Chapter 13
13
BECK
M emories were a strange thing. Sometimes they’d just sit in some dark corner of your mind, gathering dust for years and years and years. Just forgotten moments that didn’t make the final cut. But then something would trigger them—a sound, a smell, a word—and they would hurtle to the forefront with a frightening clarity.
I couldn’t remember my dad’s face. Not at all. Couldn’t remember the sound of his voice. Couldn’t remember a single moment with him.
But I still remembered what that rope sounded like as his body swayed slowly from the ceiling fan.
That awful creaking.
I didn’t think I’d ever understand how the mind chose to work. It’s not like a chair had never made a sound under my weight before. They often did, with the size of me. I guessed it was what I’d been talking about as it happened.
I splashed cold water on my face and tried to get my shit together in the hospital bathroom. I needed to go back in there and finish what I was saying to Gavin. He needed to hear it from someone. And because he’d told me there was no one in his life, that someone had to be me.
I couldn’t fucking believe this was happening. That this was where we’d ended up. I never would have thought that Gavin was even capable of feeling this way. When he told me he wanted to die, in so many words, in that moment I honestly could not believe him. I regretted my harsh words, but I really thought he was just being a fucking asshole.
But he wasn’t. He’d been telling me without words that he’d lost all hope since he’d woken up this morning, I just hadn’t wanted to listen.
I grabbed a paper towel out of the dispenser and wiped the water off my face, then used it to open the door because hospitals were fucking dirty.
When I got back to the room, Gavin and the bed were gone. They’d taken him to get his x-ray, I assumed. Good.
I sat back down in the chair, and it creaked.
I sighed.
When we first got here, I told the receptionist that I was concerned about the state of his mental health and that he was having suicidal thoughts. She said they would get his x-rays done first, then have a psychological assessment done. Then she’d asked what my relationship with the patient was, and I’d lied and told her we were partners because I wasn’t sure what else to say. I felt fucking dumb for saying it now.
He was going to hate me for this. Well, no, he did hate me. But he was going to throw a fit, and the guilt was already burning through me.
Except my resolve to get him help was stronger.
I didn’t fuck around when someone spoke the way he did back at the house. I wasn’t taking a single chance that he didn’t mean what he was saying. He needed help.
No matter what he’d done, I couldn’t lose another person who had—at one point—meant the world to me.
I wanted to hate him, to forget about him, but he hated himself so much already that he was full up on it and there was no more room for mine. I wanted none of this to be real, for him to take those words back, to tell me he wasn’t serious. But he was serious, and that…that scared me more than anything had in a long, long time.
I felt torn between two different versions of myself, an agonizing tug of war that left me somewhere in the middle. There was the part of me that harbored all the good memories I had of him, and then there was its counterpart, a charred reflection depicting my utter contempt for the person he’d become.
And now I was angry again at this new version of Gavin. This hopeless, helpless pitiful shell of anything he’d been. I was angry he made me feel sorry for him. I was pissed that I was the one helping him. And I hated every emotion he was drawing out of me. He was like a tornado, sucking them up and then tearing them to pieces, leaving the debris in his wake.
I tipped my head back against the wall and stared at nothing.
Twenty minutes later, the curtain was shoved aside and Gavin was wheeled back into the room. He looked doped up, probably not feeling any pain at this point. He had a cast on his foot, a chunky white thing that looked heavy.
His eyes landed on me, glassy and half-lidded, and he smiled.
My heart skipped a beat.
“It’s broken,” he said cheerfully. Like that was the best news in the world.
The nurse who was with him rolled his bed back into place and locked the wheels. To me, she said, “He’s got multiple metatarsal, sesamoid, and calcaneus fractures—and a small piece of bone was pressing against a nerve. I’m not sure how he didn’t pass out from the pain.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face, the guilt intensifying. “So what’s—what’re the next steps for that? How long will it take to heal?”
She grabbed a clipboard from the foot of the bed and started writing on it. “He’s got the cast already, and he’ll also get a prescription for a painkiller because it’s going to hurt for a while, and it’ll take about four to six weeks to heal, maybe longer. He shouldn’t put any pressure on it for a full week, and we can assess how it’s going after that. But…with how it looked on the x-ray, there could possibly be permanent damage. It’s hard to tell at this stage. Dr. Madsen should be here soon, though, and she’ll be able to answer whatever questions you have.”
Jesus Christ. Permanent damage? I looked over at Gavin again. He’d turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. His lips were parted, and his face held no hint of anger or sadness. He looked almost serene.
It was too bad he couldn’t achieve that without a heavy dose of drugs.
“Thank you,” I said to the nurse.
“No problem.” She put the clipboard back and left.
