second, something else I can’t control will happen to Cait. If I’m sleeping, I won’t be able to protect her.
But my eyes are so heavy. They snap open before I realize I’ve closed them. I find myself leaning and drifting to one side. I give in and lay down on top of the comforter, holding an image of Cait in my foggy mind. With her beautiful face framed behind my eyelids, I walk toward her and allow the darkness take me. The problem is, my world is worse when I wake on Tuesday afternoon.
CHAPTER 42
Little clarity comes from sleep. And when we attend Steph’s funeral, I can’t bring myself to leave her casket. On knees before her, I grip my own fingers and pray she’s found peace. But the world won’t be the same without her, and I’ll never recover from the loss. I failed her as much as I failed Cait.
How long has it been? A week? I can’t take it anymore. Despite the warnings from my lawyer, I need to see Cait, to confirm she’s still here, still breathing, still fighting, and that the nightmares I have are only that, nightmares. With my jacket gripped in my hand, I head for the front door. The lights snap on in the foyer as I unchain the lock.
“Where you headed this late?” Linden descends the stairs in his pajamas. His admonishing gaze flickers across mine. He already knows the damn answer.
“Out.” I reach for the knob.
“Think about what you’re doing. Be smart.” I turn to him where he’s paused on the bottom step, his face stern. But he can’
t know what it’s been like to bury my best friend today and be so uncertain about Cait’s recovery. What if something happens to her and I don’t see her before... my thoughts drift, and I shake my head. I won’t allow myself to think the worst. I cannot.
“What would you do if it were Viv?”
He flinches, like this is the most unimaginable question. His hand clenches the railing before he says, “I’d fucking destroy anyone who kept us apart.”
“Yeah. That’s the anger you’re asking me to cage.” I step out and slam the door. It’s been building inside, and I need a release. Tonight I made a bargain with myself. If I do this one thing, I may be able to get through.
I haven’t been to our apartment since it happened. I can’t bear it, not without her. But I go tonight because I need to collect something.
Through Devon, who now works security in the hospital, I find out they’ve moved Cait into a private wing. Her room is guarded, no doubt to keep me away. With his help, I take the fire stairs to her floor and wait. When her security detail moves to the nurse’s desk to chat, I slip into the hallway on hurried but silent steps to her room.
When I see her, I stop where I stand. She’s worse than I imagined—than the little bit I saw before. Her leg’s splinted and elevated. One arm and shoulder are casted and stretched to her side. Her face is a fading mustard-colored bruise and covered in tubes. Machines beep in the background under the glow of a fluorescent light. The room is veiled in a sickly pea green.
My chest caves. It’s too much to take, and I cover my mouth to hold back silent cries. She was so alive the last time I saw her in our home and now this? I fold, remembering I could have made love to her one last time but didn’t. Instead, I walked out the door and left. It’s unfathomable. If only I could rewind the clock and take back every wrong move I made. With heaviness, I drop into the chair beside her, carrying the weight of my guilt.
Her left arm rests on the bed. I grab it and hold her hand to my cheek, to my forehead, and press it to my lips. I kiss each perfect finger. She’s still warm and full of life. I have to believe she’s still in there. That she’s going to recover.
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