CHAPTER THREE
Who Is He?
SERENITY
“Is he alive?” Brooks’ voice hangs over the edge of a cliff.
The phone rang three times before Brooks answered. I never spoke a word before his voice cut through the silence. He sounds desperate and tired. Holding onto hope by the tips of his fingers.
“Yes. He’s alive.”
I don’t think he exhales before his next question rolls in. “Is he okay?”
Lake is not okay. He died and barely came back to earth. Since he opened his eyes, he’s been fed up with life, instead of being happy to have one at all.
What I gather is that Lake Phoenix only recently started using heroin, but his addictions have gone on much longer than that.
He’s not like the stereotypical addict. Lake is built, there are more muscles in his arms than there are in my entire body. Unlike my sister, who followed every rigid bone and other stereotypes. Like her hair never being washed and holes in her clothes. She was always lugging around a sketchy backpack with at least five different accessories of cartoon weed plants.
Lake doesn’t look anything like that. He has a sharp jaw that matches his tongue. His hair is a little grown, but what man gets a haircut when he needs one, anyway?
My lack of an answer makes Brooks sigh. “I figured,” he says. “What hospital?”
This isn’t his first hospital rodeo with Lake. He’s straight to the point, and that makes me smile. “Boston Hope.”
I swear I hear him whisper an eager yes. And I get why. Boston Hope is the only hospital in the city with an entire floor dedicated to resolving addictions. It’s not a rehab facility, but it is an addiction clinic where patients are often mandated to receive treatment.
“He came in about two hours ago via ambulance. I’m one of three nurses that resuscitated him.” I take a breath. “My name is Serenity Madden, and his attending doctor is Caleb Fletcher.” I flip the pen in my hand around my fingers. “Can I ask some questions and clarify any of yours?”
I have Lake’s name, but he is still quite the mystery.
“Resuscitated? He died?”
I sink into my chair. “He did. For roughly six minutes.”
Brooks doesn’t respond with more questions, instead, he just starts revealing details. “He’s been an addict since we were teenagers. In and out of hospitals. Went to rehab three times, but nothing worked.”
In the background, I hear barking, keys jingling, and little taps coming from the claws of a dog. Brooks soothes the dog. “We’ll go on a walk when I get home, promise.”
The barking subsides until a door clicks shut, then the yapper barks again, but it’s muffled. Brooks returns his attention to our call. “Twice because we couldn’t afford to keep up with payments. That was early in his addiction.”
My hand clamps tighter around the pen. I glare at the blanks in front of me on the pages. One box is titled in bold, black letters, REHAB FACILITY, along with the costs, and planned time to stay.
Three times he tried to help himself. Three times he gave it his all. Twice that cost took away his hope.
I swallow. “What about the third time?”
The story isn’t information I need to write. I need Lake’s insurance if he has any, his place of residence, and every shallow thing in his existence, but all I wonder is how many times my sister filled out papers with empty questions. How many people judged her life from the outside and believed that was where her life stopped? An addict, period.
I want to know what makes Lake human. The stuff I can’t fit on blank lines.
“The third time, he just stopped going.” Brooks sniffs. “He convinced himself he could get sober on his own terms.”
“He sounds stubborn,” I say.
Brooks chuckles, and it’s nice to hear his voice crack and rise from the earlier gloomy tone. “He is stubborn. Very stubborn.”
My heart throbs because I understand more than this stranger on the phone knows. Addiction changes a person and everyone else involved. My sister promised me she’d get better. At first, I believed her, hearing that determination in her voice, but my sister had divided into two. Her addiction was already a tangled mess. It multiplied and became much stronger than she was. It squashed her voice; her want to get help. She was gone long before I failed to restart her heart.
I shake my head, pulling myself back to reality. “Does he have anyone else? Family?”
“No. It’s just me.” Brooks sighs. “I’m Lake’s half-brother, though he probably didn’t mention that.”
Lake didn’t mention that. Just that Brooks was his best friend.
A frown still manifests on my lips and keeps me in a chokehold. When I meet an addict or a patient with mental health troubles, my heart threatens to tear each time. I see great people going through hard things and nobody comes to visit them. I question if their family knows the severity of it all. That their son overdosed. Their child, brother, or friend just died under my hands and struggled to take another breath.
Brooks opens a car door. He shuffles around before closing it. “What was your name again?” An engine starts and ruptures through the phone line, followed by a GPS starting the quickest route to Boston Hope.
“Serenity Madden. I’m still on his case for now, but if you’d like to speak to his doctor, I can transfer you to Dr. Fletcher.”
