“I’d rather take you and there’s nothing wrong than having your appendix rupture, okay?” I would rather his dad kick me out for communicating with him than this kid die or something else terrible.
Oh my God. He could die.
Okay. Time to go.
“Do you have a wallet? ID? An insurance card?”
“I’m okay. It’ll pa—fuck! Holy fuck,” he groaned long and deep, the length of his body tensing with a cry that took another bite out of me.
“I know. You’re fine, but come on anyway, okay? I don’t want your dad to see me trying to put you in my car while you fight me and think I’m trying to kidnap you. He’s not answering, so we can’t ask him what to do. I can try and call your uncle on the way, is that okay? You said something about calling your uncle, right?” I asked, tapping his shoulder. “You can’t die on me, Amos. I swear I won’t be able to live with myself if you do. You’re too young. You have too much left to live for. I’m not as young as you, but I’ve still got at least another forty years left in me. Please don’t let your dad kill me either.”
He tipped his head and looked at me with big, panicked eyes. “I’m going to die?” he whimpered.
“I don’t know! I don’t want you to! Let’s go to the hospital and make sure you don’t, okay?” I suggested, knowing I sounded hysterical and was probably scaring the shit out of him, but he was scaring the shit out of me, and I wasn’t as much of an adult as my birth certificate said I should be.
He didn’t move for so long I thought for sure he was going to keep arguing and I was going to have to call 911, but in the span of a couple of breaths I sucked in through my nose, he must have come to a decision because he slowly tried to climb to his feet.
Thank God, thank God, thank God.
There were tearstains down his cheeks.
He moaned.
He groaned.
Grunted.
And I knew I saw a couple fresh tears stream down his sweaty face. He had the beginnings of his father’s sharp features, but leaner, younger, without the rugged maturity. One day he would though. He couldn’t fucking have his appendix rupture on me. No way.
The teenager leaned against me big-time, whimpering but trying his damnedest not to.
The fifty feet to my car felt like ten miles, and I regretted not driving over. But I got him into the passenger seat and leaned over to strap his seat belt on. Then I ran around the back and got behind the wheel, turning it on and then pausing.
“Amos, can I borrow your phone? Can I try to call your dad again for you? Or your uncle? Or your mom? Anybody? Somebody?”
He pretty much threw his phone at me.
Okay.
Then he muttered a few numbers I figured were his lock code.
He leaned against the window, his face this pale bronze that bordered on a shade of green, and he looked about ready to projectile vomit.
Fuck.
Blasting the air conditioning, I grabbed an old grocery bag from under my seat and set it on his leg. “In case you want to throw up, but don’t sweat it if you don’t make it. I was thinking about trading this in anyway.”
He said nothing, but one more tear made its way down his cheek, and suddenly, I wanted to cry too.
But I didn’t have time for that shit.
Unlocking his phone, I went straight to his recent contacts. Sure enough, his last call had been to his dad about ten minutes ago. There was still barely just enough cell service for a call, and I tried again. It rang and rang. This was my luck.
I glanced at the boy as a standard “The caller you are trying to reach is currently unavailable” recording popped up, and I waited for the beep.
I could do this. It wasn’t like I had another choice. “Hi, Mr. Rhodes, this is Aurora. Ora, whatever. I’m taking Amos to the hospital. I don’t know which one. Is there more than one in Pagosa? I think he might have appendicitis. I found him outside with a lot of stomach pain. I’ll call you when I know where I’m taking him. I have his phone. Okay, bye.”
Well, that lack of information might come back and kick me in the ass, but I didn’t want to waste time on the phone explaining. There was a hospital I needed to find and get to. Stat.
I backed up, made it to the road where I’d learned I got some cell reception, opened my navigation app, found the nearest medical facility—there was an emergency room and one hospital—and set it to navigate. Then with my other hand, I grabbed Amos’s phone again, cast one more glance at the poor kid who was opening and closing his fist, his body faintly trembling with what I could only assume was pain, and asked, “What’s your uncle’s name?”
