Chapter 21 Holden #2
I peered up at him. Dowd. “Frankie Dowd.”
“That’s my boy, yeah. You got something you want to say about him?”
Officer Tran joined us with an EMT. He knelt in front of me. “We’re going to take you to the hospital too, okay? But first let’s get you checked out. Then you can be with your friend.”
An EMT sat with me and gave me what I presumed was a concussion test. I passed with flying colors, and they shuffled me into the front seat of Tran’s squad car. We tore down the road, the ambulance ahead of us, sirens screaming and red lights flashing.
When we arrived at UCSC Medical Center, River had already been wheeled inside and whisked away to God knew where. Officer Tran took my arm and led me into a waiting area. He and a few other cops conferred, trying to figure out what to do with me.
“Is there someone we can call for you?” he asked.
“No. But River… We have to tell his dad. Oh, Christ…” I bent over, my head between my knees as dizziness assaulted me.
“We have his ID,” Officer Tran said gently. “His parents have been notified.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “What about you, son? How about getting you some warm clothes?”
I shook out of his touch and stood up. “I need to use the restroom.”
He nodded at the hallway in the bustling hospital.
“I’ll be waiting out here.”
Just arrest me already, I wanted to scream. I might’ve murdered a man tonight.
I crossed to the bathroom and shoved open the door that weighed a thousand pounds.
My face under the garish fluorescents was unrecognizable.
Pale green eyes in a paler face, marred only by a dash of red on my left cheekbone.
I looked like what they called me—a vampire, gaunt and chiseled out of white porcelain. Lifeless.
My clothes were still damp and covered in sand. River’s tux jacket peeked out from under my coat, and a sob tore out of my throat. I hugged myself, as if I could hold on to some piece of him.
When there was nothing left in me, I dabbed my face with a paper towel, tossed it in the trash, and walked out to find Jerry Whitmore talking to Officer Tran.
He looked frantic and just out of bed in sweatpants, shoes without socks, and a windbreaker.
They spoke for a few moments and then both turned to me.
Officer Tran said something else, and Jerry’s expression changed.
He approached me, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the punch to the mouth to come out of the dark.
“Holden, right?”
“Mr. Whitmore…” I managed and then fell silent as Jerry took my hand in his and shook it.
“We don’t know what’s happening yet with my son,” he said, his voice gruff. “But they tell me he would’ve died if you hadn’t been there.”
I stared.
“Just tell me,” he said, swallowing hard and jamming his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Was he drinking?”
I shook my head. “He wasn’t. He would never do something like that. Not him.”
Jerry blew out a small, tight sigh of relief. “I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t jeopardize his standing with the university.”
Fuck me, I can’t…
A doctor rounded the corner, tall and handsome and exuding intelligent gravitas. “Whitmore family?”
Jerry’s face paled, and he raised his hand. “I’m his dad.”
He and the doctor conferred for a moment out of earshot. I stood immobile, watching their faces for a sign. Any second now, Jerry was going to collapse in the doctor’s arms, wailing for his boy…
But River’s dad nodded eagerly, soaking in every word the doctor said with a desperate, hopeful smile. Then he shook the doctor’s hand almost frantically and thanked him again and again.
Relief rocked me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Jerry was motioning for me to join them. Feeling like I was in a dream, I crossed the waiting room, Officers Tran and Dowd following.
“River’s okay,” Jerry said, the words tumbling out of his mouth.
“He’s in stable condition,” the doctor corrected gently. His badge read Stansfield. “He’s sustained a severe concussion, resulting in a brain bleed that, so far, appears small and the swelling minimal.”
“Brain bleed,” I murmured.
Holy fuck, River.
“He’s also sustained fractures to his left arm and clavicle. But monitoring his concussion is our first priority.” The doctor turned to me. “I understand you were in the truck with River?”
I nodded. “It flipped. He was trying not to hit a deer, and the truck flipped.”
He wouldn’t have been on the road at all if not for me.
“You’re both very lucky, all things considered.”
I could’ve laughed. Or cried.
Dr. Stansfield touched my shoulder. “Are you all right, son? Has someone checked you out?”
I moved out from under his touch. “I’m fine.”
“Can we see him?” Jerry asked.
“We’re taking River for an MRI to determine the extent of the bleed, any damage and swelling. That will help determine any long-term effects or issues. I’ll take you to the ICU waiting area. When the tests are over, you can see him.”
“Thank you.” Jerry turned to me. “Coming, Holden?”
“Now hold on,” Dowd said. He was even uglier in the light of the hospital: bulky, with flat eyes. “This guy’s been doing some underage drinking. That’s not nothing.”
Tran held up a hand. “Do you have toxicology on River?” he asked Stansfield.
“Negative for narcotics and blood alcohol was 0.0.”
Tran nodded, his lips pressed together in a thin line, thinking. “Seems like you’ve had a pretty rough night,” he said to me. “I’m going to let you off with a warning. Take better care of yourself, okay?”
I nodded and wordlessly followed Jerry and the doctor. I had to see for myself that River was alive. Somewhere behind me, Dowd was arguing with Tran, but the elevator shut, cutting him off.
