Tone Deaf(69)

I stare at him incredulously. “My breathing stopped?”

He nods. “Like I said, the overdose was very serious.”

“And what about Ali?” I ask, turning back to Arrow.

The doctor clears his throat and announces, “You’re on a light dose of painkillers, and the IV saline will flush the last of the toxins out of your system. You should be feeling back to normal within a few days, but you need to stay in bed for now. We’ll talk later about when you can be released from the hospital. Any questions?”

I shake my head, and the doctor quickly shuffles out the door, his nose buried back in his notes. My focus shifts back to Arrow, who is shaking his head. Oh hell. This can’t be good. My pain is suddenly a hundred times worse, and my stomach clenches with nausea. I squeeze my eyes closed as I wait for his answer.

“The cops have her,” Arrow says finally. “I called the local station and managed to talk to someone. He said they’re putting her on a plane back to Los Angeles. Her dad will pick her up at the airport.”

Something pokes at the back of my mind, a clouded memory I can barely grasp. It slowly comes into focus, and I hear Ali’s voice whispering to me, “I know it makes me crazy, but I love you.” She must have known at that point that she was about to get caught. But she still said she loved me, like it didn’t even matter that I had completely failed to keep her safe.

I tear out my IV before anyone can stop me. It hurts like a bitch, but I don’t care. I deserve the pain.

Clenching my fists, I stumble out of the bed. Dizziness slams into me, and Arrow yells at me to lie back down, but I ignore him and head for the door. I need to get to that police station and make them realize it’d be dangerous to send her back.

Something hard slams into my face, and I vaguely register that it’s the floor. Voices erupt around me, and everything goes black.





33


ALI


WHEN MY PLANE lands in Los Angeles, I swear I feel the whole ground shake. Then I realize it’s not the ground—I’m the one shaking. I wish my emotions were something innocent, like fear or terror, but that’s not the case. What I’m feeling is pure rage. It eats at my insides until I can’t keep it in anymore, and my whole body trembles.

As soon as the cops picked me up, they called my dad and made arrangements to transport me back home. No one has spoken to me in-depth about Jace, although one of the officers told me that Los Angeles authorities will be filing kidnapping charges against him. I still haven’t gotten over the relief of hearing Jace is alive, but I’m choking on the guilt of knowing he’s in trouble because of me.

Next to me, the airplane’s deputy watches me with mild concern. He’s the guy who was put in charge of monitoring me during the flight and getting me back “safely” to Los Angeles. He wears his gun and security badge on his right hip, so everyone walking down the airplane’s aisle can see them. The deputy hasn’t told me his name, and I haven’t asked. I’ve kept quiet ever since I was handed over to his custody.

The deputy raises an eyebrow at me as the plane comes rolling to a stop. “Not fond of plane rides, huh?”

“Screw off,” I snap, surprising both of us. I don’t think I’ve ever said that to an adult. Maybe Jace is rubbing off on me in more ways than I thought, although I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.

The deputy’s brows narrow, and he opens his mouth to retort. But then the seatbelt light turns off, and a voice must come on over the intercom, because he stares at the speaker above us.

The next few minutes are quieter than ever before. My mind should probably be buzzing with angry thoughts, but it’s not. All that’s there is a simmering sort of rage, and the solemn knowledge that I can’t simply go back to my old life. I made it so far. I almost escaped, almost started over. Jace gave me a taste of life—real, vibrant, free life. And now that I’ve had a taste, I don’t think I can ever let it go.

I’m not going back to my dad.

The plane clears of people, and the deputy stands from his seat, gesturing for me to follow. I stand slowly. My legs are still shaking, and my heart beats too fast for my lungs to keep up with it.

We come out of the landing tunnel, and the vibrations of the noisy airport strike me from all sides. All around us are bustling travelers coming and going from various terminals, but no one seems to notice me.

To my right, I see a little girl run toward a man dressed in a suit. She tackles his waist in a hug, and the man laughs as he scoops her up into his arms. The scene should probably make me smile, but instead, it just inflates my anger. Why can’t I have a dad like that? What did I do to deserve a father like the one I have?

No, that’s not the right question. What I should be asking is: what did my dad ever do to deserve me? I’m a good teenager; I don’t smoke or drink or cause trouble. And, if given half the chance, I’m more than capable of loving. Hell, most parents would consider me the perfect kid.

Nothing. That’s my answer; my dad did nothing to deserve me. He doesn’t deserve me. I should have no hesitations to fight his hold over me.

So then why is my heart beating so fast? And why is my head so dizzy, my palms so sweaty?

I swallow hard, gulping back the fear and replacing it with anger.

I can do this.

I will do this.