Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(117)

“Was that him?” I ask. He shakes his head no.

“Hospital,” he says, his eyes wide, not looking at anything. “Someone…shot him, Emma. He’s in critical…”

My lungs collapse and everything blurs. I fall down Trent’s leg, my grasp on his hand too weak, and his the same as he stands limply, in shock.

“I…I have to call his mom. I…I don’t think I can drive, Em. I…” Trent’s eyes fall to mine, and we both look into each other. We should have tried harder. We could have stopped this. Andrew…I might lose Andrew!

“I’ll call a cab. Where is he?” I fumble with my phone, dropping it on the floor and cracking a corner of the screen. Shit! I hope it still works. I click it on, and breathe out hard when it lights up.

“Mercy,” Trent says, falling into one of the stools in his kitchen, his eyes forward on his phone as he chews at the inside of his mouth.

I manage to speak clearly enough to request our cab, and I listen as Trent delivers the painful news to a family that’s had so much of it over the years. He ends his phone call, unable to give them many answers, just as our cab pulls up, and we both drag ourselves to it. As I close the door, I glance up and realize that we left the front door completely open, and I motion to Trent.

He shrugs, so I let the driver pull away. There’s nothing worth anything in that apartment, anyhow. The only thing that matters is fighting for his life seventeen miles away.

“Hold on, Andrew,” I murmur to myself. “Please, just…hold on.”





Chapter 22





Emma



The beeping sound haunts me. I wait for irregularities. Though, I’ve learned now that even those sounds are meaningless. Andrew is being kept alive by a tangled mess of tubes and wires and liquids all working together. His body repaired as best as doctors could, the worry now is how long until he wakes on his own, and what state his brain was in after he was left to die in some back lot only miles away from our home.

Our home.

His family showed up minutes behind Trent and me, and his brother came in this morning. He looks so much like Andrew; it’s hard to look at him. He’s been kind, but very quiet. He rarely leaves Andrew’s side. He lets me stay, too. I told him who I was, that staying here was important, and he just nodded once, never questioning that my need to be present was just as great as his.

He stepped out to grab coffee and call his girlfriend. They weren’t able to both make the flight from Germany. I don’t think they could afford it. It must have cost thousands as it was. I can tell Owen misses her, though, and I can tell she loves Andrew like her own flesh and blood. I heard her crying through the phone earlier.

She sounds like me.

“Here, I made it black, but brought a little of everything,” Owen says, handing me a small cardboard box filled with sugars and creams along with a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee. I nod thanks, then slide it onto the table next to me. He stares at it for a moment quietly.

“I’m not very hungry,” I say.

“Yeah,” he sighs, setting his cup down, no intention of drinking it either. “There’s a girl here for you,” he says, his eyes on his brother as he slides one of the tubes over Andrew’s chest and away from his neck, wanting him to be comfortable even in this state. “She said her name’s Nicole or Lesley or something like that.”

“Lindsey,” I whisper.

“Yeah, that was it,” he says. “Anyhow, she’s in the family room down the hall. I told her I’d come get you.”

“Thanks,” I say, my eyes zeroing in on Andrew’s, willing them to open. “If anything changes…” I start to say as I stand. Owen raises a hand, acknowledging me.

I hate leaving his room. I’m so afraid I’ll miss something. So afraid I’m what’s helping him breathe—as self-centered as that sounds. The door closes lightly behind me, and I take small, sliding steps down the hall, my hand dragging along the cold metal of the railings until I get to the windows for the family room. Andrew’s mom and stepdad took off for a nearby hotel to grab a room so they could shower and stay close for as long as Andrew would be here. The only one in the waiting room now is Lindsey. Her back is to me as I open the door, but she sits up fast and turns around, her eyes meeting mine as soon as I enter.

“Hi,” I say, lifting my shoulders, not sure if I should hug her, or thank her, or apologize. Probably all three, but my body doesn’t seem to want to leave the spot where it stopped walking.

“Hi,” she says in return, standing, but not moving closer. We’re both at the same impasse. Her head falls, and she laughs lightly with tears in her eyes. “Andrew said he’d find a way to get me and you together.”

She bites her lip when she looks at me, her head shaking. I move to her, and the closer I get, the less worried I am over everything else. Her arms open to me, and she holds me tight as I cry into her. I cry hard and long, until my face is empty and my heart feels close to normal again. When I finally step away, I keep hold of her hand, and I shake it up and down as I speak, nervous to let her go and so happy to be touching my friend.

She’s here. Of course, she’s here.

“I’m so sorry, Lindsey. God, I’m so sorry,” I say, my face puffy and my voice a pathetic rasp.