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He chuckles softly, and I feel a small smile lift my lips at the sound.
An alarm blares from somewhere nearby, and a voice kicks on over the loudspeaker, reminding us where we are, sobering the atmosphere once more.
“How is he?”
I shrug. “He’s gonna live. I just…” Shaking my head, I lean my head back against the wall, glaring up at the ceiling. “I knew something wasn’t right.”
“We all did,” Jeremy whispers, and it throws me back to the moment we arrived at the hospital, Jeremy, me, and Phoebe in tow. An image flies across my mind of Izzy sobbing in her mom’s arms, blood staining her gray hoodie.
I assumed the worst…
Blink, and there’s my mom rushing over to me, quickly assuring me that Waylon was okay.
Blink, there’s Eva and Ray hugging, Eva burying her face in her husband’s shoulder.
Blink, a vaguely familiar man in jeans and a grease-stained tee storming in, dark eyes wild as they scoured the room, before rushing over to Eva. The two of them embracing…
Reggie.
Waylon’s uncle.
He hasn’t come around much since we were kids. He’s on the road a lot for work—driving some big rig around. That’s all changing now that Waylon’s dad will be going to prison.
Not only is Reggie his godfather, but he’s Waylon’s closest living relative. His next of kin. When Waylon is discharged, it will be to the care of his new legal guardian, being that he still has another year before he turns eighteen.
“Does Waylon know yet?” Jeremy asks, as if sensing my thoughts.
I shake my head. “He’d just woken up. Reggie wants to be the one to tell him.”
Not only did Chief McAllister flee the scene—leaving his son beaten nearly to death, choking on his own blood—but he drove drunk. Crashed his cruiser into a tree, but not before running over a little girl who was out playing in her yard.
The girl didn’t make it.
Bile races up my throat at the reminder.
Fucking piece of shit.
“Izzy’s a mess,” Jeremy says.
I nod. “She is. It’s why I gave them some space.” Inhaling deeply, I lower my gaze, finding his, and smile sadly. “You saved me twice tonight.”
He chokes on a small laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t save you.”
“But you did.” I pause. “And by tonight, I mean?—”
“I know what you meant.” His mouth ticks.
Our eyes meld against each other in the shadows, as my mind replays everything.
Izzy’s frantic phone call.
The blinding fear that it was Jeremy—that he was hurt.
The brief, fleeting relief I felt when I found it wasn’t him…
It was Waylon…
Only to be followed by a guilt so crushing, and a fear so startling, I don’t even know how I made it this long before falling apart…
