Chapter 4
FOUR
Blakely
“Mom, you can’t say things like that to the nurses! They’re going to kick you out.”
Shelly waved her daughter off as we walked back into the hospital and toward the elevator bank. “They are not going to kick me out. And she seemed to appreciate my advice. The man was walking all over her, so I did her a favor by telling her to get the hell out.”
Sydney shook her head and gave me a wide-eyed, pleading look. But I couldn’t contain my laughter. Shelly had a point.
“Maybe just watch your delivery next time, Mom,” Devon said as we stepped on the elevator, and he hit the button for the third floor.
Shelly was a petite woman for having two children that were well above average height, but what she lacked in height she made up for in personality. Even after battling cancer off and on for the past decade, she was still spunky and brutally honest.
“I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I? And I lived thirty years without either of you smart asses to give me pointers on how to behave. ”
My hand flew over my mouth to suppress my laughter. Shelly winked at me, and Devon shook his head like he was disappointed at my reaction. It wasn’t my fault his mother was fucking hilarious.
“I hate that y’all have to leave so soon.”
We stepped off the elevator and onto the treatment floor. Her room was closest to the nurse’s station, which she both loved and hated.
“I wish we didn’t have to,” Devon said as we escorted Shelly back to her room. “But both Blakely and I have to work. And Sydney has homework to catch up on.”
Sydney, Devon’s almost seventeen-year-old little sister, just rolled her eyes.
They continued bantering, but being back in the hospital, I was having a hard time concentrating. I found myself searching the face of every person we encountered, looking for someone I recognized. But none of them were familiar. And none of them screamed, “I’m the one watching Shelly to make sure you stay in line!”
Which was unfortunate and unhelpful.
Valerie’s threats hadn’t ceased. She seemed to know I hadn’t been successful, yet her tactics hadn’t changed. She sent messages warning me of Shelly’s fate if I spoke to anyone or if I tried to move against her. Most of the messages were pictures or videos of Shelly somewhere in the hospital and often in the exact room we were standing in.
A chill ran down my spine, thinking that I was standing in the exact place that sick fuck had also been.
I’d taken up calling Shelly every day. She didn’t find it strange since we were close, but every day I prayed that she would pick up and panicked after each unanswered ring.
Shelly kicked off her shoes, and Devon helped her into bed while I lingered by the door. I made eye contact with a maintenance man who passed by. But he just smiled at me as he pushed a broom down the corridor .
My paranoia was at an all-time high, and I jumped when Shelly said my name.
“We’ll see you soon,” Sydney said, leaning down to kiss her mom on the cheek. “Love you lots.”
“We’ll meet you outside.” Devon motioned to the hallway as he and Sydney walked past me. Crossing to Shelly’s bed, she patted the sheets and scooted over to make room for me to sit on the edge.
I sat as instructed but wished I hadn’t when I saw the sympathetic look on her face.
“Blakely,” she sighed and clasped my hand. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange all day.”
And I thought I’d done such a good job hiding it. “Nothing’s going on. I don’t know what you?—”
“Blakely,” she said, warning obvious in her tone. And I knew I wasn’t getting out of it that easily or without giving her some sort of information.
She patiently waited, and as stubborn as she was, she would wait all night if she had to. Even with her children waiting outside.
“It’s been a rough couple months,” I said cautiously.
“Rough? Are you going to make me guess why it’s been rough?”
I laughed softly and shook my head, trying to come up with something that wasn’t the truth but also wasn’t completely a lie.
“Just trying to figure out what’s next. I love managing Murphy’s, but I would like to do something with my degree. Maybe something in design.” It was the first thing that popped into my head, and it wasn’t a lie.
My degree was in digital art and design, yet somehow I found myself managing a bar instead. But it wasn’t just any bar—it was our spot, and it felt a lot like home. Even so, it wasn’t what I wanted to do forever. I felt stuck.
