Chapter 29
Bash
Bash was restless the entire flight from Amsterdam to Boston. He had thought about calling Adonis before the flight, or even texting him, but there was so much he wanted to say, and he decided it would be better to say it all in person.
When the plane finally landed at Boston Logan International Airport, after midnight, Bash turned his phone back on. Immediately, it buzzed with a flood of notifications.
He frowned at his screen and then felt the blood drain from his face.
As a flight attendant passed, Bash jumped up, knocking his head on the bins above. “Please,” he said. “Can I get off? A friend of mine has been shot and is in the hospital.”
In a magnanimous display of universal selflessness, the other passengers stood aside to let Bash off first. He sprinted from the plane, through his gate, and out of the airport, dodging fellow travelers and ignoring the fact that his bag was at the baggage check.
Fuck the clothes. He could get more later.
He called Adonis while he ran, shoving his earbuds into his ears.
“Bash!” Adonis yelped as soon as he answered.
“I’m here,” Bash said. “In Boston. I’m coming to Bellford. Are you okay?”
Adonis sounded very tired. “I’m okay. I wasn’t hurt.”
“What about Cort?”
Bash burst through the doors into the chilly night—or early morning. Whatever. A car he’d scheduled was already waiting for him. He hurried towards it, his breath steaming around him.
“They think he’ll live,” Adonis said quietly. “He was shot in the shoulder.”
“What the fuck happened?”
“I’m not sure yet. He said something about getting shot by Pizza. Whatever the fuck that means. There’s a search for the shooter. Campus is on lockdown. But there are cameras at the Rink, and I doubt it’ll be long before they get an ID. And if they don’t, I hope Cort can tell them.”
“Get me to Bellford University as fast as you can,” Bash said to the driver of his car. “I will personally pay you an extra one thousand dollars if you ignore every speed limit.”
The driver stepped on the gas.
Bash leaned his head against the window, holding the phone close to his ear. “Adonis,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to find him.”
“It’s not your fault. Not at all.”
“But, it is. I blame myself. I was—I am—Cort’s mentor. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was mixed up in something bad. I should’ve done something about it.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“But I do. I should’ve been here. I could’ve been here. I chose to leave, and I could’ve chosen to stay.”
“Your father died, Bash. You didn’t have a choice not to be here.” Adonis’s voice was gentle. “It’s really not your fault.”
Bash sighed. “Thank you, Adonis. I’m sorry about so many things. I’m sorry for—for saying that we couldn’t be together.”
“Let’s not talk about this over the phone.”
“I have so much to say.”
“And I want to listen. But not on the phone. I want to see you.”
Bash closed his eyes. “I want to see you, too.”
“I’ll be here.”
“And I’ll be there soon,” Bash whispered.