Hustle

by Ashley Claudy

  She pauses in whatever she's doing and stares at me, finally still enough that it doesn't make me dizzy to look at her. She's older with short spikey hair, and her smooth skin only shows laugh lines in place of wrinkles. “Can you tell me if there's anything besides your head and arm that we should be worried about? We did an overall body check, but is there anything else we should know?”

  I shake my head, stomach twisting. Nothing that medicine can fix.

  She nods and starts slower, “The doctor thinks the injury in the back of your head is superficial, she stitched up the laceration, but wants to run some tests to be sure there's no other damage. The cut on your arm was shallow and only required butterfly stitches. Someone will be in shortly to take you to get an x-ray and EKG. Try and relax till then. How's your pain level on a scale of one to ten?” She keeps moving as she talks, adjusting things around the room.

  “Seven, I think,” my voice is raspy. My head hurts, but not as bad as earlier.

  “I'll get you more medicine and a drink. Do you want juice or water?”

  “Water. Thank you.”

  She comes back a couple seconds later with pills and ice water that I slowly sip. By time they roll me away to another room with large machines, the medicine is kicking in and my stabbing headache is reduced to a dull ache. And the medicine helps to keep me in a fog, like a blanket I want to stay wrapped in.

  * * *

  I feel silly being pushed around the hospital. I'm pretty sure I can walk, but I don't protest. The same nurse from earlier, Valerie, situates my bed when I’m back in the makeshift room with curtains for walls. I settle and wait. Wait for the doctor. Wait for the cops. Wait for my mom, who the nurse said they called. I don't think ahead, I don't think of what happened. I don't think at all.

  Until the curtain parts, and my lungs fill with so much trapped and avoided emotions, I'm close to drowning with it. It's impossible to contain the surge of feelings. It burst from my eyes, and Drew's face blurs as he steps into the room.

  He hesitates near my side and I reach for him. With that slight movement, he sinks to the edge of my bed and touches his forehead to mine, his fingers caressing the side of my face. His words blur, and all I hear is the pain in his voice, the brush of his lips on my teary cheeks.

  I grip his hand in mine, needing to hold him like an anchor, keeping me grounded in the moment when everything else is flying out of control. With a few deep breaths, I steady myself, feeling stronger with him so close.

  “They let you out already? You're here,” I reassure myself with both hands on his chest and pull back to look at him. “What happened?”

  His eyes dart around my face before settling on mine. “They had to drop it. But baby, we can talk about that later.” His head drops back to mine, his whispered words easing into my bloodstream, soothing me. “You're okay? I was scared when I heard something happened. Fucking terrified—but you're okay.” His light touch travels up my neck, to the edge of the bandage on the back of my head. “You'll be okay.”

  I dip my head to let him get a closer look. “Does it look bad? Did they cut away a lot of my hair?”

  My hair’s pulled back in an elastic band, the ends still stiff with blood, but I know they cut away some hair where they stitched and bandaged me up.

  “Maybe they cut some, but only the edge. Don't worry about that. That's nothing.”

  “I know.” Tears fall onto my hands. That is nothing, but I’m easing my way into the worst questions. “I—” I take an unsteady breath. “What about Tatum? Have you heard anything?”

  I glance up when he shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a firm line, jaw working underneath.

  He picks up my hand when I drop my eyes again. “She's here, too, in a room. I haven't been there yet. I came right here. But I heard she's okay, too. I talked to her parents, they’ll be here soon.”

  “And Scott?”

  His eyes flash with something intense, but the curtain is pulled open again before he can answer.

  The doctor steps through with two police officers following, but she turns to them. “If you'll give me one moment to talk to my patient, she'll be available to question shortly.” She nods them away and then her eyes flick to Drew.

  “Can he stay?” I ask, heart leaping to my throat.

  “If you're okay with him here, then it's fine.” She says as she steps to a computer on wheels and clicks through some screens.

  Drew rises to his feet and stands beside the head of my bed, keeping a firm grip on my hand.

