5. Guilt
FIVE
GUILT
GARDEN STATEMENT: HIDDEN IN PLAIN VIEW
DOMINIC
I feel a gnawing sickness in my stomach—not from the barrage of medications they’ve pumped into me, but because of Cali. I can't shake the feeling that I've let her down. I should have protected her like I promised I would. I should have been tougher—never allowed her to get behind the wheel. I should have...
As guilt suffocates me, doubts swirl chaotically in my mind. I sit here, eyes fixed blankly on the stark white wall before me. A chill hangs in the air, wrapping around me like an unwelcome embrace, making me shiver beneath the flimsy hospital blanket they gave me. I scoff at the absurdity of it all; the beeping machines resonate sharply in my ears.
Feeling dizzy, yet oddly euphoric, I lean back against the thin, feather-light pillow. No matter how I shift, comfort eludes me. I need to escape this place. It's futile to be lying in a hospital bed due to a broken leg from a car accident.
Suddenly, my eyes snap open, scanning the room until they land on a pair of crutches propped against the wall by the door. Next to them, a clean set of gray sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a hoodie sit neatly folded on a chair in front of the window—Kill must have brought them since my own clothes were a bloody mess, gruesomely cut off me. I glance at my leg, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, wondering how I'm going to manage this with a bulky cast.
I grab my phone and text Kill urgently, pleading for him to come pick me up.
*Come get me, motherfucker. I need to get out of here.*
*Give me ten minutes, and we’ll be there.*
*Did you figure anything out?*
*Not sure. I’ll fill you in when I see you.*
I toss the phone aside, carefully swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Using the safety bars, I pull myself up, adjusting to the awkwardness of standing on one foot, hopping to get from point A to point B. After a struggle, I manage to put on the sweats, tossing the hospital gown into the trash. I yank the IV from my hand and slip on the shirt, tugging the hoodie on for warmth.
With the crutches under my arms, I’m about to turn the doorknob when someone pushes it open from the outside. The nurse’s jaw drops, nearly causing her to drop the clipboard she holds as she takes in my dressed and ready-to-go state.
“Uh, Mr. Gray, what are you doing?” She shrieks, her voice dripping with concern.
“I’m fucking leaving. I don’t need to be here,” I growl, the edges of my patience wearing thin with her presence.
“But your leg is broken, and you have bruised ribs?—”
“No offense, Nurse, but I’m not fucking dead; I’m just broken. My girl is out there—God knows where—and I need to find her. I can’t do that stuck in this miserable bed, can I?”
Her mouth closes, and she straightens her posture, trying to assert herself as if to convince me to comply with her demands. She might be beautiful, but she's not attractive enough for me to abandon Cali for her wishes.
“We recommend that you stay. You’ve experienced a serious trauma, and you have all kinds of medications in your system. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m checking myself out against medical advice,” I fire back, well aware of my rights.
Just as she opens her mouth to protest, I gently push past her, memories of navigating crutches flooding back. It brings me back to the traumatic moment of my first broken leg—inflicted by my father. I was thirteen, and as a rite of passage, I had to endure a beating at the hands of a few boys, all while our fathers looked on—one of the many grotesque traditions of their secret society that I never wanted to be part of.
Sweat beads on my forehead, my heart races like a stampede, and my vision blurs as I stagger down the empty corridor, the crutches clattering against the stark white tiles. Panic permeates my body, threatening to overwhelm me, but I push through the anxiety, desperate to reach the outside air.
I can’t believe I’ve lost her again; she slipped through my fingers like grains of sand. I should have fought harder against those who took her. I should have pushed through the pain. But I didn’t, and now she’s in greater danger than ever before.
As I push open the door and take my first breath of the cold air, I close my eyes, reveling in it, feeling the weight of dread and guilt start to lift.
“Shit, Dom? Are you okay, man?” Ash’s worried voice pulls me from my reverie.
I open my heavy eyes to see him standing before me, Kill and Five beside him.
"I... I need to sit down,” I mumble, swaying unsteadily, feeling like I’m about to pass out. “Get me to the fucking car.”
