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AIMEE DUBOIS
4:17 a.m.
Death-Cast did not call Aimee DuBois because she isn’t dying today. But she’s losing Rufus—lost him already because of her boyfriend.
Aimee is speed-walking home, followed by Peck. “You’re a monster. What kind of person tries to get someone arrested at their own funeral?”
“I got jumped by three guys!”
“Malcolm and Tagoe didn’t touch you! And now they’re going to jail.”
Peck spits. “They ran their mouths, that’s not on me.”
“You have to leave me alone. I know you never liked Rufus, and he didn’t give you any reason to, but he’s still really important to me. I always wanted him in the picture and now he won’t be. I had even less time with him because of you. If I can’t see him, I don’t want to see you either.”
“You ending it with me?”
Aimee stops. She doesn’t want to turn Peck’s way because she hasn’t considered this question yet. People make mistakes. Rufus made a mistake attacking Peck. Peck shouldn’t have had his friends send the police after Rufus, but he wasn’t wrong to have done so. Well, legally, no. Morally, hell yes.
“You keep putting him before me,” Peck says. “I’m the one you’ve been coming to for all your problems. Not the guy who almost killed me. I’ll let you think on that.”
Aimee stares at Peck. He’s a white teen with low-hanging jeans, baggy sweater, Caesar cut, and dried blood on his face because he’s dating her.
Peck walks away and Aimee lets him.
She doesn’t know where she stands with Peck in this world of gray.
She’s not quite sure where she stands with herself either.
MATEO
4:26 a.m.
I’m failing to break out.
I couldn’t surround myself with more strangers. They were harmless for the most part, the only red flag being how I don’t want to be around people who get so drunk they pass out and eventually black out the nights they’re lucky to be living. But I wasn’t honest with Rufus, because, on a deep level, I do believe partying on the train is my kind of scene. It’s just that the fear of disappointing others or making a fool of myself always wins.
I’m actually surprised Rufus is chaining his bike to a gate and following me into the hospital. We walk up to the front desk, and a red-eyed clerk smiles at me but doesn’t actually ask how he can help me.
“Hi. I’d like to see my father. Mateo Torrez in Intensive Care.” I pull out my ID and slide it across the glass counter to Jared, as the name tag pinned to his sky-blue scrubs reads.
“Visiting hours ended at nine, I’m afraid.”
“I won’t be long, I promise.” I can’t leave without saying goodbye.
“It’s not happening tonight, kid,” Jared says, the smile still there, except a little more unnerving. “Visiting hours resume at nine. Nine to nine. Catchy, right?”
“Okay,” I say.
“He’s dying,” Rufus says.
“Your father is dying?” Jared asks me, the bizarre smile of someone working a four-in-the-morning shift finally gone.
“No.” Rufus grabs my shoulder and squeezes. “He is dying. Do him a solid and let him upstairs to say goodbye to his father.”
Jared doesn’t look as if he particularly appreciates being spoken to this way, and I’m not a fan of it myself, but who knows where I would be without Rufus to speak up for me. I actually know where I’d be: outside this hospital, probably crying and holed up somewhere hoping I make it to nine. Hell, I’d probably still be at home playing video games or trying to talk myself into getting out of the apartment.
“Your father is in a coma,” Jared says, looking up from his computer.