  “Yup,” she smiles in my direction. “All the test came back normal. While your head’s going to hurt like hell for a few days to a week, there shouldn't be any lasting damage. The stitches will need to be removed in about five days. Just to be sure, I want to keep you here for a couple more hours for monitoring. As long as you remain stable, the dizziness recedes, and you have someone to drive you, you'll be free to go soon.” She types some things into the computer and then clicks a few more buttons. “I'll give you a prescription of pain meds to take as needed, but no more than two every four hours over the next few days. The nurse will be in shortly with all your paperwork. Let her know if you need anything.” She adjusts her glasses then glances to me. “Any questions?”

  “How is Tatum? And Scott? The others that were brought in?” I ask, letting the warmth of Drew's steady touch seep into me.

  “The girl, Tatum, is in a private recovery room. The boy, Scott,” she steps closer to me and her soft smile dips into a sympathetic frown, “he didn't survive. He died at the scene. There was nothing that could be done.” She pats my hand with the tip of her fingers.

  I hear her words, but they don't affect me like I think they should. It just slides into another numb fact about the night.

  “And the baby?” Drew asks, and his voice tears my heart in pieces.

  “Baby?” The doctor jerks her hand away from mine and narrows her eyes in thought. “There was no baby brought in or mentioned.”

  “Tatum's pregnant,” his voice is low, thick. “Has anyone checked?”

  “I hadn't heard—” Her brows crease down, and she steps away. “I'm not her doctor, and her family has requested privacy. Excuse me.” She exits before we can say anything else.

  I look to him, but his eyes are stuck to the spot that she disappeared through.

  “Can we talk to her now?” A male voice asks on the other side of the curtain.

  “Yes.” The doctor’s heels click on the floor as she walks away.

  The curtain opens back up, like a revolving door, and Drew grips my hand even tighter as officers approach.

  “Sir, can you step out while we talk to Ms. Shaw?” The smaller officer requests.

  “Does she need a lawyer?” Drew asks, looking down at me. “I can get one here.”

  “I don't think that's necessary. We only want to question her about the events tonight. We already have a confession and the murder weapon with prints.” He pauses, and then lifts his chin to Drew. “But if you want to drag this out and make it difficult, then get a lawyer.”

  I take breath. “You have a confession? From who?”

  “Sir.” The taller officer pulls back the curtain, signaling Drew through.

  When Drew still hesitates, I speak up to reassure him, even though I'm not at all sure, “It's okay.”

  “Brooklyn—”

  “Go check on Tatum. We won't be long, right?” I ask the officers, and they both nod.

  “We need a witness statement from you. We only have a few questions.” The tall one states.

  He'd been vibrating since he asked about the baby, and I knew the doctor's evasion of the question did nothing to ease his worry.

  “Drew, go check on her, please.” I place my other hand over the back of his holding mine. “I'm worried about her, too.”

  His eyes shift over me, and then he dips down till our foreheads touch, and his hand cups the side of my face, heedless of the officers in the room as he speaks low to
me, “I'm worried for you. I can't help her, but I might be able to help here. Or at least be here for you.”

  “Thank you.” I nod, accepting his support, wanting it, even though I had said otherwise.

  His soft lips brush against mine, and his touch spirals through me, calming me as it gave me chills that prickle over my skin. Then he stands back up and faces the officers, not budging.

  “I'd like him to stay,” I say and they glance at each other.

  “Fine, for now,” the taller one sighs and drops the curtain. “Can you tell us your version of tonight’s events. With as much detail as you can.”

  “I'll be recording your statement.” The other officer states, holding out a small black device.

  I begin from the moment Scott approached me after my meeting, telling the story like it wasn't me. Like it was some history I memorized for class. I don't stop till I reach the part where the cops showed up, and none of them interrupt me while I speak.

  The tall one looks at his opened leather bound note pad and asks, “Did Chris Kelley, whom you referred to as Coach, did he appear under duress, threatened, or coerced in any way or by any one when he fired the gun at Scott?”