Ash immediately steps forward, wrapping one strong arm around my shoulders for support. The others follow suit, and together they help me navigate the pavement, careful not to let me stumble on the crutches. The chill in the air seems to seep through my hoodie—a cruel reminder of how vulnerable I really am.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Kill mutters, his brows drawn together in worry as he helps steer me toward the vehicle, his voice hushed but edged with a barely concealed anger. “You could have ended up doing more damage, fucker. You should've waited for us.”
“Not as much damage as losing Cali," I hiss back, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tremors running through my body.
With every footfall, my mind races with scenarios of what might have happened to her after the accident. I tighten my grip on the crutches, a surge of determination igniting in my gut. As we reach the car—Kill's beauty—I let out a breath, feeling the supportive presence of my friends. They help me into the front seat; the leather cools against my skin, but it's a small price to pay for the freedom this moment brings.
“Where do we even start?” Five asks, worry creasing his forehead as he takes the back passenger seat, glancing up at me with urgency.
“Anywhere but here,” I reply, my voice firmer now.
With Killian in the driver’s seat and Ash behind him, we pull away from the hospital, and the buildings blur into a haze behind us. I fix my gaze out the window, desperate to slow the chaotic whirlpool of thoughts.
"Have you made any progress?" I ask, hopeful that they've gotten something.
"We started a list of people who might have something to do with it or who might know something," Ash announces, hesitation in his voice as Kill steps on the gas and flies like a rocket down the empty street, heading for downtown.
"That's all you've got? What the fuck, this isn't a joke, ya'll." I roll my eyes, ignoring the blinding pain behind them.
“We’ll find her, Dom,” Kill assures, his hand tightening on the steering wheel as he navigates through the random traffic we've all of a sudden hit. “You’re not alone in this—we're all with you. We’re going to bring her back.”
Half-listening, I pull out my own phone again, fingers trembling as I scroll through my messages, staring at the last text she sent me: *I love you.* The words gnaw at me like acid, twisting the knife of guilt deeper into my gut. As I pull out a cigarette and snatch the list from Kill, Ash hands me a cherried blunt, and I rip it hard over and over, just wanting not to feel.
I look over Kill's chicken scratch, blended in with the creases of the paper, trying to read each name clearly. Grabbing a random uncapped pen from the cup holder next to me, I shake it a few times, hoping it still has some ink.
"What are you doing?" Five asks, peeking through the gap in between the front seats.
"Adding some I think we need to check out," I mumble, scribbling a few names on the list.
1. Jackson Gray
2. Adam Moretti
3. David Blacksburg
4. Thomas Harlow
5. Elaine Harlow
6. Gunnar
7. Rhodes Harley
8. Mitchell Cage
Killian looks at me curiously, turning down the radio. "Who are you adding?"
"That motherfucker Gunnar and the other three fucks who work for her parents. If anyone knows something, it's them."
As we drive, I start mapping scenarios in my mind—who Cali could be with, where they might take her. My heart leaps at the thought that she could be anywhere safe away from the chaos that my life has become, but I know deep down that she's in fucking hell. I know she can take care of herself, but I don't know how badly she was hurt in the accident—how vulnerable she truly was when she was taken.
“We leave her parents and our fathers for last. I want her to have first dibs on taking them out since they were on her list first,” I bark suddenly, snapping back to focus.
A chorus of affirmations echoes around the car, and the engine roars in agreement as we begin to accelerate toward our street. Minutes pass with agonizing slowness, the weight of fear and guilt like chains around my heart, dragging me deeper into despair. I focus on the sounds of the city outside the window. As we approach our house, my breath quickens with a cocktail of hope and dread, emotions colliding violently within me.
“We’re home,” Kill announces, cutting the engine as we roll up to the curb.
I brace myself against the seat, heart pounding, as I look over at my friends. “What the fuck are we doing back here?” I ask, urgency lacing my voice. “If we don’t find her... I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Dom, wait,” Kill cautions, a protective edge in his tone. “We'll start planning inside. There's not much we can do right now.”
“Kill, I can’t fucking sit back while she’s out there." I press on, the icy grip of guilt squeezing my chest.
I can feel their eyes on me as I move visibly clumsily on my crutches, but I push through the embarrassment, fueled by an all-consuming fire for Cali. Desperation thrums through my veins as I cross the yard and make my way toward the building's front door, heart racing with every step.
