Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
HUNTER
I ’m frowning in the mirror, attempting to knot my tie properly, when my phone buzzes in the pocket of my slacks.
I pull it out. “Hey, Mom,” I greet cheerfully.
“Hunter.”
Something’s wrong. I hear it in her voice as soon as she says my name.
“What’s going on?” I ask, yanking the tie off.
“It’s Sean. He…honey, he overdosed. His landlord found him when he went to collect rent. And Sean—” Her voice collapses in a sob. “Sean was unresponsive, so his landlord called 911. Your father and I just got to the hospital. We’re waiting to talk to the doctors.”
The room around me is spinning, all the familiar surroundings a ceaseless blur of color.
He didn’t call me.
That’s my first thought. My brother got high and didn’t call me.
Because I told him not to.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
For once, my mom doesn’t chastise me for language. She hiccups, hiccups like she’s been crying hard for a long time.
“I’ll be there. I’m leaving now and I’ll…I’ll be there.”
“Hunter, there’s nothing you can do. I’m here and your dad is here and we’ll make sure the doctors do everything they can.”
“I need to be there. I need to see him.”
He could die. My brother could die—could already be dead.
I hated seeing Sean pale and underweight. But I would take that now, would take it and feel grateful he had a heartbeat.
“You have two weeks of college left, Hunter. Classes and exams. There’s nothing you can do here . I called because I knew you’d want to know. Not so you’d drop everything and drive seventeen hours. I already—” Her voice breaks. “I already have one son to worry about. Don’t make me worry about you too.”
I’m breathing too fast. Hyperventilating, maybe. But I force my inhales to slow because she’s right. She doesn’t need to worry about me right now.
“You’ll update me?”
“As soon as I hear something,” she assures me.
“Okay. Love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Hunter.”
She hangs up.
I stand frozen for a few seconds, then tear out of my room. All of a sudden, it seems too small. I need to be outside. I need to be moving. I need to be somewhere else, where the walls aren’t collapsing.
I bang on Conor’s door.
“One sec!” he calls. It feels like an eternity until he opens the door, tie loose and jacket off. “Dude, I’m almost—” Conor frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve gotta go.”
“What? Go? Go where?”
The rest of Conor’s words get lost in the rush of blood whooshing through my ears.
I pass Aidan’s empty bedroom. He already left to pick up Rylan. Conor and I were going to carpool with Harlow and Eve.
Eve …
Fuck. Not only am I going to miss the team dinner, I’m skipping out on what was essentially our first official date.
But I’m in no fucking shape for it. I won’t be able to sit and smile and wonder if I’ll be able to sense the moment I lose my brother. And I don’t want to have to explain why I’m in such a state right now.
I just need to move .
I’m almost to the stairs when Conor grabs my arm, pulling me up short and spinning me to face him. His face is pale, his expression drawn and worried. “What the fuck is going on, Morgan?”
“I can’t—I can’t get into it right now. Just…tell Eve I’m sorry. And that I’ll make it up to her.”
I try to jerk my arm away, but Conor’s hold tightens. “Hunter, you’re seriously freaking me out. What could possibly be more important than taking the girl you seem crazy about to celebrate the championship we won?”
“I’m not in the mood to talk, Hart.”
He scans my face. “Promise me if I let go, you’re not about to go do something stupid.”
“I’m not the one who did something stupid.”
Hart’s grip doesn’t loosen.
“I’m fine. I mean, I’m not. And I’ll explain why later. But right now, I just really need to get the hell out of here. I’ll be back later tonight.”
His hand finally drops. “Okay. Call me if you need anything, all right?”
I nod, then pound down the stairs.
My keys were already in my pocket in case Conor wanted me to drive. I reverse out of my usual spot, a little of the tightness in my chest easing as I accelerate down the road.
Ten minutes later, I’m doing eighty along I-5.
If Sean isn’t okay, I’m going to blame myself. I’m going to wonder if he didn’t call because I told him not to. I’m going to wonder whether he’d be okay if he’d called.
I’m sick with the possibility. There’s no anger or resentment, how I normally feel after one of Sean’s relapses. None of the exhaustion either. I’m so jacked up my hands are trembling.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, making sure the wheels stay straight in my lane.
As I drive, I let myself think about the memories I usually avoid.
Sean and I were inseparable as kids. That changed a little as we got older. I became the annoying little brother tagging along. But he was always there when I needed him. For girl advice, for a ride to a party, for a trip to the rink. Even after all the distance his addiction created, I can’t imagine my life without him.
I didn’t think he’d show up for the championship game, but I hoped.
I didn’t think he’d come to graduation with my parents, but I hoped.
And hope is really dangerous. Because it assumes anything can be fixed, and some things are too final to be resuscitated.
I didn’t realize how much I relied on hope—on the belief Sean would be okay one day—until now.
You can’t hope someone comes back from the dead.
I’ve always kept it together after Sean called. I swallowed my disappointment and resentment and fear, and I kept going.
But I’m realizing I never considered how badly it could end. I’d rather Sean call me in the middle of the night for the rest of my life than never call again.
I told him not to call .
That guilt is suffocating.
A torturous hour later, my mom calls. The car swerves a little as I rush to answer.
“He’s awake.”
The flood of relief is like a first breath after being held underwater. I’m gasping. Reeling. But so, so relieved it’s staggering.
“They’re running a bunch of tests, and we’re waiting to talk to another doctor. But the nurse said he’s stable. Out of the woods. Oh, honey, here’s the doctor now. I’ll give you another update as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” I say before she hangs up.
My voice sounds hoarse, like I was screaming.
I kind of want to. The relief is mixing with all the other chaotic emotions churning inside of me, and I need some sort of outlet.
I take the next exit, then merge back onto the highway headed in the direction I came from. Toward Somerville. The dinner is more than halfway over, so showing up now will just be a distraction.
And I feel better than when my mom first called, but not by much. Attending a celebration is one of the last things I feel like doing right now.
Rather than heading straight home, I drive to the rink. Skating’s never failed to make me feel better.
I still have the key from the last time Hart left it with me. And I realize why he never asked for it back when I step inside.
They melted the ice.
I’ve never been in here this far past the season. The rink is basically boarded up. The only lights on are the emergency ones, illuminating the giant slab of cement that’s replaced the smooth stretch of white.
Another reminder of how quickly things can change.