He didn’t look at me. “Johnny.”
I winced and turned the knob for the air conditioner as cold as it could get when I spotted a bead of sweat at his temple. It wasn’t hot; he was just feeling that bad. Shit.
Then I pressed down on the gas pedal. As fast as I could, I drove.
I wanted to ask him if maybe he felt any better, but he wouldn’t even lift his head, instead just resting it against the window as he took turns groaning and grunting and moaning.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I promised as we wound down the hill to the highway. Luckily, the house was on the side of town closest to the hospital and not clear on the other end.
One of his fingers lifted in acknowledgment. Maybe.
At the stop sign, I scrolled through his contacts and found one for an Uncle Johnny. I hit dial and put it on speakerphone, holding it in my left hand as I turned right.
The “Am, my guy” came clear through the phone.
“Hi, is this Johnny?” I replied.
There was a long pause and then a “Uh, yeah. Who’s this?”
I didn’t exactly sound like a teenage girl, I got it. “Hi, this is Aurora. I’m, uh, Amos’s and Mr. Rhodes’s neighbor.”
Silence.
“Amos seems really sick, and his dad isn’t answering, and I’m taking him to the hospital—”
“What?”
“His stomach hurts, and I think it might be his appendix, but I don’t know his birthday or if he has insurance—”
The man on the other end cursed. “Okay, okay. I’ll meet you at the hospital. I’m not too far, but I’ll be there as soon as I can get there.”
“Okay, okay, thanks,” I replied.
He hung up.
I eyed Amos again as he let out a long, low moan, and I cursed and drove even faster. What should I do? What could I do? Get his mind off the pain? I had to try. Every noise out of his mouth was getting harder and harder to bear.
“Amos, what kind of guitar are you wanting to buy?” I asked because it was the first thing that came to mind, hoping a distraction would help.
“What?” he whimpered.
I repeated my question.
“An electric guitar,” he grunted in a voice I could barely hear.
If this were any other situation, I might have rolled my eyes and sighed. An electric guitar. It wouldn’t be the first time someone assumed I knew nothing about music or instruments. But it was still a bummer. “But what kind? Fanned fret? Headless? Fanned fret and headless? Double-necked?”
If he was surprised I was asking him about something as inconsequential as a guitar when he was trying not to throw up from pain, he didn’t show it, but he did answer with a tight, “A… a headless.”
Okay, good. I could work with this. I pressed down on the gas a little more and kept on hauling ass. “How many strings?”
It didn’t take him as long to answer as it had a moment ago. “Six.”
“Do you know what kind of top you want?” I asked, knowing I might be irritating him by forcing him to talk but hopefully distracting him enough with the questions so that he’d think about something else. And because I didn’t want him to think I had no idea what I was referring to, I went more specific. “Spalted maple? Quilted maple?”
“Quilted!” he gasped violently, forcing his hand into a fist and banging it against his knee.
“Quilted is real nice,” I agreed, gritting my teeth and sending a silent prayer up that he was okay. My God. Five more minutes. We had five more minutes, maybe four if I could get around some of the slow drivers in front of us. “What about your fingerboard?” I threw out.
“I don’t know,” he basically cried.
I couldn’t cry too. I couldn’t cry too. I always cried when other people cried; it was a curse. “Birdseye maple might look nice with quilted maple,” I threw out in basically a shout like if I was loud enough to overpower his tears, they wouldn’t come out. “I’m sorry I’m yelling, but you’re scaring me. I promise I’m driving as fast as possible. If you don’t cry anymore, I know someone who knows someone, and maybe I can get you a discount on your guitar, okay? But please stop crying.”
This weak cough came out of his throat… that sounded a hell of a lot like a laugh. A butchered, pained one but a laugh.
A peek at him as I turned right showed there were still tearstains on his cheeks but maybe….