Just as my hand closes around the door's handle, I take a deep breath, willing my racing heart to settle. I brace myself for whatever methodical chaos awaits inside and push through the threshold, the familiar warmth of the house enveloping me like a much-missed embrace.
“Okay, let’s get to work,” I bark, urgency saturating my voice.
The living room is littered with scattered papers, empty takeout containers, and liquor bottles—a testament to the frantic days and nights since Cali vanished. Kill, Ash, and Five trail behind me, ready to follow my lead.
As I settle onto the arm of the couch, my eyes scan the chaotic mess before us. It all feels maddeningly overwhelming, like trying to piece together a puzzle without knowing what the final image should look like.
“Let’s lay everything out—focus on what we know first,” I direct, jotting down on my makeshift notepad the key details about the people connected to Cali—names, relationships, and any sketchy connections I remember from the past, while managing to sniff a few lines of the brown powder laid out on the table in front of me.
“Okay,” Ash begins, his brows furrowing as he searches his mind for any kind of clue. “We know her parents are involved. For them, it’s not just about getting her back; it’s about finding out how deep this runs.”
“And we can’t ignore the fact that they have real motives." Five chimes in, his fingers twitching as he flips through notes.
“They want her chained back up. They can't stand the fact that she's free,” I mutter, bile rising in my throat as memories of their disapproving gazes flash through my mind. “Especially her mother—always making snide comments, acting like she was nothing but a nuisance.”
The room goes silent for a beat, the weight of the situation settling heavy in the air. Guilt bruises my chest anew, and despite the ache in my leg, I press on. “We need to start watching these motherfuckers." I shake the list clutched in my hand, my heart racing.
Kill nods, his jaw tight with determination. “Already ahead of you. We're better off splitting up so we can cover more ground faster."
“I want Gunnar,” I cut him off, my vision blurring from the relentless pressure that builds in my head.
“It's a good plan," Ash adds, breaking through my inner turmoil. "But we also need to approach this smart. Someone needs to go with you, Dom. You're fucking crippled, and if something pops off, you're fucked.”
“Whatever,” I snap back, irritation taking root. “What choice do I fucking have?”
“Dom,” Five interjects softly, “We can’t put anyone else at risk.” His voice hangs in the air, a gentle reminder that not every decision should be made in anger.
But anger is all I feel—a suffocating, roiling tempest that makes my blood boil. I run my hand through my hair, frustration bubbling close to the surface. “I’m not going to sit by and wait for someone else to step in. We fight for her now or we risk losing her forever.”
“Then let’s set a time to start,” Ash suggests, frowning. “We need to organize and hit each lead, but we can’t spread ourselves too thin. We’re already down a leg,” he adds, nodding slightly toward my crutches.
Ignoring the slight jab, I lift my chin high and take a deep, steady breath. “We head for Gunnar first. If he’s involved, he knows something. I'd rather face him directly.”
“Are you sure about that?” Kill questions, his tone cautious. “He’s not someone you want to take lightly.”
“I know Gunnar. I know how he thinks. It’s what got Cali into this mess,” I growl, gripping the chair as memories of past encounters flood back. “And if he knows anything about her whereabouts, then this is our only shot.”
“Fine,” Kill relents, his voice firm but understanding. “Just don't do anything reckless.”
I nod, the plan settling within my mind like a needed balm amidst the chaos. Ruthlessly, I focus on the task ahead—following every flicker of hope, every lead like a hawk on the hunt.
We get as high as we can, just wanting to feel numb so the pain inside doesn't bother us nearly as much as if we were sober. Ignoring her parents and our fathers names on the list, everyone is assigned a name: Five gets Mitchell, Killian gets Rhodes, and me and Ash get Gunnar, hoping at least one of us will have some luck on getting a lead to where Cali is and who has her.
As twilight descends, I glance outside; the dusky sky mirrors in my turbulent thoughts. One way or another, this shit is going to end soon. I won't rest until the noise in my heart quiets down. No more regrets. No more hesitation. We dive into predicted dangers armed with nothing but relentless love—for Cali, for the life we had, and for the hope of bringing her back.