“That’s alright, I’ll keep talking to you.” Brooks laughs. “I just wanted to get your name so I could say thank you.”
I squish my lips together into a condensed circle and draw my eyebrows closer. “Thank you?”
“Yes, Serenity, thank you for saving Lake’s life. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
***
With a roll, I tuck my duvet under my chin. I’ve been home for hours, but sleep isn’t on my side. My mind constantly drifts back to Lake Phoenix and his life, no matter how much I try to distract myself.
I keep re-living the way he spoke to me. He treated death as a pastime. He didn’t strike me as suicidal, more like he just didn’t view himself as human at all. Lake wasn’t worried about how losing his life for six whole minutes could impact his health. He hesitated to give me his name instead. Like having one made him feel real and worthy of an actual life.
Then there’s Brooks. Brooks is the only one who has answers to my questions. I know he’s exhausted. I was with Delilah. The paranoia and anxiety, as I tried to solve someone else’s life.
I understand it because it tore me up inside. I kept flaking parts of myself away, feeding it to Delilah, hoping it would keep the remains of my sister present.
My brain is overwhelmed. My sister died a year ago and I’m still processing. Somewhere in my head, I know getting too involved in this situation isn’t my place, but I can’t help it. I’ll create room for my existence. I’ve already planned to bake muffins and deliver them to Lake’s hospital room.
I kick my duvet until it covers my toes, concluding that I’ll bake muffins and deliver them later.
I failed Delilah. She died even with my begging hands. So when I pounded at Lake’s chest and that awful flatline stopped, it felt like a weight off my shoulders. I’m a nurse, I help people. That is all I know how to do. Brooks is in over his head, Lake is lost. The least I can do is try to help.
I startle at my phone buzzing next to me. It shifts a molecule on my nightstand, buzzing a second time. I go to reach for it, but as my hand leaves my duvet, I immediately feel frozen. So I tuck my arm back into my swaddle. I’m not bracing the chilly air for a meaningless notification.
I turn away from my phone to my laundry baskets. It’s impossible not to notice. One basket is designated for my scrubs, while the other is for my regular clothes. Both are so full that the contents are spilling and covering my floor. The rest of my house isn’t much different. I hate cleaning. It’s the last thing I want to do after my shift.
My home is a small duplex about twenty minutes from the hospital. When I can’t see clearly after work, I either Uber or take the bus. It was easier to clean when I had fewer shifts and a car.
A fluttering knock pounds on my front door. The circuits in my brain connect the dots, and I know why my phone was buzzing just moments ago. I roll my eyes and snuggle up in my cozy, warm bed. My phone buzzes again, and within seconds, there’s light clinking off of my window. I roll towards the noise as a small pebble hits the pane.
“Jimena.” I groan.
“Wake up!” she shouts, loud enough for my neighbors to hear.
Then she roars in Spanish, things I can’t translate, but I’ve heard enough times to take it as a warning. I pry myself from my sweet goddess mattress. I take the fuzzy throw-over blanket from my bed, wrap it around myself like a robe, and make my way downstairs.
I stop halfway to the door as my tired brain connects more dots. I rush through the hallway into my dining room. Stacks of mixed papers cover the table. I grab onto a stack of papers, the top one printing out the details of a police report. Drug residue found in Ms. Maddens sold vehicle.
Jimena pounds on the front door. Panic stirs in my stomach.
“Where do I hide this stuff?” I search and my eyes land on a cabinet in the kitchen. I race over and pop open the cabinet, shoving the stack of papers in and on unused pots. With Jimena threatening to break down my door, I hurry back between the dining room and kitchen to finish collecting each paper.
With the papers secured, I slam the cabinet shut.
I open the front door, and Jimena dips under my arm and stomps into the house. The air spikes at my face, and I slam the door shut before I get premature frostbite.
Jimena is wearing a white knitted hat, with a fuzzy brown pom-pom on top. She’s in a red jacket, gray sweatpants, and boots—which she’s already kicking off.
Then she takes one long glare at me from head-to-toe. She’s only five feet and two inches, but I stand stagnant like she’s a giant that can squash me with a singular toe.
“You stayed late, didn’t you?” She narrows her eyes. “And then you came home, rolled around and thought about things that aren’t your problem.”
I hate to love her.
“I only stayed an extra hour. Or two.” I reach over and lift the blanket back onto my shoulder.
Jimena’s nostrils flare. She scans the entirety of me again. I notice the glint in her eyes, trying to examine me for any signs of an upcoming mental breakdown. Ever since my sister died, Jimena’s been very cautious around my mental health. Reviving an overdose patient is no exception to that. Which is why she stands in front of me, planting her fuzzy socks in the hardwood.