“I understand that. I don’t think anyone ever thought you would stay there forever,” she said, very unsurprised by my response. “What else?”
My eyes flashed to hers in surprise, and her smile was knowing. “Don’t look at me like that. I know that can’t be all of it. So, fess up.”
“I—” I began to argue, but she cut me off with only the curve of one of her thin, red eyebrows. “I haven’t been completely honest with…anyone, including any of my friends. I’ve been keeping something really big from them, and it’s…weighing on me.”
Although I hadn’t told her anything substantive—actually, I’d barely told her anything at all—it still felt good to get some of the weight of those secrets off my shoulders. I didn’t necessarily feel lighter, but it quieted a few of my racing thoughts.
She pursed her lips and patted my hand. “Something really big, huh? Why are you keeping it from them? You are all so close—I didn’t think you kept much from each other.”
“We don’t.”
“So, it’s something that would hurt them?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes.” The word was quiet, like if I didn’t say it too loud, it wouldn’t make it true.
She was quiet for several seconds, running her thumb back and forth over my black nails before she patted the top of my hand. There was a soft smile tilting her lips, and I almost got choked up seeing the care and concern shining in her eyes. She was genuinely worried about me.
“Then you start with one.” My confusion must have been obvious because she continued, “Start by telling one of them. If it’s eating at you that much, it’s better to let it out. They’ll all understand, I have no doubt of that, but it can feel less daunting when you start with one.”
My first reaction was to completely write off the advice as sweet yet unhelpful. But the longer I sat with it, the more it didn’t sound like such a horrible idea. It was possible I was losing my mind, but keeping everything a secret wasn’t helping anyone.
I was struggling. And there wasn’t anyone else in the world I could count on to help carry the weight more than my friends. During our argument, Luke wasn’t wrong when he said I should have told them about what Valerie did to me. It was harder to keep it from them because it felt wrong to do so.
“You’re right,” I finally said. Shelly patted my leg and waved toward the door.
“I usually am. Now, go. Happy Thanksgiving, and don’t be a stranger.”
I chuckled and promised her I would talk to her the next day as I walked into the hallway. Devon stood near the nurses’ station and by the bank of elevators with his head tipped down, looking at his phone. He heard me approach, my black boots squeaking against the newly cleaned tile floor and pocketed it.
“Where’s Sydney?”
He motioned toward the bathroom just beyond the elevators. “She had to go and didn’t want to interrupt you two.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, staring down the dark hallway at nothing in particular. Again, I considered Shelly’s advice. Talking to someone, one of my friends, sounded simultaneously like the best and worst idea. And it was one I knew I should consider. But not right then.
Without really thinking about it, I took two steps forward and slid my arms around him. My arms slid beneath his coat, and I rested my head against his chest. At first, he tensed, surprised by my sudden display of affection, but quickly he relaxed and returned the embrace.
He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. We just stood in the dim hospital corridor, arms wrapped around one another. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All I could smell was him.
My cheek was pressed against his chest and the soft fabric of his flannel. Beneath it, I could feel the rhythmic beat of his heart, and I wondered if it was in my head or if it was getting faster the longer we stood there.
It was so quiet that we both heard the toilet flush and the water began running a second later. My arms loosened from around his middle, but Devon didn’t let go. I could barely feel the lightest graze of his lips against the top of my head. Then he whispered softly, “Little Warrior,” before he squeezed me once and released me.
Reluctantly, I stepped back, extricating myself from his arms but not moving away completely. We were still close enough that I could feel his warmth.
It was a nickname he’d picked up a long time ago and used sparingly. Mostly in moments when he knew I needed the reminder. The “little” part was because I was the youngest of our friends. Well, now besides Hazel. Skipping two grades meant I was always young.
Warrior, however, was the first half of my last name. Just replace the “o” with an “e”—Blakely Warrier-West. Almost a year after we’d first met and the first party back after summer break was when I’d discovered Devon’s hidden talent. He was never a big partyer, and honestly, neither was I, but I was determined to keep up with the new group of friends I’d found.
