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The air in this too-small room is suffocating. My chest aches with guilt and my anxiety skyrockets, the beeping of the machines in the room next to us the only fucking thing keeping me from snapping. If there’s beeping, he’s alive. It isn’t one of those flat line noises you hear in movies.
It’s beeping.
He’s fine.
I don’t even know what time it is, and I’m not picking my head up to look at my phone or a clock. I don’t want to look at any of them. The hospital said their census is down and they are letting us wait in the ICU room next to Flynn’s so we don’t have to be in the general waiting area. The hospital isn’t big; it’s a small little thing in comparison to the ones in Chicago, and they don’t have accommodations for people like us. People who would be photographed and asked for favors even in a time like this.
My stomach spins and I almost throw up, but I force it back down, the incessant pounding in my head clattering out of control. Isla sits next to me, her hand on my knee, and while her touch brings me some sense of comfort, I have an urge to move, to get her off me. Shame wraps around my throat and constricts my ability to get a deep breath in. I don’t deserve Isla; I don’t deserve anything. How could I let this happen to him? I knew he was fucking struggling. I should have pushed him more, not taken his silence as an answer. I fucking hate myself right now.
Declan, Miller, Isla, and I haven’t left the room in hours. We also haven’t heard anything from anyone in what feels like forever, and I can feel the rage building up inside me. He overdosed on some combination of pills, and if he hadn’t called his mom after he called me, we would probably still be looking for him and the outcome wouldn’t be nearly what it is currently. All we know is they pumped his stomach and that he’s unconscious.
I want answers. I want to know that he’s okay, at least physically. I want to know that my best friend is not going to die.
The word spins around in my mind and I resist the urge to breakdown.
Flynn cannot die. He can’t.
I haven’t spoken a word since we were at the park. I don’t know how to articulate anything I’m thinking. And a majority of the time, I haven’t been thinking clearly anyway. Declan, Miller, and Isla talk every so often, and I hear their voices but tune out their words. I don’t want to hear Declan’s cries. I don’t need to hear Miller talking about how we should have done more. I fucking know we should have, and it’s eating me alive as I sit here.
The glass door to the private room slides open and I refrain from looking up, but Carleeta’s voice pierces my eardrums. I don’t look at her. I fucking hate her. I hate the pressure she’s put on us since day one, the inability to be who we want to be, the glossing over anything we ever feel and actually speak up about. She deserves as much blame as the rest of us.
I feel like a switch has flipped inside me and I know I’m never going to be the same again.
“I’m fucking exhausted. I can’t believe this shit,” Carleeta says, and my neck snaps up. She sinks into the chair that was brought in for Declan, but she’s refused to sit, opting to pace instead. “I’ve been on the phone doing damage control since we got here. There are pictures popping up all over the place, and the only thing that’s getting them taken down is money. And you better believe that money will be coming out of your paychecks.”
She’s seriously talking about money right now. I’ve always known Carleeta is a selfish bitch, but this is a new low, even for her.
All I see is red when she adds, “As soon as he wakes up, we’re going to have to get back out there. I can only hold these vultures off for so long. For your sake, you better hope he’s awake soon because we’ve got a lot of time and money invested in this tour. I’m telling everyone that he was out running and collapsed, but there’s only so long before someone who was there, a cop or an EMT, someone here at the hospital despite signing NDAs and HIPAA… someone is going to talk eventually, and we need to be on our A game.”
I’m about to put Carleeta in her place, to tell her that we aren’t doing anything that she fucking says anymore, to tell her that she’s partially to blame for why we’re here in the first place, when Isla’s voice cuts through the strangled silence.
“No.”
I look at Isla as she stands and walks over to Carleeta, my breath catching in my chest.
“There is not a chance in hell he’s going back out on the road when he wakes up. And he will wake up, Carleeta, but he is not going to be your fucking pawn anymore. When he wakes up, he needs to go somewhere, and that somewhere is not right back into his life that got him in that hospital bed in the first place. He needs to get the help he needs and deserves. The way you just strolled in here, all high and mighty like you’ve had an awful morning… Do you even see how insulting that is?” Isla stands inches away from where Carleeta sits, looking down at her. If I wasn’t such a train wreck, I’d probably be turned-on. Hell, I’ve never seen anyone really stand up to Carleeta, at least not like this.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Actually,” Carleeta pauses, “seriously, who are you?” She stands, causing Isla to step back a couple of feet as she looks from Isla to me and back at Isla again. “Oh, I see… You’re Bordeaux’s newest plaything. Honey, it’s cute how you’re standing here thinking you know a damn thing about what’s best for any of these people. You’ll be out by tomorrow, and when you are, you’ll be signing an NDA, too.” She sits back down. “Now, shoo, little girl.”
Isla lunges at Carleeta, and Miller and I are on our feet in seconds. We pull her back just as she goes to give Carleeta a right hook.
“You’re going to wish you never tried doing that, sweetheart.” Carleeta laughs, and I so badly want to let Isla go, to let her go crazy on her. But for Isla’s sake, I don’t. Carleeta isn’t worth it.
I walk Isla out of the room, wrapping my arms around her, trying to control her heaving chest. We get to a hallway with no one in it—an offshoot from the ICU, and one of my security guards is the only one who has followed us.
Isla spins, looking up at me. “She doesn’t get a say in what happens to him when he wakes up, Bordeaux. He needs help.”
I bring her into my chest, and she crashes against me as I nod, still unable to speak. It feels like I’m numb, but I’m not. Like I’m here and I’m feeling and I’m fucking hurting, but there’s this strange fogginess all around me and I can’t make sense of any of it.
“I don’t know how to help you in this moment, Bordeaux. But I want to.” She looks up at me. “I really fucking want to. I just don’t know what to say or do. I’m sorry I lost my cool back there, but when she was saying all that nonsense, all I could think about was how if she puts him right back in that same situation with no professional help, it could just happen again.” Isla leans into me, her face in my chest, and I feel her shake her head.
If there even is a next time.
I force the thought out of my mind. I can’t think that way. I can’t give up on him.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Shh. It’s okay.” I rub her back, stroking her hair. “I’m glad you spoke up.”