I looked at the clock and sighed. It was almost midnight.
I slid my phone from my pocket and texted Anya.
Me: I probably won’t be back for another few hours. Make sure you keep all the doors and windows locked.
She responded immediately.
Anya: Oh, darn. I unlocked everything. I even popped the screens out of the windows and left them wide open. Should I not have done that?
Me: You’re grounded.
Anya: On what grounds?! (See what I did there?)
Me: Unfortunately. Did Sara go home?
Anya: No, she’s still here. Heads up, she ate all your Twix.
Me: Are you kidding me?
Anya: About which part?
Me: Both.
Anya: Then no.
Me: If both were no, you could have just said no.
Anya: But I like talking to you. I miss you.
Me: Go to sleep. You have school in the morning. Doesn’t Sara need to go home?
Anya: She’s gonna stay over again.
Me: Is she living with us now?
Anya: Can she?
Me: No.
Anya: Pweeeeease?
Me: No! Christ, Anya, just go to sleep.
Anya: Fine, butt head. *heart emoji*
I sent her a heart emoji back, then shoved my phone in my pocket with a sigh. When I looked up again, Gavin was awake and staring at me.
“Hey,” I said, for lack of anything better. I was starting to get anxious because the doctor would be here soon, and no amount of drugs in the world would be able to quell the anger I knew would come.
Gavin didn’t say anything. Was back to not talking, I guessed.
I licked my lips, nervous as hell. Fuck, I had to tell him something. He deserved to know. “Gavin, I?—”
The curtain moved, and then a middle-aged woman with a pixie cut moved briskly toward the bed. “Mr. Forster, you’ve had a hard day, huh?”
Gavin eyed the woman and said nothing.
“I’m Dr. Madsen and I’ll be helping you out tonight. How’s your foot feeling?” she asked while snapping latex gloves into place.
“Fine,” he said.
“Good.” She pulled a rolling chair over to the side of his bed and sat down, a clipboard in her hand. I had no idea where it came from. Dr. Madsen got right down to it, asking Gavin a slew of questions and then giving him a ton of information that he was definitely not going to remember. After ten minutes, someone else walked into the tiny space. A short, thin man who couldn’t be more than forty. He smiled at me, then stood at the foot of Gavin’s bed. Two more nurses came in behind him and flanked his sides.
“Hi there,” he said with way too much cheer. “My name is Dr. Hargraves, I’m the head psychologist in the behavioral health wing.”
My stomach roiled as I watched Gavin’s face. His eyes found mine, and he said roughly, “What is this?”
Dr. Hargraves said, “I’m just here to do a simple psychological assessment. There’s been some concern regarding your well-being and we have to take certain precautions once something like this has come to our attention.”
“Beck,” he grated out, ignoring the man and staring hard at me now. “What’s happening?”
I licked my lips, my mouth too dry, my throat feeling like it was closing up.
Dr. Madsen tried to answer for me. “Mr. Forster?—”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” he snarled at her.
“Apologies. What would you like to be called?”
He curled his lip at her and didn’t respond.
“Just call him Gavin,” I said.
“Fuck. You , Beck. What did you do? What did you tell them? I can’t believe I trusted you, I fucking hate you!” He was seething now, the tendons in his neck popping out, his face getting redder and redder, and I felt like telling them to just let him go, to forget what I said and let him leave…but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t do that. He needed this. As much as it hurt, he needed this.
“I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely. I meant it, too. I was sorry that everything had come down to this. I was sorry that I’d even found him yesterday. I was sorry I hadn’t found him sooner. I was sorry I didn’t fight his dad harder that day. I was sorry he felt like dying was the only way forward for him.
“You’re not fucking sorry,” he spat, although there were tears in his eyes now. “Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you? Always need to be the fucking hero, don’t you?” He laughed cruelly as those tears slipped past his lashes, sliding down his face and breaking my heart. “I hope you feel good. I hope you feel like a hero, Beck. I’m glad I can help you add another win to your list of accomplishments. You know what that list is? That’s you, trying to be good enough. But you won’t ever be. You weren’t even enough of a reason for your dad to keep living.” He spit at me, but it only landed on his own leg.
A maelstrom of ice and fire converged in my chest, my hands shaking in my lap while my soul felt like it was being split in half.
Dr. Madsen turned to me and said softly, “Please have a seat in the waiting area. We’ll come and get you once the assessment has been completed.”
I nodded stiffly at her and stood up.
To Gavin, I said, “I’ll see you soon.” I had no clue how any of this was going to turn out, and part of me felt like I’d just guaranteed him a one-way ticket back to jail because there was no way he wouldn’t fight with them. I was fucking praying he just did the goddamn assessment without being combative, but the way he was looking at me now, with so much hatred as his eyes pooled with tears…Jesus fucking Christ.
