Thirty-two
Three days.
Three whole days of sitting by Oakley’s side, not moving an inch. Three days of waiting for his eyes to open, for his fingers to twitch or to hear his voice. Three days of listening to the doctor telling us it’s just a waiting game now, that Oakley will wake up when he’s ready to. Three days of countless nurses trying to convince me to go home and get some rest, or at least take a shower. Three days of barely sleeping a wink. Three days of ignoring Chief Farrow’s frowns. Three days of watching April cry and wondering why she leaves with Sienna after every visit.
Three days of being suspended in time, feeling my heart break over and over, every single second.
I’m so fucking angry at the world, to the point where I want to get out of here and go hunt down the bastard that did this to Oakley. But I’m also so numb, so drained, that doing anything but staying by his side feels impossible. Besides, I can’t leave. What if he wakes up as soon as I do? I need to be here when he opens his eyes, need to kiss him and tell him how much I love him.
I can’t risk missing that moment.
There’s a commotion outside the room, loud enough to make me tear my eyes away from Oakley. The door’s open a crack and I see three figures out in the hall. Two security guards and… is that Hal?
“I don’t care about your damn policy,” he shouts. “I need to see him. That kid in there? He’s like a son to me.”
“Sir, we’re gonna need you to calm down.”
“Not until you let me see—”
Chief Farrow rounds the corner, on his way back from the coffee machine. He approaches the group, hands on his hips. “What’s going on here?”
Even from here, I can see the way Hal tenses. “I need to see Oakley.”
Chief Farrow turns to the security guards. “I’ll handle this.” They walk away and he focuses his attention back on Hal. He steps closer, his stance shifting from professional to… almost aggressive. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here.”
“Me? You’ve got a lot of nerve being here,” Hal throws back. “You think I don’t know that you’re the one who—”
Chief Farrow moves even closer and I hold my breath, waiting for him to throw a punch or something. But, he doesn’t. He keeps talking, except this time his voice is so low that I can’t hear a word of it. Whatever he says though, it makes Hal shrink in on himself, all the fight draining out of him. A couple of minutes later, Hal walks away, his head in his hands, and Chief Farrow re-enters the room.
“What was that about?” I ask, my voice rough.
He shakes his head and walks over to the window, placing his coffee cup on the ledge. “Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
He whirls around, mouth opening to say something back to me, probably to tell me to mind my own business, but Oakley’s nurse knocks on the door, interrupting him.
“Morning, folks. There’s a lot of drama going on around here today, huh?”
Chief Farrow waves her off, his bad mood gone. “Don’t worry about that. He won’t be coming back.”
She smiles and moves to Oakley’s side, running through his vitals and daily checks. As she’s adding more fluid to his drip, the clipboard she perched on the edge of the bed slips off and crashes to the floor. Chief Farrow rushes over, retrieving it for her, but as he stands back up, he winces and grabs onto his side.
“Shit,” he gasps, his face pinched.
The nurse runs over to him, easing him into a chair. “Are you okay? Did you pull something?”
“No, I-I’m fine. It’s just an old injury, that’s all.”
“Ah. Risks of the job, I guess.”
“You could say that.”
“Here, let me take a look for you.” She lifts his shirt up, getting a look at the area and he winces. “How did this happen exactly?”
“I got stabbed with a shard of glass.”
I freeze, going so still that I’m not even sure I’m breathing anymore. My heart pounds in my ears, the hair on the back of my neck standing up on end. Did he just say—
The nurse grimaces. “Ouch. Just one thing, though. When you say this is an old injury, how old are we talking? Because this looks pretty fresh to me.”
“A couple of weeks, maybe.”
“At least tell me you fought back.”
“Oh, yeah. I stabbed the bastard in the side with a piece of glass.”
Holy fucking shit.
I spent hours - days, even - trying to figure out who was hurting Oakley, why he couldn’t just tell me. But I never, ever expected that it would be his uncle. The Chief. The man responsible for taking care of Oakley, April and the whole fucking town.
