Boys Like You(16)

He’d lost a lot of weight and his hair was still shaved from when they’d cut into his skull to relieve the pressure because his brain had swelled a few days after the accident.

Funny thing was? Take away the tubes and shit and he kinda looked badass.

“Jesus, Trevor,” I whispered.

A shiver rolled over me, and I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to find some heat. “Dude, you gotta wake up.”

I leaned forward and touched his hand. It was cold, his skin almost papery and too soft for a guy. Even the colors in his wrist-band tattoo seemed faded and lost. The one on his shoulder?

The tattoo that matched mine? I couldn’t look at it.

Courage. Protection. That’s the Celtic meaning behind the ink and obviously it was all a bunch of crap.

I stared down at my best friend and I wanted to cry like a baby. If he was here right now— really here— he’d headlock me, knock me on the chin, and call me a *. He’d say something stupid like, “it’s better to live fast and die young, *.”

“I wish it had been me,” I whispered hoarsely, wiping at my eyes angrily as I stood back and shoved my hands into my pockets.

I’m not sure how long I stood there like a stalker, just staring down at him, but I was surprised when Taylor yanked on my arm. Hard.

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“Hey,” I snapped, but my voice died when I caught sight of her eyes.

“You gotta get out of here. Mom texted from the lobby and they’re on their way. Someone screwed up their reservations and they got sick of waiting, so they grabbed pizza or something.”

Taylor was frantic, and I knew how much of a line she’d crossed by letting me in to see her brother. “You gotta go, like, yesterday, Nate. I’m serious. I don’t know what Dad will do if…”

“Shit.” I glanced back at Trevor and then followed Taylor out of the room.

“Take the stairs, Nathan.”

“I can’t leave without Monroe.” I paused near the nurse’s station, trying to get Monroe’s attention, but her head was still buried in her magazine.

“Oh my God, Nate. Forget about her. I’ll tell her you had to leave and you can hook up with her later.” She pushed me toward the stairs. “My dad will kill— ”

“Nathan Everets.”

I stared into Taylor’s eyes, feeling the world slide away at the sound of her father’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, her eyes huge with worry as she glanced behind me at her parents.

You know that moment when your world is about to implode?

That moment where you have to face a truth so hard you know it will knock you on your ass and you feel sick inside?

Yeah, I’m there right now, and as I turned back, it was all I 63

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Juliana Ston e

could do to meet Mike Lewis’s eyes. He used to like me. A lot.

Hell, I spent more time at the Lewis place than my own, because Mike loved music as much as me and Trevor did and he let us play as long and as loud as we wanted to.

Or I had. Past tense.

God, everything was so screwed up.

Trevor’s dad is built like a Mack truck. He’s six foot six with broad shoulders and arms that are covered in tattoos. His thick neck and square jaw are intimidating, but then so are the shaved head and bulging biceps.

A sob sounded just behind him and I felt sick all over again at the sad, forlorn look in Trevor’s mom’s eyes. Brenda Lewis was about the same age as my mom, but she looked at least ten years older now.

I guess not knowing if your kid is going to live will do that to you.

“I told you never to show your face here again,” Mike said slowly, carefully, as if he was talking to an idiot. Which I guess he was.

He took a step toward me, and every muscle in my body ached with tension. My hands clenched and my chest tightened, and for one crazy second, I wished he would just throw a punch.

Just one, because I needed to hurt more than I already did.

“Dad, leave him alone. He just wanted to see Trevor.” Taylor tried to play nice but her father wasn’t having any of it. His eyes narrowed as they left me and moved to his daughter.

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“You stay out of this. I’ll deal with you at home.” Mike’s anger was so thick and strong, I swear you could see it in the air.

And I was choking on it. God, was I choking on it.

“Sir,” I began, desperate to help, to do something, anything to diffuse the situation. “This isn’t Taylor’s fault.”

“I know,” he said slowly, the veins in his neck corded and sticking out like something bad was filling them up. Hatred, most likely.

“This is your fault, Nathan. All of it.” He pointed down the hall. “The fact that my boy is in there, lying in a coma, fighting for his life, that’s on you.” He sucked in a huge breath like he was about to dive under water. “The fact that they had to cut into his skull so he didn’t die, that is on you.”

“Mike,” Brenda said softly.

I was aware that everyone was watching. The nurses. The patients. The doctors. The man in his bright pink pajamas over by the elevators. It seemed as if everyone had stopped doing whatever it was they’d been doing and all eyes were on me.