I turned around and left, not looking back at Gavin.
“Beck! Beck ! Get back here, you son of a bitch!” Gavin screamed at the top of his lungs. “Beck! Don’t just fucking leave me here! Don’t leave me here!”
Holy shit, I couldn’t breathe. My legs felt like they would collapse under me any second. I wished he would stop yelling, because the anguish and betrayal in his voice were gutting me.
“Beck, you bastard! Beck ! Don’t fucking leave me!”
The last two words broke on a gut-wrenching sob, and I shoved out of the back area, walked through the emergency room, then ran to my car. My hands shook as I unlocked it, and I just sat in the seat for the longest time, taking deep breaths and trying to slow my heart before going back to the waiting room.
His cries would never fade from my memories, I was sure of that.
An hour later, a nurse came to get me from the waiting area and took me back to Gavin’s room.
Before I could go inside, Dr. Hargraves came out and said, “I just wanted to speak with you for a moment. The assessment is done, and while it’s clear that Mr. Forster is dealing with depression, it wasn’t as clear that he was an immediate threat to himself, and he very much denied that, as well. I’ve taken into consideration the information you’ve given me—regarding what he said before you brought him here—and what Mr. Forster himself told us?—”
“He actually talked to you?” I was shocked.
Dr. Hargraves nodded. “Yes, he didn’t say much, and it took him a good fifteen minutes to calm down after you left, but he did answer our questions. To the best of his ability, I suppose. When we offered to have him go in-patient so he could get intensive help, he vehemently rejected it. I’m not entirely comfortable letting him leave here on his own, but we could release him into the care of a person who would be able to watch him and be with him for the next few weeks. Is that something that would be possible?”
Jesus fuck. I scrubbed my hands down my face, then crossed my arms over my chest. Gavin didn’t have anyone who would do that for him.
Except me.
Fuck, I didn’t want to be responsible for someone struggling with suicidal ideation. I didn’t want to be responsible for him .
But I couldn’t just leave him on his own, not when his cries were still echoing in my ears. Not when he was all alone in the world.
“Two weeks?” I asked.
Dr. Hargraves nodded. “At the very least. We’ve scheduled an appointment for him with one of our psychiatrists—for tomorrow morning—and she’ll be able to recommend a therapist for him, as well as prescribe some medication for the depression.”
I nodded, knowing he wouldn’t do any of that shit on his own. “So you’ll release him into my care for two weeks? And then what?”
“And then he can continue with therapy if he chooses to. We’ll give you both some packets with other information and resources as well.”
“All right. I’ll watch him,” I said, already regretting the words.
“Excellent. We just have a bit of paperwork for Mr. Forster, and then he’ll be free to go home.”
I refrained from telling him he didn’t have one of those.
When I pushed aside the curtain, my heart jumped at the sight of him. He was wearing my shorts and t-shirt again, still lying on the bed. His face was turned toward the far wall, away from me. He didn’t look over when I entered the small space.
“I told them I didn’t want you here,” he said in a flat tone, still not looking at me. “But guess what? No one listens to me.”
The nurse who was fiddling with something beside the bed patted his shoulder and said, “That’s not true.” She smiled at me and handed me a stack of papers and brochures and a clear plastic bag that had a bottle of pills in it. His painkillers, I assumed. “There are a lot of excellent resources in there. He’s filled out all the paperwork and is set to go. I wish you both good health.” Her eyes were kind as she patted my hand after I took the papers. “I’ll be right back with a wheelchair, and then you can be on your way.” She disappeared from the room.
“Go away, Beck,” Gavin said, voice soft and dull.
“No.” I sat down in the chair. Gavin didn’t respond, didn’t look at me at all. The nurse came back a few minutes later with a wheelchair and a set of crutches, pushing the chair toward the bed and handing me the crutches. I didn’t even offer to help Gavin. I knew he wouldn’t take it. I let her help him get in the chair instead.
She pushed him toward me, and he still wouldn’t look at me. He was frowning and staring down at his legs, fingers clutching the material of his shorts.
My shorts.
He said nothing as I got up and started pushing him out of the room, down the hall, and out the front entrance. When we got to my car, I propped the crutches against it, and Gavin finally spoke.
“Give me those,” he said, holding his hand out for the pills. “And then fuck off.”
I huffed, not surprised in the least. “Nah. Not gonna do that.” I crouched at his side and tilted my head up to meet his tired eyes. I could tell he was trying hard to hold onto the anger, but he was too exhausted to actually keep a firm enough grip. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, Gav. We’re gonna put you in the car, you’re gonna come back to my house, and tomorrow, I’m bringing you to your psychiatry appointment.”