I hung back while they talked, wondering when Jerry was going to whirl around, grip me by the throat, and demand to know what I’d done to his son.
In the ICU waiting room, Jerry sat on one side, and I sat across from him. He called someone named Dazia.
“No news yet. They’re doing an MRI. We’ll know soon. How is Nancy?”
I shut my eyes, hugging myself tight, and dozed.
“Holden?”
I jerked my eyes open. Jerry was smiling at me. “You must be tired. I was just asking how you know River. Not football?” he said, taking in my silver hair and my ruined—but expensive—boots.
“Not football.” I closed my coat to conceal I was wearing River’s tuxedo jacket. “I know him from…calculus.”
Jerry nodded, and then a thought struck him. He frowned. “In all the commotion, I wasn’t thinking but… River went to prom with Violet. Why was he out on that road and not with her?”
“He was saving my life.”
Jerry sat back in his chair, confusion coloring his expression.
“Well… That sounds like my River. He’s probably told you, but his mom is sick.
Very sick. She doesn’t have much time, to be honest. And this…
” He shook his head, pressed his lips together for a moment.
“Losing her is hard enough. But if something happens to River…”
If something happens to River, it’s all my fault.
Mercifully, Jerry stopped trying to talk to me and flipped through magazines. Hours that felt like years passed, and finally Dr. Stansfield returned.
“Good news,” he said. “The MRI shows that River’s brain bleed is contained. The swelling is minimal. We have to continue to monitor his situation, but for now, it would appear that he doesn’t require surgery.”
I clutched the edge of the seat, tears of relief and remorse stinging my eyes. I’m sorry, River. So sorry.
Jerry’s face crumpled, and he put a hand to his chest. “Oh my God…oh thank God. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“We haven’t ruled out every danger to come. Certainly headaches, dizziness, perhaps numbness or impairment on one side.”
Jerry’s eyes widened. “He’s a football player. A quarterback. One of the best. He’s going to the University of Alabama this fall…”
Dr. Stansfield held up a hand. “It’s too soon to know the extent of his injuries, but the MRI has me optimistic.”
“I want to see my son.”
The doctor nodded. “We prefer family only, but if it’s okay with you, Mr. Whitmore, you both can visit for a few minutes.”
Jerry patted my arm. “It’s okay with me.”
Inside the ICU, Stansfield led us into a horseshoe-shaped ward.
Nurses’ stations were set up in the center while rooms ringed the perimeter.
We stepped inside Room 3. River was lying motionless on a bed.
Machines that monitored his pulse and oxygen levels beeped on the walls.
IVs trailed out of his right arm; his left was wrapped from hand to elbow and held in a sling.
The gash on his brow had been sewn up and covered with white gauze, and a nasal cannula fed oxygen to his nose.
Jerry sucked in a small breath, and Dr. Stansfield smiled gently.
“I’ll give you a few minutes.”
He left, and Jerry approached his son slowly, carefully, as if he were afraid of moving or speaking too loudly. I staggered backward until my legs hit a bench built into a window. I sat down hard while dawn’s first rays lightened the sky behind me.
“Hey, River. How you doing, son?” He took River’s slack right hand in his. “You’re going to be okay. I know it. You’re so strong…” He lowered his head to River’s hand and sobbed. “Oh, my boy.”
My stomach heaved; I would’ve thrown up had there been anything left.
Jerry sat with River for a few minutes, then pulled himself together.
He wiped his eyes and turned to me. “I have to call a family friend who’s staying with us.
I need to let her know that he’s going to be okay.
His mom will be so worried. Will you stay with him while I step out? So he’s not alone?”
I nodded, and my heart broke into smaller pieces as the man smiled at me. And that brave, kind smile was the same as River’s.
Jerry patted his son’s hand and got up. At the doorway, he pressed his cell to his ear.
The beeping of machines filled the room. I peeled myself off the bench and moved to River’s side. His pale face was unmoving, his features more still than in sleep. I would know. I’d seen him sleep a hundred times. His face on my pillow…
“You have to survive this, River,” I whispered, wanting to take his hand but not letting myself. I didn’t deserve to touch him. “You have to pull through and live a full, real life. You can’t let me do this to you, do you hear me?”
At the door, Jerry had wrapped up his call and was conferring with the doctors again. The mood was lighter; smiles came easier. The worst danger was over.
Time to go.
I stood up and leaned into River. Beneath the smells of the hospital, of antiseptic and gauze, was him. Warm and clean. “River…I—”
Jerry returned, and I jumped back from the bed as if he’d shocked me.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Oh, okay. Well, thank you again—”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. If he thanked me one more time, I was going to scream. “I’m so sorry. Tell him… When he wakes up, tell him I’m sorry.”
I backed away from Jerry’s confused expression, maneuvering toward the door, through the waiting room, out of the hospital, and into the early morning light that was gray and flat.
My phone chimed a text from Miller. Let’s roll.
He was back from Los Angeles and needed Ronan and me to kick his mom’s abusive boyfriend out of their apartment. The night was over. Done. I had to push it all down and be there for my friend. I could help him. Be of use. Do this one last thing, and then I could do what I should’ve done sooner.
Disappear.