Chapter 22
Still Here
Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. Joshua had stopped checking.
“Mr. Campbell?”
He looked up.
A doctor entered the waiting area—calm, composed, already in motion.
“He’s awake, but still groggy,” the doctor said. “His breathing has evened out, and his vitals are stable. We’re optimistic. It’s early—we’ll continue to monitor him.”
Joshua nodded once. “Is he going to be okay?”
“We’re optimistic,” the doctor repeated. “Whatever he took, it wasn’t enough to kill him. Just make him groggy as hell for a while.”
“Can we see him?”
“Not yet,” the doctor said. “Once he’s alert enough to express his wishes. The parents are on their way. We’ll update them as soon as we know more.”
And then he was gone.
Colin said nothing. He already knew how this worked.
Awake meant Randy could choose who entered his room.
And that probably meant they were about to be on the outside looking in.
The doors opened again—forcefully. A woman stepped in first, scanning the room too fast. “Randy?”
Behind her, a man—quieter, but no less tense.
Joshua stood. “Mr. and Mrs. Kruger?”
“Yes,” the mother replied. “Where is he?”
“They’re treating him,” Joshua said, indicating Trauma Room One. “We’re Colin and Joshua Campbell Abrams, coordinators at the Pride workshop Randy attended today. We just spoke to the doctor. He said Randy’s doing OK.”
The woman closed her eyes briefly. Relief in her face—but tight. Contained.
“What happened?” she asked.
Joshua hesitated. Then: “We found him unresponsive.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “Did he say anything to you?”
Joshua shook his head. “No.”
The woman looked away. “He’s been… hard to reach lately.”
Colin said nothing. Just watched them—reading, not reacting.
Joshua’s hands tightened slightly at his sides.
But he didn’t speak.
Not now.
A nurse stepped out and beckoned to Randy’s parents. “You’re Randy’s parents?”
They nodded, moving toward her.
“You can come in now.”
Joshua made no move to follow. Neither did Colin.
They just stood—waiting to find out what came next.
Inside Trauma Room One, it was a while before anyone said his name.
“Randy?”
The voice was careful. Measured.
His eyelids fluttered—but didn’t open.
A shallow breath. A faint shift. Then, slowly, his eyes opened.
The light hit him wrong. Too bright. Too sharp.
He blinked, unfocused. Tried to move—and didn’t get far.
“What…”
The word barely formed.
“You’re in the hospital,” a nurse said gently. “You’re safe.”
Randy frowned faintly. The words didn’t quite connect.
“Randy?”
His mother stepped forward too quickly—then caught herself. “We’re here.”
He turned his head slightly toward her.
Recognition came—but slowly. Then his gaze slipped away again.
“I’m fine,” he murmured.
His mother exhaled sharply. “See?”
The father said nothing.
“Let’s keep stimulation low,” the nurse said quietly. “He needs to rest.”
Randy closed his eyes again.
Not asleep.
Just… done.
The Trauma Room door opened.
Joshua stood immediately.
“He’s awake,” the nurse said.
“Can we see him?” Joshua asked.
“Not right now,” she said gently. “Give him a little time with his folks.”
Joshua nodded, then collapsed back onto his chair.
Colin remained standing. Silent as a stone. For a second, something shifted behind his eyes—and he shut it down.
“He’s awake,” Joshua whispered.
Like repetition might make it more real.
“Yeah,” Colin said quietly. “Awake.”
It was another fifteen minutes before the nurse returned. “You can come in,” she said. “Just a couple of minutes while his parents speak with the doctor.”
Joshua stood immediately.
Colin followed—more slowly.
The room was dimmer than before. Machines hummed softly. Randy lay still against the pillows, eyes open—but unfocused.
“Hey,” Joshua said.
Randy’s gaze shifted toward him. Took a second to land.
“Josh,” he said, his voice soft but clear.
“Yeah, buddy,” Joshua said softly. “I’m here.”
Colin stayed a step back. Watching in silence.
“What happened?” Joshua asked.
Randy looked at the ceiling.
“Nothing,” he said. A beat. “I just… felt sick.”
Joshua didn’t respond right away. “That’s not what it looked like,” he said finally. Still controlled. No accusation.
Randy’s mouth tightened slightly. “I’m fine.”
“No,” Colin said. “You’re not.”
Randy’s eyes flicked toward him. Something passed between them—brief, sharp—then gone.
“We just want to understand,” Joshua said.
“There’s nothing to understand,” Randy said. Too quick.
The room went quiet again. Machines filling the space.