“Fuck you, Beck,” he said wearily.
“Great. Glad we’re in agreement,” I said, standing again. I wheeled him over to the passenger side and opened the door. “How do you wanna do this, princess?”
“By myself.”
“Okay.”
I watched him push off the arms of the wheelchair to stand on his good leg.
I was there in two steps when he grunted and started to collapse. I caught him around the waist, holding his full weight because he couldn’t even stand on his uninjured foot. I slid him onto the passenger seat as he panted through the pain, head hanging low, hands clutching his thighs in a death grip.
I closed the door and let him recuperate. If he wanted to be this goddamn stubborn, I would just let him. Maybe he would learn.
Probably not.
After putting the crutches in the backseat, then returning the wheelchair to the woman at the front desk, I got in and started the car.
“Are you hungry?” I asked him as I pulled out of the parking lot.
“No.”
Of course he wasn’t.
“Well I’m hungry. I’m gonna stop and grab some burgers.”
I took us to the burger joint with a twenty-four hour drive-thru and ordered one for Anya and one for him, too. No ketchup, because he used to hate it. I had no idea if that was still true or not.
He stared out the window into the empty darkness the entire ride back. When we were pulling onto my street, he said quietly, “I didn’t mean it. What I said about your dad.”
I sucked in a breath and glanced over at him, but all I could see was the back of his head.
I was not expecting that. Ever. That was the closest he’d come to apologizing for anything in the last ten years.
Hope exploded in my chest, as if it were there just waiting for him to say or do something that proved the old Gavin was still in there. It was not a fragile thing—it had an implacable strength that sank into me. Sank deep.
I wanted to purge it from my body.
I cleared my throat, pulling the car into the driveway. “I didn’t think you did,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I thought anymore.
I grabbed the food, then the papers and bag of pills from where I’d stuck them between my leg and the door—I wasn’t giving them to him because I didn’t trust him to not abuse the painkillers—and got out, heading to the passenger side.
He opened his door before I got there, already dragging his crutches from the back.
“I can carry you, if you want.” I was only half joking.
He glared at me. “Fuck off.”
“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” I walked to the porch, ran up the steps, set everything down, then hustled back to Gavin.
When I rounded the car, he was lying on his side on the concrete, breathing hard.
“Goddammit, Gavin, can’t you just listen for once?” I growled.
He grimaced in pain, then tried to glare up at me. He only ended up looking miserable. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just leave me somewhere and fuck off? Just take me back to the fucking homeless shelter and let me rot there in peace, you fuck!”
“You fucking know why,” I shot back. And I wasn’t doing this for the man he was now, but the boy he used to be. Because no matter what he did now, I would always love that boy.
Always.
“Do you want to lie here all night, or do you want to move your pity party to the bed? Or the couch? You can watch TV.”
He didn’t respond.
“Okay. I’ll see you later,” I said, picking up his crutches and turning away.
“Wait,” he snarled. He sounded like he was hating himself for even saying it.
I stopped. Turned around.
“I don’t want you to carry me,” he said. His light brown eyes were telling me everything his mouth couldn’t—that it was humiliating to be carried around by another man.
I had a pretty good idea where all his homophobic beliefs had come from, because he wasn’t like that when I knew him. He wasn’t like that at all. I just wondered how deeply ingrained they truly were. If there was a sliver of a chance he could dig them out, like a splinter buried deep.
“Okay,” I said, leaning the crutches against the car and moving to help him up. I held my hand out to him, and he glared at it for the longest time. When I started to pull it back, he quickly reached up and wrapped his hand around my forearm. I did the same and hauled him up.
“Fuck,” he panted as I held him steady while he balanced on one leg.
I handed him the crutches, then walked as slowly as he needed. When we got to the stairs, he was completely out of breath.
“Just let me…” he huffed, not even able to finish his sentence.
I walked up the stairs, grabbing the pills and pamphlets, then waited while he caught his breath.
“Come on,” I said. “My food is getting cold.”
I thought I heard him mutter “prick” as he started up the stairs. It took him a good five minutes, and he was sweating by the time he reached me.
Once we were inside, I headed toward the kitchen. Anya was most definitely asleep at this point, seeing how it was almost two in the morning, so I put her burger in the fridge, then got mine and his and headed back to the family room. Gavin was lying down on the couch, his foot propped on a pillow. He had the arm that was riddled with tattoos thrown over his eyes.
I set the burger on his chest, grabbed the remote from the coffee table, and turned the TV on as I settled myself into the armchair near his feet.
“Can you just fuck off and leave me alone?” he muttered.
I wished I could. I really, really did.