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He takes a deep breath and lets it out right into the phone, a loudwhooshin my ear. “I haven’t been in a hospital since my parents died.”
He had a panic attack. I can see that now, but I don’t care. “You’re his best friend. He needs you.”
“I called his mom, she’s going to call you. She’s going to fly to LA tonight. Will you keep me posted?”
“Yeah.” I open my eyes and stare at the wall. I didn’t want the nurse to call anyone, but I want Nic here. He loves Timothy like a brother and we could support each other, if…
I can’t think about that. I drop my voice to an angry whisper, glancing around for anyone in scrubs. “They think I’m his wife.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound surprised. “Shit, someone spotted me—I’m in the parking lot. I’ve got to go. Call me the moment you hear anything.”
The call ends and I stare at my phone in irritation.
If he’d have done his own goddamn stunts…
That’s not fair, and it’s not how this works. Nic’s not trained. He’s not as replaceable. I understand it, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing it was someone else who got hurt.
My anger at Nic burns out quickly. I curl in on myself and try to focus on something, anything. I don’t want to fall apart here, surrounded by strangers.
My phone rings again, but I can’t see the number through the tears in my eyes. I think it might be Danny or one of the other guys on the crew checking in. I manage to accept the call through the cracked screen. “He’s still in surgery.” My voice breaks and I sniff, rubbing at my eyes with my free hand.
There’s a moment of silence before a woman says, “Shit, honey. He’s going to be all right. Promise. You know that stuff bouncy balls are made out of?”
Dammit. It’s not Danny. Her voice sounds vaguely familiar, but it doesn’t matter. She could be a cold call scammer and I’m going to talk to her because, for a hot minute, I’m not alone.
“Some kind of plastic or polymer?” I guess.
“Oh.” She sounds stunned, then laughs. “I was going for rubber. Anyway, that boy is made of the same stuff. He’ll bounce back. He always does.”
I stare at my worn Chuck Taylors, frowning. Who is this woman, and how does she know Timothy? Should I know her? How do I recognize her voice?
“Balls stop bouncing eventually,” I say, but there’s muffled noise on the other end like she’s talking to someone else with her hand over the phone. Timothy might not make it. He might make it but be a different person when he wakes up. What if he…stops?
“It’s a head injury.” She’s back, sounding a little confused. “I don’t think you need to worry about his balls, sweetie.”
I choke. “Who are you?”
“Oh! Timothy’s mother. Celia.” She laughs, and it’s a nervous laugh. “Nic gave me your number—he told you I’d be calling?”
Oh. My. God.
The hospital is going to have to stuff me in an elevator and take me down to the morgue. A tiny laugh bubbles up from my lungs despite the humiliation that has my face on fire. I clamp my hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. She must have heard that.
She did. She laughs too, but I can hear the edge in it, where she’s holding on.
“That’s it, honey,” she says with another laugh. “Let it out. Do you feel a little better?”
I nod before I remember she can’t see me. “Yeah, but he’s in surgery, and I—”
“Did the doctors tell you anything? They should’ve since you’re hiswife.” The way she says that last word makes it clear she is not happy about this. Timothy, at least, is in trouble. Maybe me too. Shit.
“I’m not. He’s not. We’re—” Not.
“Oh.” She pauses. “It’s not important right now,” she adds gently.
Of course not.
But if Timothy lied and told his parents we’re married…he wouldn’t do that, would he?