She snaps her fingers. “You need to start taking care of yourself!”
“I do take care of myself.”
My best friend raises an eyebrow. She takes my statement as a challenge, spinning around and charging straight down my narrow hallway. I chase behind her into my kitchen.
She points to the dishes piled up in my sink. “Unsanitary! Unhealthy,” she throws her arms into the air. “I might even call it immoral.”
I drop my shoulders. “It’s a few dishes. I’ve been working all week.”
My body is recalling that laying in bed and sleeping are two distinct things. I slump against the counter, listening to Jimena’s ranting. She pops open my fridge, holds up a takeout container, orange juice, some grapes, and a few condiments.
“This is all you have to eat. This is not taking care of yourself.”
I open my mouth to tell her I have eighty-two dollars in my name, but I can’t. I don’t even know all the details about my situation. The secret hangs over my head constantly, but I can’t worry Jimena. I can’t stress her. My problems are mine to manage.
I shift around the counter and sit on one of my bar stools. I drop the blanket from my arms and prop my head up in my hands.
She closes my refrigerator, taking a step in my direction. “Is the John Doe okay?”
I can’t go over this in my head anymore. Is he okay? Absolutely not. Alive? Yes, but being alive doesn’t make a person okay. I sigh. “His name is Lake.”
“Lake? Sounds like a bone-head. Sexy.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“You have serious issues.”
All she does is a graceful feminine shrug. A big smile expanding across her face. Jimena is well aware that her attitude is too big for her body. She’s embraced that feature about her, though. I wouldn’t want my best friend any other way.
“I’m glad he’s okay, Serenity.” She points her finger at me. “Now, what have you been reading? You haven’t rambled about a book in forever.”
I glance over at the kitchen cabinet, where I just shoved hundreds of documents and clipped pages. All inked with my secrets. The reason I lost my car, almost lost my house and job—the reason I’m not reading.
“Well, I re-watched Pretty Woman yesterday.”
She hums. “So you still haven’t read the book I got you for Christmas?”
I give her an innocent grin. “Sorry?”
“Whatever.” She smiles. “I stopped by to make sure you were alright, but I need to tell you about this couple at the coffee shop today.”
I’m close to face-planting right into my glossy-granite counter, but Jimena’s already gossiping before I get the chance to stop her.
***
I lean over the front-desk on the clinic floor. The nurse, Gloria, turns in her spinning chair to see who’s towering over her desk. Her eyes are narrow until she recognizes my face.
“Serenity! What’s up?”
I tap the top of the monitor. “Do you know where Lake Phoenix’s room is?”
Gloria raises an eyebrow and scoots closer to her desk. She peers over the edge, eyeing down the container of muffins in my hand.
“I believe he’s just down the hall.” Her fingers pat against the plastic-covered keyboard. “Yup, room six.”
“Thanks!” I turn to my side, but I don’t get a full step in. “Can you tell me who his doctor is?”
Like most hospitals, we’re understaffed. A few months ago, the leading doctor running the Boston Hope clinic went into retirement. It was a spontaneous decision because of her husband’s health issues. Someone needed to fill in, and my ex, Caleb, took the role. It shocked everyone who works downstairs in the ER, because Caleb has always had a strong dislike for addicts. I still don’t understand why he took the job. The patients on this floor carry enough burdens. A crappy doctor shouldn’t be added to that mix.
“Are you related?” Gloria asks, squinting.
I tilt my head and bat my eyes. Once Lake was moved upstairs, they removed me from his case. I can’t obtain any information about his current medical status unless I hear it from him or someone else with access to him.
Gloria keeps her suspicious expression. I flash a pleading smile. She looks around, then sighs. “Fletcher is. It was easier than transferring Lake to another doctor.”
Crap.
“Okay. Thank you.”
She nods and returns to typing as if this conversation never happened. I do the same, traveling down the hallway and knocking on Lake’s new door.
“Brooks?” he calls out.
I push open the door, “No. Serenity. Can I come in?” I keep my eyes on the speckled tiles, not wanting to invade his space before he says so.
“Seren—Angel?”
I freeze. I don’t think I ever told Lake my name. Every time he husked Angel with a deep rasp in his tired voice, I’d feel the pads of my fingers tighten and swell. I needed to break the sensation, so I’d dig at the clipboard.
Letting him call me a nickname is very unprofessional. My gaze drops to the muffins clasped in my palm. I guess I’ve gone beyond unprofessional.
“Yeah.” I choke.
“Come in.”