I took another right and pulled into the lot for the hospital, steering us toward the emergency room entrance, saying, “We’re almost there. We’re almost there. You’re going to be okay. You can have my appendix. It’s a good one, I think.”
He didn’t say he wanted it, but I was pretty sure he tried to give me a thumbs-up as I parked in front of the glass doors and helped Amos out of my car, one arm around his back, taking his weight into me. The poor kid felt like melting Jell-O. His knees were buckled and everything, and it seemed to take everything in him to put one foot in front of the other.
I had never been to an emergency room before, and I guess I had expected someone to come rushing out with a gurney and everything, at least a wheelchair, but the woman behind the counter didn’t even raise an eyebrow at us.
Amos hobbled into a chair, groaning.
I had barely started telling the woman behind the desk what was going on when a presence came up to my side. I met dark brown eyes set into a dark face. It wasn’t familiar whatsoever. “You’re Aurora?” the stranger asked. It was another man.
And my God, this guy was handsome too. His skin was an incredible shade of milky brown, cheekbones high and round, his short hair a deep black. This had to be Amos’s uncle.
I nodded at him, tearing my gaze away from the whole of him to just focus on his eyes. “Yes, Johnny?”
“Yeah,” he agreed before turning toward the woman and sliding his phone across. “I’m Amos’s uncle. I have his insurance information. I have a power of attorney to make medical decisions until his dad can make it,” he rattled off quickly.
I took a step to the side and watched him answer more of the woman’s questions then fill something out on a tablet. I learned as I stood there that Amos’s name was Amos Warner-Rhodes. He was fifteen, and his emergency contact was his father even though, for some reason, his uncle had a medical power of attorney. I backed up right after that information dump and headed over to sit beside Amos, who was back in the same position I had found him: groaning and sweating, pale and terrible.
I wanted to pat his back but kept my hands to myself.
“Hey, your uncle is here. They should be coming to get you in a second,” I told him quietly.
His “okay” sounded like it came from some deep, dark place.
“Do you want your phone back?”
He tipped his head farther toward his knees and groaned.
It was right then that someone in scrubs came out with a wheelchair. I was still holding Amos’s phone when they wheeled him out of the waiting area, his uncle following after him.
Should I… leave?
It might be hours until they knew for sure what was wrong, but… I’d brought him here. I wanted to make sure he was fine; otherwise, I’d stay up all night worrying. I remembered to move my car before it got towed, then sat down to wait.
An hour passed with no sight of Amos’s uncle or his dad. When I went to ask the employee at the front desk if I could have an update, she narrowed her eyes and asked if I was family, and I had to back away feeling like a stalker. But I could wait. I would.
I had just come out of the bathroom nearly two hours after getting to the ER and was heading to my seat when the doors leading outside opened and a big mass of a man came storming in.
The second thing I noticed was the uniform he had on, which seemed poured over a whole lot of impressive muscles and bones. His belt was tight around his waist. Someone deserved a catcall.
What it was about a man in uniform, I had no idea, but I was pretty sure my mouth watered there for a second.
Mr. Rhodes’s shoulders seemed broader, his arms beefier under the bright white hospital lights than they had under the warm yellow of the garage apartment. His scowl made him look even more ferocious. He really was a big, old hunk of a man. My God.
I swallowed.
And that was enough to have his gaze flick toward me. Recognition crossed his features. “Hi, Mr. Rhodes,” I stated as those legs that were just as long as I remembered started moving.
“Where is he?” the man I’d spoken to twice demanded, sounding just as pleasant as he had before. And by pleasant, I meant not pleasant at all. But this time, his son was in the hospital, so I couldn’t blame him.
“He’s in the back,” I told him instantly, letting his tone and words slide down my back. “His uncle is here, Johnny? He’s in the back with him—”
One big, booted foot brought him closer to me. His thick, dark eyebrows knit together, faint lines crossing his broad forehead. The brackets along his mouth were deep with a scowl that might have burned the hair off my eyebrows if I wasn’t so used to my uncle making faces every time someone aggravated him. “What did you do?” he demanded in that bossy, level voice.
