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I understand him. I understand all of them.
But I needhimto understand that.
I’m so deep in my thoughts that I don’t hear the shout from the field at first, or the commotion that follows. I don’t even realize what’s happening until Dean jumps to his feet, cursing.
“Athena!” he snaps my name at the same time Jaxon is rising, and I look up at him, confused.
“What’s going on?”
“Shit, Athena, were you asleep?” He’s already pushing his way out of the bleachers, Jaxon close on his heels, and I follow them, still unsure of what’s going on. Mia is behind me, and I have to almost jog to keep up as Dean and Jaxon shove their way through to the edge of the field.
And then the crowd parts, and I see exactly what’s going on.
Cayde is on the ground, motionless. A few of the players are surrounding him, and my heart leaps into my throat, my pulse racing. “What happened?” I exclaim, looking at Dean.
“I don’t know exactly,” he says grimly. “I saw one of the other players run into him, hard. One ofourplayers. I don’t know which one though. But he’s fucking down, and he’s not moving.”
Dean is already ducking under the cord that separates the crowd from the field, and Jaxon and I follow without a thought. One of the refs shouts at us, telling us to get off the field, and Jaxon rounds on him with impressive ferocity.
“That’s my best fucking friend,” he snarls, “and Dean’s too, and her boyfriend.” He jerks his head towards me. “Don’t you know who we fucking are?”
I’ve never heard Jaxon throw that out before that I can remember. Jaxon doesn’t give a shit about being a King or an heir, in fact, he actively tries to escape it. But I guess this is the one scenario where he’s willing to use it.
“No,” the ref starts to say, and Jaxon laughs.
“That’s Dean fucking Blackmoor,” he growls. “So get the fuck out of our way. And call a fucking ambulance.”
If he says anything else, I don’t hear it. Because all I can see is Cayde lying unconscious on the grass, his face waxy and bloodless. And all it takes is one glance to see his right leg, twisted in a way at the knee that no leg should ever be.
---
I’d said that the last place I wanted to be today was the rugby field. But I was wrong.
The absolutelastplace I want to be is back at the hospital. The last time I was here, my mother was dying in the burn ward. I’d prefer to never set foot in this hospital, or any hospital really, ever again.
But here I am, sitting in the waiting room with Dean and Jaxon, hands clenched into fists between my knees as we wait.
Cayde’s parents should get here eventually. I know I, at the very least, need to be gone before that happens. The last person I want to see is Philip St. Vincent. But they were out of town, and Dean said it’ll be at least six hours before they get here.
In the meantime, Cayde is having emergency surgery on his knee.
It’s not the kind of surgery you die from. He’ll come out of it just fine. Dean and Jaxon keep telling me that, but it’s like buzzing in my ears. Because the last time I was here, someone I loved died.
And I haven’t even told Cayde how I feel about him yet. I haven’t heard him say it back. We haven’t had a chance to finish what we started, together or when it comes to this cursed fucking town. And even though I know this isn’t really a dangerous surgery, that he’s young and he’ll be fine, that there’s no reason to worry about anything except his ability to play rugby in the future, I can’t stop the thought that loops over and over in my head, telling me that any minute now a doctor is going to come down the hallway, and tell me that Cayde is dead.
All of this is making me paranoid and suspicious, I know. But I keep thinking of ways his surgery could be tampered with, ways it could be made to look as if it went wrong, if Dean’s father wants to eliminate one of the problems standing between him and his son actually inheriting Blackmoor.
Cayde’s father wouldn’t stand for it,I tell myself.It just wouldn’t happen.But I can’t stop the anxiety from making my heart race and my throat close over, until I feel like I could die, too. Like I could choke to death from fear, here in this waiting room.
Eventually, after what feels like hours, a doctor does come down the hall. I want to throw up the minute I see the white coat, and I feel the room tilt slightly, the grief and anguish I’d felt when I’d seen the doctor coming from the burn ward and known instinctively what he was going to say rushing back in a wave that threatens to swallow me up.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, steadying me, but I don’t know if it’s Dean or Jaxon. I’m too out of it to tell.
“Is there any family here for Cayde St. Vincent?” the doctor asks, and Dean stands up.
“They’re not here yet,” he tells the doctor. “But I’m his best friend. Dean Blackmoor,” he adds pointedly, and just like always, there’s a shift in the doctor’s expression when he hears the name.
It doesn’t matter if we all take this whole place down brick by brick,I think grimly, looking at the two of them.There will always be someone who stands up and takes notice when Dean Blackmoor says his name.