My feet pull my body into the room. I slip around the corner, and there Lake is in his hospital gown. His bed is in a sit-up position, and his hands are at his sides.
I squint. His hands are cuffed to the raised bars on his bed. I tilt my head and step closer. How in the world did he get cuffed to his hospital bed?
“Angel. Why are you here?”
“Oh, um,” I look anywhere but him and his cuffed hands. “You sort of died.” I hold up the tray of muffins. “I made muffins.”
“I know that.” He sniffs.
I pinch my lips together, folding them between my teeth. This is a little awkward, obviously. Lake is a stranger, but it would be rude to leave him alone.
“Well, Brooks said he’d be the only one visiting. I thought extra company would be nice. You know, because dying is traumatic.”
I flick my gaze back to Lake when he snorts. There’s no smile on his face, but the corner of his eyes crinkle.
“Has Brooks been by?” I ask.
He nods, tilting his head to the left of him, where a black briefcase is leaning next to a chair. “He left to get himself coffee.”
Lake rolls his wrists and gestures towards the chair under the window. I almost miss the movement because of his metal restrictions. I stop tugging at the tips of my fingers and place the muffin container on Lake’s bedside table. Then I scoot the chair closer to his bed before taking a seat.
“Why are your hands cuffed?”
He looks down at his hands, frowning, but his face resets, going back to nothing but slight cockiness and limited facial movements. “Asking a lot of questions, Angel.”
I tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “My name is Serenity.”
“That’s great, Angel.”
I drop my eyebrows. “You can call me—”
Lake interrupts. “Angel, or maybe Blondie.”
The side of his lip twitches. His eyes scrunch at the corners again. He looks more pale than he did last night. He’s likely not keeping down any food, but he doesn’t seem to be sweating yet, not visibly anyway. Hopefully, his withdrawal symptoms won’t smack him like a truck.
“Why not Serenity?” I return to our conversation, keeping my observations to myself.
“One thingy too many.”
My head dips to the side, I stare at him. He stares back. I blink. He blinks. “Syllables?”
He nods. “Yeah. That.”
Laughter bubbles up in my throat. “Three is your limit?”
He hums.
I crack up laughing, unable to contain it. Lake glares at me like I’m insane, but I can see the edges of his mouth, still curved. The awkwardness in the room disappears. I grab a hold of my shirt, squishing my hand on my abs, settling my laughter. “So, Phoenix, why are you cuffed to your bed?”
“Woke up a little startled.” He shrugs. “Forgot where I was when they were bringing me upstairs.” He meets my eyes for a moment. Just a moment, but he looks away so fast I may have imagined it.
“Oh.” I look at my lap. “Why haven’t they uncuffed you?”
“Have you met Fletcher?”
I can’t help the snarl. “Yes.” I scrunch my nose. “He’s my boss. Kind of.”
Lake’s head dips to the side. “Then you know why, Angel.”
The door creaks open. Moments later, a man comes into my view. “Serenity?” He holds out his hand.
He’s tall, over six feet. It seems like he came here to buy the whole building. Not to visit his brother. He’s in a tailored suit. He lifts his shoulders towards his ears, but he tries to make his held-out hand seem less stiff. I stand up and maneuver around Lake’s bed.
I grip the stranger’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Yes.”
He grins. “I’m Brooks.”
For being Lake’s half-brother, they look nothing alike. Lake has wavy hair, Brooks’ hair is actual coils. The only similarity is their eye color.
“Nice to meet you, Brooks.”
We release our hands. Brooks spins on his heels and drops into the chair on the opposite side of Lake’s bed. Then he raises his coffee cup to his lips, taking a long swig of it while eyeing down Lake.
Lake scoffs. “Where’s my coffee?”
I make my way back to my chair. The awkwardness has returned. At least for me, the two boys don’t seem to mind my existence.
“You can’t have a damn coffee. I watched you throw up an hour ago.”
I press my palms together. “Have you not been able to eat?”
Lake turns his head in my direction. “No.”
“He had like six Jello cups before the nurses stopped giving him more. He can’t keep shit down.”
Lake makes an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Can you get me some Jello, Angel?”
“You can’t keep it down?” I raise an eyebrow. I exchange glances with Brooks. He shakes his head.
“Hours ago. Maybe I’ll keep it down this time. Orange.”
Lake has a strange way of speaking. I guess it’s to do with the limited syllables he allows himself to use.
“Orange? Do you like the Orange Jello?” I’ve never liked orange Jello. Or many things orange-flavored that aren’t an actual orange.
He barely nods. His eyes slant.
“You can’t keep it—”
Lake cuts Brooks off. “Shut the hell up.”