Excuse me? “What did I do? I drove him here like I said in my voice mail….”
Another big, booted foot stepped forward. Jesus, he really was tall. I was five-six, and he towered over me. “I specifically told you not to talk to my son, didn’t I?”
Was he kidding me? “Are you joking?” He had to be.
That handsome face dipped closer, his scowl plain mean. “I gave you two rules—”
It was my turn to raise my eyebrows at him, indignation flaring up in my chest. Even my heart started beating faster at what he was trying to imply.
Okay, I didn’t know what he was trying to imply, but he was giving me shit for driving his kid to the hospital? Really? And had he tried to make it seem like I’d done something to make his kid end up here?
“Hey!” an unfamiliar voice called out.
We both turned to where it was coming from, and it was the Johnny man standing by the elevator bank, one hand on the top of his head.
“Why the hell aren’t you answering the phone? They think he has appendicitis but are waiting for the scan results to come back,” he explained quickly. “They’re treating his pain. Come on.”
Tobias Rhodes didn’t even look at me again before he quickly walked toward Johnny. Amos’s uncle, though, nodded at me once before leading the other man toward the elevators. They were talking quietly.
Rude.
But I guess that sort of counted as an update?
Chapter 5
Maybe it made me a creeper, but I pretty much sat by the window as much as I possibly could over the next two days. Mostly because the shop was closed on Monday. Clara had to go do inventory, and her face had turned red when she’d explained she couldn’t pay me to help her. It had only made me want to help her more, but I understood she wouldn’t be fine with it even if I offered to do it for free, so I’d kept the offer to myself. For now at least.
I’d been distracted anyway, worried about Amos and whether he was all right or not. Sure, I didn’t know him, but I still felt responsible. He’d been curled up on the porch, waiting for someone to get him and….
It had reminded me of me when my mom hadn’t picked me up from Clara’s house that terrible day. How I had called home over and ov
er again when she hadn’t shown up at the time we’d agreed on. How I’d sat on Clara’s parents’ porch while I’d waited for her to arrive with some excuse about an emergency she’d had. Mom hadn’t always been punctual, but eventually she had always gotten there.
One little tear had popped up into my eye at the memory of the days after she’d disappeared.
But just like every other time, I wiped it away and kept going.
My original plan for the day had been to go on a practice hike I’d seen online closer to Bayfield, the next nearest town, but the urge to make sure Amos was all right had seemed more important. Even Yuki had texted asking for an update. I didn’t have one other than what I’d overheard the day at the hospital, and that was what I’d shared.
I also had his phone, which had vibrated on and off until the power had eventually gone dead earlier.
I’d almost given up hope of him coming home while I was reading a book I’d picked up at the grocery store, when the sound of tires on gravel came in through the open window. I got up and spotted a Parks and Wildlife pickup truck followed by a hatchback.
A familiar figure jumped out of the truck, and out of the car, another long, male figure came out. They both rounded the other side of the car and, after a moment, helped a much smaller person out. They sandwiched him between them as they disappeared into the house, and I was pretty sure I heard them bickering as they did.
It was Amos.
Relief tickled me right in the chest.
I wanted to go ask him in person if he was fine, but… I was going to wait.
Well, unless Mr. Rhodes came over and kicked me out. At least I hadn’t totally unpacked my things yet. Just a few days ago, I’d gone to the laundromat and refilled my suitcase with clean clothes.
At the main house, every light inside seemed to get flipped on.
For about the tenth time, I wondered about a mom or wife figure. No one had come by the house. I’d had the windows open and hadn’t slept all that great; I would’ve heard someone on the driveway. Amos hadn’t asked me to call his mom either yesterday.
But hadn’t his dad mentioned something about her the first day?
All Rhodes Lead Here Page 8