  “No,” I answer immediately, thoughts snapping with what that question could mean. “No, Scott was leaving. He shot him in his back, no one made him do that.”

  “That's all we need for the official statement, but do you know or have any theories as to why this group targeted you?”

  “My sister hates me, she said that she blamed me for our fathers accident, for when Mr. Kelley got reported in high school, and now she said I was ruining her business.” I take a breath, but force out the secrets, following my instinct instead of something else that urges me to stay quiet. “They were involved in gambling and drugs on campus.”

  “We know,” the taller one with the note pad answers. “Detectives at the station were working with the college to investigate the drugs and gambling already. And with the evidence and statements from tonight, we were able to make the connections.”

  I hear my mother before I see her when she questions a nurse as to where I am. Then she bursts through the curtain, only hesitating a split second at the sight of the crowd. She comes to my side with a wild nervousness that shakes her whole body.

  “Oh sweetie, I got here as soon as I heard. Are you okay?” Her small hands hover above my shoulder, and her eyes sweep up and down me. Then she swipes her gaze to the officers before I can respond. “Is she okay? Is everything okay?”

  The shorter one nods and pulls a few papers from his thin binder. “We were just leaving. If you have any further questions or additional information to share, you can contact officer Dale or myself at this number.” He points to a card stapled to the back of the pamphlet he's handing me.

  “I do have a question. How did the officers get there so fast?” I ask.

  “The call you were disconnected from, that man reported it. When the patrol car was on his way, we received multiple calls about gunfire in the area.”

  I nod, a small thankfulness towards Kyle for not keeping the information to himself.

  “We'll be in contact with you as the investigation proceeds,” he continues. “Your information is on file already, I believe, from earlier reports?”

  “Wait.” My mother raises her hand to get their attention, her eyes still flicking to me. “What about—what about my other daughter, London? Where is she?”

  “Well, Mam, she's in custody at county lockup, but due to her current state she may be taken to Seaton Psychiatric hospital for holding.” The shorter one pulls out a card to hand to her. “You can call this number for more information.”

  “What's her current state?” She presses her hand to her head as she uses the other to take the card.

  “She's refusing to calm down and continues to be a danger to herself and others. Call the number. Maybe they’ll provide further information, but they might not.”

  The officers leave, and my mother wavers between the card and me before sliding it into her back pocket. She settles her tear filled eyes on me. “I am so sorry, Brooklyn.” She chokes on her sob and sits beside me. “So sorry she hurt you. How are you feeling? What has the doctor said?”

  “I should be fine, just a few stitches and a headache.”

  Her lips twitch, but she can't lift them from the weight of her frown, and she closes her eyes. “She hit you with a gun. Shot another girl. And a boy is dead. They told me on the phone.” Her shoulders sink under the weight of each sentence. “And it could have been worse. Oh, God. I am so sorry. So sorry, Brooklyn.”

  “It's not your fault.” I pull out of Drew's grip to comfort my mother, placing a hand on her back. “Don't blame yourself.”

  “Isn't it?” She drops her eyes. “I'm her mother. I knew she had problems. I should have done more for her. I should have found her sooner.”

  “Ms. Shaw,” Drew's stern voice demands attention. “You have a daughter here who's gone through a lot tonight, but she is still trying to think of everyone besides herself. You want to do something? Think about her first.”

  “Drew,” my pulse pounds as I look between the two, “she's worried about—”

  “I'm sorry,” he softens his tone and lowers his hand to the top of my head, his focus on me. “I don't want to add stress—”

  “He's right.” Her thin shoulders lift with her intake of breath, and she looks up to me. “I shouldn't lay my problems at your feet, it's not right. I apologize. I'm a mess right now. Let's focus on getting you home. Did the doctors say yet?”

  “They said I need to stay a couple of hours for monitoring, and then I can go.” I lean back against my pillow, the ache in my head increasing.

  “Do you need anything?” She asks.

  “More water, please,” I request with my eyes closed.