He cocks his cuffed wrist and flips him off. I give Lake a weak smile. He’s still looking towards me instead of his brother, who is now returning the gesture and flipping Lake the bird.
“Well, you two are definitely brothers.” I smile.
My palms are sweating. These two don’t care that I’m here, but I can’t stand how awkward I’m feeling. I want to provide my support. It’s just hard when it’s for two people I don’t know.
Brooks nods. “Same mother. Different dad. Thankfully, I got the dad that’s from Jamaica and not the trashy American.”
Lake repeats the same nod as Brooks. Not taking any offense at the comment about his father. “Orange jello.”
“I don’t want to make a poor impression with Brooks.”
Lake shuts his eyes. “Don’t give him a second thought, Angel. He sucks. I don’t.”
I snicker. “That’s very convincing.”
He nods, his weakened body sinking into the hospital mattress. For a moment, his eyes shut before fluttering open. The honey in his eyes drips around his iris’, wide and alluring.
With puppy eyes, he asks, “please, Angel?”
I get him the orange Jello.
***
“Thanks for the muffins, Serenity.”
He winces as he shoves another one in his mouth. I’m not the best baker. Thankfully, they weren’t pointless. Lake can’t keep them down right now, but Brooks can. Maybe.
I pull my purse back onto my shoulder. “I’ll get going.”
Brooks eats the last bite of his muffin. He claps his hands and rises to his full height. “Come back.”
I glance over to Lake, quietly snoring. I thought I’d pop by another time, but my connection with Lake would end at the muffins. “What do you mean?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but doing this on my own.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I can’t do it again.”
I pinch the fabric on my thigh, kneading it between my fingers. There’s a ton of tension. A construct of internal anxiety.
Brooks doesn’t let the unsure expression on my face stay for long. “Lake was sober for twenty-two days once. Years ago. He left rehab after being sober a week.” He puffs out a sigh. “That was the only time I’ve seen him clean in years. It hasn’t happened since, and I’m worried this will be his last chance.”
From my knowledge, my sister was never sober. The last time she told me she would get clean was moments before she started shouting at me. A month later, she was gone for good. Addiction is crazy like that. People can be addicted for decades before losing their lives. Others can be years sober and one relapse takes their life. It’s a disease that isn’t easy to treat, no matter how far clean a person is.
“He can’t avoid rehab this time.”
I tilt my head. Brooks leans forward, his eyes swiping over to Lake. I’m pretty sure he’s double checking that Lake is still sleeping. “I’m not giving him a choice this time. This is his last shot to set things straight.”
If I wasn’t already a sympathetic mess, I sure am now.
“He doesn’t want to be sober.” Brooks waves his hand at sleeping beauty. “But life is catching up with him. He’s freaking out over it. I think that’s why he ended up here. He’s stressed. His mind isn’t just focused on getting high.”
He continues, “Serenity, he doesn’t answer to anyone. Half the time, he doesn’t even hear what I say. You not only revived him, but you got him to talk. Which I promise you, those are both equal miracles.”
My heart lodges in my esophagus.
Brooks sniffs. “Boston Hope is great. He’ll practically be sober once they release him. But after that, I have no idea what to do.”
“Well.” I chew on my bottom lip.
I can’t look away from Lake. His lips are apart, and he’s breathing out hushed snores. All the tension in his face is gone. He looks so at peace. I feel terrible that he’ll open his eyes to the reality of stress and deadlines.
“I think—” What do I think? I have no solution. I can’t even pull myself out of my own problems, but if I could take myself apart, display all of me, what reaction would I hope for?
Loving. That’s it, loving.
“Please,” Brooks pleads. “You’re a nurse. A little help would mean the world to me.”
I give Brooks a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll come back. I’ll help both of you.”
He returns the grin. “Thanks, Serenity.”
Lake groans. His head tilts back against his pillow. Brooks and I watch him in silence as he opens his eyes. His gaze finds me quickly, as if he could sense me nearing my exit.
“Angel.” He turns his neck. “Brooks.”
“Good morning sunshine.” Brooks flutters his lashes.
“I’ll kill you.”
Brooks scoots his chair closer. “Good luck with that.”
What is with these two? I’m worried about when Lake is uncuffed. They seem like they might start trying to box each other. “Do you guys ever get along?”
Brooks shrugs. “This is us getting along.”
Lake grumbles in agreement.
With Brooks’ encouragement, I know Lake Phoenix is bound to become my friend. Whether or not he likes it. I have permission to help him more than I expected, and I’m ready to make it happen.
I grin, settling my nerves. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Brooks, I’ll get you another one. How do you take it?”