They were my first real friends. Ever.
We were all at a party, drinking and partaking in the normal debauchery that occurred as young college students. Except we couldn’t find Devon. The trashed frat house was hard to navigate, but eventually, after searching for several minutes, I found him hidden in an upstairs room. I walked in with a light tap on the door, and he acknowledged me by looking up from his lap.
I crossed to where he sat on the floor, leaned against the end of someone’s bed. Plopping down next to him, I peered over his shoulder at the sketchbook in his hands. He tilted it away from me like he didn’t want me to see, but I touched his forearm with my hand and hoped he’d change his mind.
He reluctantly dropped the book flat on his knee, and it took me several seconds to take in the complexity of the sketch. Each intentional stroke of his pencil formed a beautiful image. A woman, tall and strong, wielding a sword and a shield. She was the only one standing in a sea of faceless bodies. Her features were set, with wavy hair flowing behind her shoulders that were covered in light armor.
My finger lightly brushed over the tip of her nose, and I looked up at Devon.
“Is that me?”
Even in the dim light of the room, I could see his cheeks darken. He fidgeted where he sat, scooting away from me one inch, then another.
“Yeah. I know it’s ? —”
I didn’t know what the next words out of his mouth were going to be because I finished the sentence for him. “Amazing. You are so talented.”
Surprise was evident on his face, and I reached for the small sketchbook. That time, he had no issue letting me see it. It probably fit, although snuggly, in the pocket of his jeans, but the images on each page were nonetheless impressive.
I felt him watch me appraise each sketch. Turning back to the one of me, I smiled. I wished I was that powerful.
“This would be a badass tattoo,” I said, pointing to the sword held in the woman’s hands.
“Really?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Yeah, would you be able to do a larger sketch for me?”
He nodded, and I handed it back to him. He took the book from me and laid my head on his shoulder. It took him a moment, but he eventually went back to what he was doing before I interrupted. He shaded and defined a few parts that weren’t yet complete, and I was mesmerized by the way his hand moved effortlessly over the paper.
“Why this?” I finally asked as my eyelids drooped. Raised voices carried up the stairs, and I could feel the bass of the thumping music through the floor. But right then, it was just us. “Why me?”
My words were quiet, but I knew he heard me. The movement of his pencil stuttered, and he didn’t immediately respond. But I’d gotten used to that—even back then, Devon didn’t talk much .
“For my name, right? Warrier and warrior? They sound the same,” I said, trying to prompt a response.
I felt his shoulder lift beneath my head as his pencil began moving again.
“It started off because of that,” he said. “But as I worked on it, I realized…you have a little warrior in you, too.”
Staring at him in that quiet hospital hallway, I wanted to ask him if he truly still believed that. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t care because I liked it when he called me that—his little warrior. And I wasn’t going to ruin the moment by asking.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I didn’t reach for it. I wanted to extend that moment for as long as I could.
The bathroom door swung open, and Sydney, whose eyes were glued to her phone screen, veered left toward the elevators. “Ready?” she asked without looking up.
She pressed the button to call the elevator, and we all stepped on, Sydney and I flanking Devon. The doors closed, and my mind began racing once again. Leaving Shelly felt wrong, but I would fix everything soon enough. I would figure it out. Maybe even talk to Hazel.
I would fix it , I told myself again, and I hadn’t realized I had begun tapping my leg until Devon brushed his hand against mine. Immediately, I stopped and looked over at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. He stood with his eyes forward, his face devoid of emotion. When I returned my attention to the stainless-steel door, I felt his hand brush against mine again. Only I wasn’t fidgeting anymore when he hooked his pinky finger with mine.
The small gesture was surprising and made my heart leap. The feeling was so foreign it took a second to register the excitement at the touch.
One little touch was all it took to reassure me that everything was going to be okay.