Jesus Christ, how could I be so blind? It all makes sense now. How sketchy Sienna acted the other day when I mentioned calling him. How adamant Oakley was that he couldn’t go to his uncle for help. Fuck, that’s why he didn’t want to help me find him. Because he knew exactly where he was. He’s the one who hit him, tried to fucking kill him.
I’m shaking, my rage dangerously close to boiling-point.
The nurse leaves to fetch a bandage to put over the wound. Chief Farrow leans back in the chair, sighs, and reaches into his pocket. My brows shoot up as he pulls out a silver flask and pours a hefty amount of the liquid into his coffee cup.
An abusive asshole and a drunk.
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.
I stand on shaky legs, my face twisted in fury. I clench my hands into fists at my sides, forcing myself to not just run at him and attack.
Chief Farrow does a double take, laughing under his breath. “What are you doing, kid?”
“It was you,” I seethe, my voice low and deathly.
His expression remains the same, completely blank. But, I don’t miss the way the color drains from his face. That’s right, motherfucker. I know exactly what you did. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You hurt Oakley. You’re the one who put him here.”
“Now, hold on a second. That is a very serious accusation you’re making.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Oh, yeah?” He smirks, a cruel glint in his eye. “And where’s your proof?”
I shake my head. “I don’t need proof. Oakley will tell everyone when he wakes up. He’ll tell everyone how you’ve been hurting him for months. That he was the one who gave you that wound when you were trying to fucking kill him.”
He stands, inching closer as he puffs out his chest. I can tell what he’s doing, using his broad frame to try and intimidate me. Unluckily for him, I don’t scare easily. I’ll go toe to toe with this asshole any day of the week.
“There’s just one problem with that,” he mutters. “Your boy there? He might not wake up.”
“He will wake up.”
“How can you be so sure? I mean, the doctors aren’t a hundred percent. And I did hit him pretty hard…”
“You son of a bitch,” I yell, launching myself at him.
I manage to get one good hit in before he tackles me to the ground, smashing my cheek against the floor as his knee presses into my back. My lungs scream as I struggle to take in a full breath. I try to fight his hold, but he manages to keep me pinned.
He laughs. “Not as big and strong as you look, huh?”
“I haven’t ate or slept in three days, asshole. Catch me on a good day and I’ll fucking kill you. That’s a promise.”
“That’s a tempting offer, but sadly for you, there’ll be no more good days where you’re going.”
Bile rushes up my throat, the implication behind his words making my stomach churn. “What do you mean?”
“Asher Brooks, you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Oakley Farrow. You don’t have to say anything. Anything you do say can and will—”
I struggle against him, screaming at the top of my lungs as he pulls my arms behind my back and cuffs my wrists together. “No! You can’t do this! You won’t get away with it!”
“No? You don’t think so?” He leans down, his voice turning to a hiss right beside my ear. “You see, I think I will. Because I know all about your history with Oakley. How you bullied him and hurt him and made him bleed. How many witnesses there were. It won’t be hard to prove to a jury that you wanted him gone.”
“Nobody will believe you,” I bite out.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m the fucking Chief. They’ll believe whatever I want them to believe. Besides, it’s hard to dispute concrete evidence.”
My eyes burn with tears, a cold sweat breaking out over my skin. “What fucking evidence? You have nothing.”
He holds my wrists in place with one hand, using the other to fish a phone out of his pocket. Oakley’s phone, I realize. The screen has a new crack in it and I wince as I wonder how it got there. Chief Farrow unlocks it, clicking on the message thread between me and Oakley. There, beneath the tons of texts he sent me telling me he needed to talk, is a message from me. One I definitely don’t remember sending.
“We recovered this from the scene,” he says. “And, would you look at that? Here’s a message from you, telling Oakley to meet you at the junkyard. The same place where he was hit in the head with a steel bar, then had his body dragged into the woods to be left for dead.”
Tears are streaming from my eyes now, my chest tight and restricted, like I’m suffocating. “I didn’t— I didn’t send that— I didn’t—” I stop, realization dawning. “You set me up.”
“It wasn’t my intention, but… it’s funny how life has a way of working itself out, isn’t it?”
With that, he drags me to my feet and shoves me out of the room. I get one last glimpse of Oakley’s prone body over my shoulder, and then I’m gone.