  When I open them, she's gone, but Drew is sitting beside me, fingers trailing the edge of my face, staring at me like he's trying to memorize me. “What happened after you were arrested?” I can see his refusal in his eyes so I continue, “You heard everything that happened with me. I don't want to talk about me anymore, or think about me. Tell me what happened with you?”

  “TJ’s the one that reported that I was intimidating him or some shit like that. When they released him, he said he feared going home. Said that I threatened other players, but they were too scared to come forward. I called the assistant coach to get a lawyer for me, but I guess he contacted Tatum's parents or maybe the lawyer did that, I don't know. But they somehow used their weight to get my hearing pushed up for bail, but before I even saw the magistrate, Kyle came in and took back his earlier statement. He admitted TJ was there that day and choked you. I think it all frustrated the hell out of the police involved, and with Tatum's parents on their ass, they dismissed my charges with not enough evidence. Kyle met me outside the station when I was released and told me about your call. He said the police were already sent. It was Tatum's parents who told me you were both here.” His chest rises and falls with the force of his breath. “I can't believe she showed up there.”

  “She said she wanted to talk to me.”

  “She shouldn't have been there.” His jaw works under his skin. “She doesn't need to talk to you.”

  My mother walks back into the room, setting a Styrofoam cup of water beside me, but she remains silent.

  “Go check on her.” I know he wants to. I want him to. “Please, I'd like to know she's okay, too. My mom's here now, I won't be alone.” He doesn't move, but I can see the concern in his eyes. “You need to find out.”

  “I won't be long.” He pulls away like it's painful, and it's only as he disappears behind the curtain with one last look back that I realize, maybe it's him who doesn't want to be alone. But it's too late to call him back.

  * * *

  I walk out of the ER with Drew's arm around me, in a change of clothes my mother brought.

  He’d come back from checking on Tatum quiet, with only a few wo
rds—She's fine. She’ll spend the next twenty-four hours in the hospital. When I asked if she was still pregnant, my heart split for him with the shake of his head. But the look in his eyes said not to push. Maybe he'd talk more when my mother wasn't around.

  She's gone to pull the car up to the front of the emergency exit, but before I can think of something to say to him, he stops mid stride next to me and pulls his body upright. Taller. Larger.

  I follow his gaze to a well dressed couple stepping out of the door behind us, into the cool night, the emergency room light illuminating them.

  It's easy to recognize Tatum's mother; they look just alike. But Tatum's father—I assume that's who the large man is beside her—has strong dark features that are nothing like his daughter’s.

  “Andrew, are you leaving?” The man asks, one hand in his suit pocket.

  Drew pulls me in close to his side as he answers, “Yes, sir.”

  “Is this the girl?” He nods to me, but keeps his eagle eyes on Drew.

  “This is Brooklyn,” his tone is cool and level.

  “Brooklyn.” Tatum's mother breaks from her husband's side, and she extends a hand to me. “It's nice to meet you. I want to thank you for what you did for my daughter tonight. We are grateful for your help.”

  I shake her hand without stepping out of the warmth of Drew's arm, allowing him to support half my weight since I'm still dizzy. I can't think of what to say to these people and look for my mom's car, but I don't see it yet.

  “We'd like to show our appreciation.” The man pulls his hand from his pocket, and I flinch, until I see that it's a checkbook he holds. “Perhaps a year of tuition to Eastern?”

  “Please, stop.” I put out my hand before he can click his pen. “I don't want anything.”

  His eyes narrow slightly, but it's intense enough that I can't look away, and ice drips down my spine.

  “Well, that's very nice of you, but don't be foolish.” The man puts his hand out to his wife as she tries to interject, shushing her before he continues, “Maybe you need time to think about it? We'd only ask that you sign a non-disclosure agreement. We know you have to share details with the police, but we'd like to keep this matter private, especially my daughter's actions, which were not ideal. We'll deal with her lies, and can assure that she will not be returning to Eastern. She is coming home with us. All you have to do is name your price.”