Colin drew in a deep breath. Not hearing what Randy was saying, but what he was leaving out.
A soft knock at the door. “Time,” the nurse said gently.
“We’re here,” Joshua said. “If you need anything.”
Randy nodded, but turned his head.
They stepped out quietly, and the door closed behind them. For a second, neither of them moved, then Colin took Joshua’s arm and led him back to the waiting room.
As they entered, Joshua turned—fast, not thinking—and caught Colin’s arm. “What did we miss?”
Colin stilled. “We didn’t—”
“We had to,” Joshua interrupted, not sharp, just certain. His hand tightened. “Or we wouldn’t be here!”
Colin let out a breath that wasn’t steady. “He said he was fine.”
“I know.”
“You asked him,” Colin said, voice rougher now. “You pushed him. You didn’t let it slide.”
Joshua stepped closer. “Yes… I did. And when he told me he was fine, I knew it wasn’t true! So did you! So why couldn’t we stop this?”
Colin leaned closer, his eyes locked on Joshua’s.
“Why couldn’t I stop my sister from hanging herself?”
Joshua gasped and took an involuntary step back, but Colin moved with him, his hands coming up to grip Joshua’s shoulders. “Why couldn’t you stop the ones who didn’t listen? The ones who hurt themselves anyway?”
Joshua stared into his eyes, his own filling with tears.
Colin’s grip tightened.
“You know why, Josh.”
A beat.
“Because we can’t stop them.” His voice dropped, steady, unyielding. “We do the best we can.”
Another beat.
“And that’s it. That’s what we get.”
For another moment, Joshua’s eyes remained fixed on Colin’s, then his head dropped, and he leaned forward onto Colin’s chest. Colin’s arms came around him without hesitation, one hand settling at the back of his neck, holding him close.
He didn’t say anything else. There wasn’t anything else to say.
As they turned toward the chairs, Randy’s parents emerged from the Trauma Room and beckoned to them. “You were with him,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
Joshua nodded. “Yes.”
She looked between them. Searching for something—an explanation, a reason.
“Did he say anything to you?”
Joshua hesitated. “No,” he said carefully.
The father’s jaw tightened. “He’s been… pulling away.”
Colin spoke for the first time. “He’s carrying more than he’s saying. A lot more.”
The mother’s eyes flicked to him. Sharp. “He always has,” she said. It sounded wrong. Harder than intended.
Joshua stepped in, steady and gentle. “He’s going to need support when he wakes up fully. Not just medically.”
The father looked away, but the mother met his gaze. “We’re his parents,” she said. “We’ll be there for him.”
Joshua gave her a small smile. “Marilyn at the Rec Center can help Randy and you as well.”
The mother nodded, then turned and walked toward the room where he son lay.
As they watched her go, footsteps approached from the far end of the hall, and a familiar voice said: “There you are.”
Colin turned, and his relieved exhale was audible. Trent.
He was slightly out of breath, eyes already taking everything in. “They’re asking for you back at the rec center,” he said quietly. “Marilyn’s got them, but… it’s a lot. We need you.”
Joshua nodded.
Colin didn’t move right away. His gaze lingered on Randy’s door for one more second, then they turned and walked away.
The ride back was quiet. Not empty, just heavy.
Trent drove. Colin stared out the window. Joshua sat forward, Colin’s hand clutched in his own.
“Josh, he’s alive,” Trent said after a minute. “And it sounds like he’s going to be OK.”
“I know,” Joshua murmured. No one said anything else.
The mood in the rec room shifted the moment the trio walked in. Eager. Worried. Questioning.
Alex bolted across the room in three quick steps, straight into Colin’s arms. Colin caught him automatically, both arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Hey,” he said quietly.
Alex held on for a second longer than he meant to. Then eased back—still staying close.
“He wasn’t waking up,” he said.
“I know,” Colin replied. His hand stayed at the back of Alex’s neck. Grounding. Steady. “You did good, kid,” he added. “Proud of you.”
Alex flushed.
Joshua stepped forward and took Colin’s arm. “The doctors feel sure he ingested something. But they don’t know what as yet.”
Colin looked around the room. “He’s conscious. He’s breathing. He’s talking. It looks good.”
The room latched onto that. Something solid and real.
Marilyn exhaled slowly, one hand still pressed to her chest. “OK,” she said. “OK.”
Nate stepped in beside her, voice calm but firmer now. “We’re going to keep things steady, all right? Nobody’s in trouble. Nobody did anything wrong.”
A few heads lifted.
“This is what we talked about,” he added. “Hard stuff. It doesn’t stay quiet forever. Eventually… it comes out.”
