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Epilogue
Logan
Three months later
I stare up at the popcorn ceiling in Danika’s bedroom. I shouldn’t be here for a multitude of reasons, the top being that Mr. Winters could charge me with breaking and entering, but I can’t stay away. The room still smells like Danika, although the scent is fading. I’ve sniffed every shampoo, soap, and perfume bottle I could find in every store I’ve gone into and have yet to find the particular blend that is Danika. Soon this room won’t have her smell anymore and that terrifies me.
I bring the rim of my sprite bottle to my lips. I carry one everywhere I go these days, the mixture gradually becoming more vodka and less Sprite, but it helps. The ache that ripples through me from the moment I wake up becomes more bearable with each sip, but it doesn’t go away.
I never wanted to be this person, a man who depends on a crutch to get through life, but sometimes our paths are chosen for us. No matter what, though, I will not turn into my father. When he drank, he was both verbally and physically abusive. Drinking amplified his problems. It dulls mine.
Tonight I need a drink more than ever. It’s prom. The dance Danika promised we’d go to together. I had it all planned out too. I found a horse drawn carriage company down in West Palm that was willing to transport their items up here. Our house is only fifteen minutes by car to the Horizon Hotel, roughly thirty by horse. We’d take the carriage to the hotel and ride the private glass elevator to the penthouse suite, where I planned to hire a private chef to cook for us. Once the dinner was over, we’d go down to the dance and enjoy the night. I take another sip, closing my eyes. Tonight would have been perfect.
My phone vibrates beside me. I open my eyes, unsure of when or how long I’ve been asleep. Orange light peeks through the curtains. It’s early. I reach for the Sprite bottle that’s rolled across the floor and fallen off the bed.
My phone buzzes again. Over and over. No stopping, which means it’s a phone call. I give up my attempt at getting my drink and swipe at my phone screen. “What?”
“Where are you?” Mom asks. Her voice shakes like she’s been crying. I force myself to pay attention and not fall back asleep. I’m tired a lot lately.
“Not far. Why?” It’s not a lie, but I’m not going to openly admit that I passed out in Danika’s bed again.
“Piper’s been shot!” Mom cries. “Cooper is with her at the hospital.”
“I’ll be home in five minutes.” I hang up before mom can protest or threaten to leave without me. I straighten Danika’s comforter so her dad will never know I was here and grab my bottle off the floor.
***
We sit in the ICU waiting room—Me, Cooper, Rex, and Mom—anxiously waiting for someone to give us an update on how Piper is doing. My hands shake. The everyday darkness that I fight is heavier today. Hurts more today. I need a drink to lift the veil and find the light, but I don’t want to leave and miss anything.
After hours of waiting, a tiny woman covered in blood pushes through the double doors “Lovelace family?”
We all stand, but mom is the first to speak. “It’s Harris, but that’s us.”
Cooper takes mom’s hand. She’s a mess both physically and emotionally. Between her unkempt appearance, Cooper in shorts and a scrub top and Rex’s rust stained attire, we must be a sight to see.
“I’m Dr. Roe,” the woman says. “The bullet lodged itself into Piper’s shoulder blade, but we were able to remove it and fix the artery it nicked.”
I let out a breath of relief for Piper, but my head spins. I walk back to the chair I had claimed as my own and sit again. My stomach twists, probably because I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. I’m struggling to keep myself together when I hear it. Coma. Piper is in a coma.
Holy. Fuck.
I stand and rush to the bathroom. I push open a stall door and heave a mixture of stomach acid and vodka into the toilet. When everything’s out, I lean back against the stall door and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. My phone falls out of my pocket. I stare at it a moment, tempted to send another text message that will probably be ignored. Fuck it. What’s one more?
Me: The sky was clear last night. The moon was large too. Beautiful.
What am I doing? Danika doesn’t care about the moon. Hell, she probably doesn’t realize that last night was prom at the Horizon Hotel or how similar the sky was to Homecoming night.
Me: You know that guy, Rex, Piper started dating? He took her to prom last night.
I need to stop doing this. Texting Danika like we’re still friends. She never responds but she also hasn’t blocked my number which gives me hope that she reads them. That she misses me. And that she might come back.
Me: Anyway, I don’t know how it happened, but someone shot her last night.
Danika: Is she okay?
The air sticks in my lungs. I bring the screen closer to my face, making sure I’m not imagining this. Three months. Three long months of being ignored and finally, finally, I get a response.
Me: I don’t know. The doctor said she’s in a coma or some shit.
