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Cigarette forgotten, it falls from my fingers, landing somewhere on the sidewalk in a cloud of dust and embers.
What is he doing here?
Jeremy’s brows furrow, and he shakes his head, his focus dropping to where I know there’s blood staining my shirt. Will’s blood. From when I caught him when he passed out.
Jeremy pales. “Are you?—”
I shake my head. “Not mine.”
His jaw steels over, and he nods, his gaze locking with mine. I don’t miss the pain etched into their swirling brown depths, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it than just what transpired tonight.
Seeing me hurts him… I’m hurting him…
And still, I say, “You’re here.” My voice no more than a quiet croak into the night.
Something in his face simultaneously softens and breaks, and he’s now the one shaking his head.
“Come here,” he says, taking several great strides forward.
He wraps me up in his lean arms, and something in me just…shatters. All I can do is slump against him, bury my face in his neck, and inhale deeply for what feels like the first time in hours.
No…
Months.
“Do you need to hold your breath?” he whispers thickly, knowingly.
Shaking my head, I hold him tight to me. No, no I don’t. Not now. Just let me breathe you.
There’s a sniff, then, “Shawn said you were out here. I didn’t see you in the waiting room, and I… I know how you get when things calm down.”
I screw my eyes shut, and nod. “They’re gonna be okay.”
Well, physically.
Mentally…
Fuck, probably not for a while.
“Yeah, they are,” Jeremy says in a choked voice, no doubt thinking the same thing I am.
I ease my hold on him, and pull back just enough to meet his watery gaze. “Wait, how did you…”
“Ivy. She called me. Told me what happened. I got here as fast as I could.” Releasing me completely, he steps back, and runs his fingers through his hair. It glows white in the wintry night bearing down on us. “So, Waylon’s dad is dead.”
“Yeah, shot himself.”
“Good riddance,” he mutters, looking at the floor.
Another ambulance shows up, casting us in blue and red flickering lights.
“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling so cold and empty suddenly, now that he’s no longer pressed against me.
A sudden influx of sound and activity has him stepping back, and angling to face the entrance to the ER as hospital personnel and paramedics rush someone in on a stretcher through the sliding doors.
I turn away, running a hand over my nape.
Moments pass before either of us speak again.