No one argued.
Joshua glanced around the room, taking them in one by one. “You don’t have to have the right reaction right now,” he said. “Because honestly? There isn’t one.”
Kendra wiped quickly at her eyes and looked annoyed about it.
“He’s going to need time,” Joshua continued. “And so are you.”
A beat.
“But he’s still here. And so are you. So, time is something that you have plenty of.”
Alex fell back into his chair, one hand still gripping the sleeve of Colin’s jacket.
No one reached for the snacks. No one joked. But they stayed—huddled closer than before.
Joshua watched the shift ripple through the circle, shoulders easing, bodies leaning toward each other instead of away. Connection. Small. Imperfect. But real.
“Before we wrap up,” he said, “I want you to take thirty seconds and look around the room.”
A few kids did. Others rolled their eyes but did it anyway.
“Every person you see here,” Joshua continued, “just went through something hard. “And tomorrow—when you’re back at school, or work, or dealing with family nonsense… just remember that this room exists. That it’s here for you.”
Marilyn stood near the back wall, arms folded, eyes bright.
Kendra pushed to her feet first.
“Okay, but real talk,” she said. “Are you guys coming back, or was this like a limited-time offer?”
Colin gave her a smile. “Oh, we’ll be back,” he said. “You haven’t even seen Trent’s full snack budget yet.”
“Hey!” Trent protested from the wall. “Those granola bars were strategic.”
Soft laughter broke out around the room.
But Joshua stepped forward before the moment scattered completely.
“We’re heading to Smithfield tomorrow,” he said. “But Marilyn has the playbook now. And we’ll be checking in.”
He gestured toward the circle. “This group isn’t ours. It’s yours. You’re the ones who have to make it work.”
Kendra nodded slowly. “Good.”
Riley tossed his pen into the air and caught it again. “Same time next week?”
Marilyn smiled. “Same time.”
Chairs scraped back as the teens began to gather their things.
A few lingered, talking in small knots. Someone stole the last clementine from the snack table.
The energy didn’t lift. It just… settled.
Outside, the afternoon sun had climbed higher over Onancock Creek.
The bus was already packed.
Another town waited.
That evening, the motel sign buzzed softly over the parking lot.
Inside Colin and Joshua’s room, Trent kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the nearest bed.
“Remind me,” he muttered, “why teenagers are tougher than combat veterans.”
Nate was still flipping through the remaining index cards.
Joshua sat at the small table, updating a few notes in The Outreach Playbook.
Colin bent close and touched his arm. “Can we talk for a second?”
Joshua rose and followed him outside, where they both stood near the second-floor railing, staring out toward the dock and the water sparkling in the reflected harbor lights.
“Something wrong?” Joshua asked when Colin continued to silently gaze at the water.
He drew in a deep breath and turned to face Joshua. “I’ve seen unconscious, Josh,” Colin said quietly. “I mean, real, overdose unconscious. And that wasn’t it.”
“What?” Joshua said, his voice sharp. “Colin—what do you mean?”
“He was… there. I mean, in the hallway… he heard me. He just didn’t respond.”
“You really think he heard us?”
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the parents, or anyone else for that matter, but…” He arched his brows, staring into Joshua’s eyes, then shook his head. “He was groggy, no question, but—I think he was conscious and aware.”
“He was faking?”
“No…,” Colin said slowly. “He took something, that’s for sure. But…” Colin paused and husked out a noisy breath. “He was—at least—exaggerating.”
Joshua blinked and grabbed Colin’s arm. “Oh my god, Colin, if he heard us—I should have…”
“Hey!” Colin interrupted, voice sharpened just enough. “No, no, no! That’s not on you,” he said, quieter now, but firm. “This is way bigger than anything you could have seen or fixed in that moment.”
A beat.
“I thought about telling the EMTs but…,” he blew out a disgusted breath.
“It all happened so fast, and I wasn’t completely sure until I saw him later in the trauma room.
The way he looked at me. I think he knew that I–that I saw it.
” He shook his head and met Joshua’s eyes.
“That kid needs help, Josh. Real help. What happened today shouted that loud and clear.” He blew out a short breath.
“Now maybe he’ll get it. I just didn’t want you thinking you’d failed. You didn’t.”
They reentered the motel room and the quiet settled around them again, thicker now, carrying what hadn’t been said as much as what had. Colin leaned against the window, looking out at the bus, gleaming under the parking lot lights. “Smithfield tomorrow,” he said.
Joshua nodded. “And then home.”
The word hung there.
Colin’s mouth curved. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Home.”