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Oliver nodded, then let his hand drift away. “Do you want to sit with us? My parents would like it.”
Corey swallowed. It was one thing to have a chat and come to some common ground; it was another to be surrounded by people he might break down in front of.
“I’m not feeling too strong right now. It’s best I stay here.” He looked at the floor. “That shit ain’t easy to admit either.”
“Well, that’s when you’re not supposed to be alone. Get up.” Oliver didn’t give him a choice. He grabbed his arm and made him stand. The guy was strong. “Move it. If you’re gonna cry and shit, then you’ll do it with everyone else.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“I know karate, Taekwondo, and Jui Jitsu. Your ass is walking out of here whether you want to or not.”
Corey flinched when Ricky appeared out of nowhere, slinging his arm around his shoulder. “I don’t think we need to resort to violence. Because then I’d have to jump in and use my fists on you, and Jezebelle and I aren’t due for a spa day for another three weeks. That shit works wonders on black eyes.”
Corey couldn’t hold in his grin.
Oliver chuckled. “What?”
“Long story. Funny story. Come on, let’s walk and talk.” Then Ricky guided them out of the hallway and toward the room where the rest of Genevieve’s family waited while regaling the tales of his first spa experience.
19
The world was black. Heavy…and black. She tried to move and found she couldn’t move an inch. No wiggling of fingers or toes, no shifting of her arms or legs. Even her eyelids wouldn’t cooperate, which accounted for the blackness. She couldn’t open her eyes.
Then her hand was lifting in the air, a grip strong and tight holding it up.
“Genevieve?”
Brock. Her brother was with her. At least she wasn’t alone in this torment.
“Hey, I know you’re awake. No faking me out like you used to in high school. You’re a shitty actress. I saw your eyelids flutter.”
Did he? Because she couldn’t feel a thing. No movement whatsoever. The world was still black, as dark as that one time they went through a haunted house and the room was pitched into darkness. She had screamed so loud, Brock, Oliver, and Alexander joked with her she blew their eardrums out.
“Come on. Wake up.”
Yes. Wake up. She could do this. Her brother saw it, so she had to believe it.
This time she felt them flutter, a crack of light peeking through.
“Yes, Genevieve.”
Then she was squinting, turning her head a fraction at her brother sitting by her side. He held her hand in a death grip, as if afraid she’d float away if he didn’t hold her strong enough.
“The light…” she whispered and shut her eyes.
She wanted to keep them open, but the sun shining through the windows behind him was too much to bear.
He let go of her hand, she heard the rustling of the blinds, then his comforting grip was back on hers once more.
“There. Not so bright.”
She opened her eyes again, finding it much easier than the last time. She wanted to reach out and brush her brother’s face, turn his smile up even brighter.
Of course, she didn’t have the energy for that. She didn’t have the energy for much at the moment. But Brock was the most patient brother out of all her brothers. It made sense, especially in his line of work. Dealing with customers every day, all day. Happy ones. Irate ones. Annoying ones. You had to be damn near saint-like to deal with people like that every day.
He sat there, holding her hand firmly while she took her time moving her body and getting the blood flowing everywhere. She could feel her body coming alive as she wiggled her fingers and toes, shifted her arms and legs, and blinked as often as she could.
“I’m in the hospital.”
