Page 109 of The Killer Card

I blink, trying to clear the fuzzies from my eyes and Nathan comes into better view. He looks awful, tired, wearing just his dress shirt- unbuttoned and wrinkled- over a t-shirt and his suit pants. His jet-black hair is all over the place, his mouth set in a firm line as he lowers my arm to my side.

“Nathan…?” My speech sounds slow and slurred to my own ears. My tongue feels too heavy. “What…” I swallow, but my mouth it too dry. “What happened…?”

Nathan pulls up a chair, gently taking my hand. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Frowning, I try to recall the last thing I was doing before I woke up, but it makes my head hurt to think too hard. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head. “I… I don’t know. I remem- remember getting ready for the- the party. I think I- I think I talked to someone?”

Yes, that’s it. I was talking to a member of the house and a diplomat from Cairo. They were discussing a new bill that would be passed here in just a few weeks. It was one of those tricky ones that would decrease prices on pharmaceuticals but make it more difficult for former addicts, trauma victims, and the disabled to receive coverage for their care.

I’d been so furious I’d—

“Oh God…” I groan. “Did I spit on an ambassador’s shoes?”

“I think it was more specifically his pant leg?” Nathan’s face scrunches. “You were…. Well, you were quite upset when you left the gala.”

That’s right, I couldn’t stand to be around those people for another moment. “I wanted to go home…” But I hadn’t driven myself to the gala. So, how did I….?

He squeezes my hand again, sensing my confusion. “You took my keys from the valet.”

My eyes widen a fraction. “I drove?” He nods slowly. When I try to shift, a horrible bite in my ankle makes me cry out, “FUCK!”

Nathan is on his feet again, hovering over me. He reaches behind my head, and I hear the click of a button being jammed over and over. “Relax, Mimi. Don’t move too much.”

I try to breathe through the pain, my eyes tight shut when I hear a door open and an unfamiliar, female voice. “Mr. Mychal?”

“Morphin,” Nathan tells her. “She needs more.”

There’s a quick tapping of buttons, and then slowly the pain starts to ebb. My heart rate comes down, my breathing calms. Relaxing back into the pillows, I finally open my eyes in time to see the nurse leave.

“I’m in the hospital…”

“Yeah.”

Nathan adjusts the blanket over my legs, and I finally notice the cast around my right ankle, the splints on the first and third fingers of my left hand.

Swallowing, my voice shakes when I ask, “Did I kill anyone…? Was… Was anyone else hurt…?”

My brother is quiet for too long- long enough that a million horrible thoughts fill my mind- drawing my attention as he finally takes a seat next to my bed again. Only when I’ve imagined terrible visions of smashed cars and bloody faces does he shake his head, “No,” he whispers. “Just you.”

The relief that washes over me is more intense than the pain killers. Tears leak down my cheeks which Nathan brushes away for me. “Tell me what happened,” I beg. “Please.”

He sucks at his teeth, averting his gaze to my hand in his. “You took my car and left. Twenty minutes later Dad received a call from the paramedics that you were being brought to the ER. You wrapped my Audi around a tree—”

“I’m so sorry, Nate—”

“I don’t care about the car, Naomi,” he tells me firmly, finally meeting my eyes again, his jaw tight. “Fuck the car. The only thing I was thinking about was you. My little sister was being taken to the ER, and they were telling us there was a chance you might not live.”

My lower lip trembles and I close my eyes again, unable to look as his eyes flood with tears. “You had internal bleeding, two broken fingers, bruised ribs, a fractured clavicle. Your ankle was apple sauce. And your blood alcohol level was just over point three percent.”

Unfortunately, that sounds about right. “Dad—”

“Is fucking pissed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad.” Nathan sighs heavily. “But I also haven’t ever seen him so scared.”

I sniff, unable to stop the tears cascading down my cheeks as I picture my father getting that call. “I never meant to hurt anyone…”

“Only yourself, right?” I force my eyes open to look at him, at the tears he lets fall. “This is over, Naomi. Do you understand? I don’t know what started this or how it got this far but it ends now. You’re going to heal, and you’re going to get better. For good. No more drinking yourself numb, no more masking. Whatever is hurting you, you fucking tell me. You tell us. You tell Clara or Nelly or that guy you were seeing back in Lightning Cove. You tell someone.”

At the mention of Graham something in my chest gives an uncomfortable twinge. It’s been almost a year since he left me in Vegas. Months I’ve spent wanting to call him and denying the desire. I turned down his help too many times to just reach out now. He deserves the chance to move on with his life.