Page 108 of People Like Us

“Lola?” Penelope’s voice cracked apart the second it reached my ear. Relief and terror collided so hard inside my chest it made me dizzy.

“Pen?” I said quickly. “Where are you?”

On the other end of the line, I heard sniffling. Voices overhead. The distant crackle of an intercom. Then Penelope sniffed, her words broken and small, whispering, “The hospital.”

Chapter Forty-Two

The drive to Rowan Medical Center in Salisbury felt like moving through a nightmare underwater. Rain still clung to the roads from earlier, turning every streetlight into a blurry halo of gold and white across the windshield. The wipers dragged back and forth with a rhythmic squeal. Andy drove too fast, one hand locked around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. The ancient truck rattled over potholes and rough patches of asphalt, and he kept adjusting in his seat like it might get us there faster. I sat rigid on the passenger side, my phone clenched so tightly in my hands my fingers had begun to ache.

I called Morgan again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. The automated message felt crueler every time I heard it. Something was wrong. Wrong enough that Penelope wouldn’t tell me over the phone.

It was more than someone being hurt in an accident. Something had irrevocably shifted, and it was going to ruin me. I knew it with the same certainty people claimed to know God existed. I could feel it in the deep hollow of my chest where my heart was beating rapidly against its cage.

My pulse throbbed against my throat as I stared out the window at the dark blur of trees and fields passing beyond the glass. Woodland had always felt small enough to hold in my hands. A tiny place where every tragedy became community property before the ambulance even arrived. Yet somehow tonight the distance between the church and the hospital felt endless. A space too large for me to control.

I should have been there. The thought repeated itself relentlessly. Morgan had asked me to come. She’d looked so excited talking about her birthday all week. So hopeful. And I’d promised.

Instead I’d spent the afternoon standing in a church while murky water dripped down my back and Pastor Spires pretended holiness excused cruelty.

I should have been there.

The closer we got to the hospital, the worse the guilt became. It settled in the nape of my neck like something alive, chewing through me slowly.

The emergency room parking lot glowed beneath harsh floodlights. Andy parked crookedly across two spaces without seeming to notice. Before the truck had fully stopped rolling, I was already fumbling for the door handle. I ran across the parking lot, Andy bolting to catch up.

The automatic doors slid open with a mechanical hiss. The metallic scent of sickness that seemed to cling to every hospital no matter how much they cleaned hit me immediately.

The waiting room was awash in bright lights that made everyone look exhausted and vaguely unreal. Plastic chairs lined the walls. A television mounted in one corner played a muted game show nobody was watching.

My eyes found them immediately. The misfits occupied nearly an entire section of the waiting room.

Ben sat hunched forward with his elbows planted on his knees, staring at the floor so intensely it looked like he was trying to burn a hole through it. Wyatt stood nearby, broad shoulders pressed against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. Angelica paced beside a vending machine, chewing at her black thumbnail with enough force to draw blood. Penelope sat curled into herself in one of the plastic chairs, mascara smeared beneath red-rimmed eyes.

And August—my breath caught.

It’s not him. He’s fine.

Air finally filled my lungs fully, though it hurt to expand them after breathing shortly for so long.

August stood the second he saw me. His eyes were swollen nearly shut from crying. His cheeks were blotchy and red. Freshly dyed black hair stuck up in uneven directions, as though he’d spent hours dragging trembling hands through it. Even from across the room I could see the tension radiating from him. His shoulders were drawn so tight they looked painful.

For one foolish, hopeful second I thought he might come toward me. Instead he stared at me with an expression I’d never seen on his face before.

Rage. Pure rage.

“Where the fuck were you?” he growled. The words cracked through the waiting room like a gunshot. The group looked up with it. Wyatt and Angelica looked as pissed as he was, and Penelope was wide eyed and terrified with eyes flashing between us.

I stopped so abruptly Andy, who I hadn’t realized was behind me, bumped into my back. His hands went to my shoulders, bracing himself, and August tracked the movement with a heated glare.

“Where the fuck were any of you?” he asked again, voice trembling. My mouth opened automatically.

“I was at church,” I said, confusion and panic tangling together inside my chest. “I texted Morgan this morning.”

August took a step forward. The movement was sharp enough that Wyatt immediately pushed off the wall.

“You were supposed to be with her.” His voice sounded rough, shredded raw from crying. “You promised you’d be there, Lola.”

My stomach dropped. My eyes flickered over the group again. Morgan. Where was Morgan?