Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
PRESENT DAY
We meet Will at the hospital in less than half an hour, though the drive would’ve ordinarily taken forty-five minutes at least. He’s visibly shaking when we find him, pacing in the waiting room, and my hands ache to reach out and comfort him.
He doesn’t look strong or cocky or even guarded, just terrified.
His eyes search for something, bouncing between Mom and me, wild and desperate. Whatever happened before—the almost-kisses, the stupid, petty history—is forgotten. None of it matters if she doesn’t wake up.
Mom rushes forward, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a hug. He’s numb, I think, just staring blankly into space.
“Cory’s on his way,” he says, his face pale.
“Tell me what happened,” Mom says as she guides him forward, and they take a seat on a bench together. I sink down onto the chair next to them.
“She was…well, she wasn’t answering her phone.
So, I went over to make sure everything was okay, and she was on the ground.
She…” He hesitates, and I can see him remembering, see how badly it hurts him.
I want to tell him to stop. That he doesn’t have to do this.
I want to go back to this morning and stay.
I want to have never left him alone to find her. He needed me, and I wasn’t there.
He puts a hand to his temple. “She must’ve tripped on the steps going into the kitchen. She was bleeding and…unconscious. But…she was breathing. I called the police, then you.” He blinks, like he’s coming back to reality.
“I should’ve checked on her this morning,” Mom says under her breath. “She left my house late last night. I thought she’d just slept in. What did the doctors say?”
“They haven’t told me much, just that she lost a lot of blood.” He licks his lips, staring down at his fingers. “And she still hasn’t woken up.”
Mom takes his hands, massaging them between hers. “It’s going to be okay, honey. She’s going to be okay.” She pushes to her feet. “I’m going to see what I can find out. They need to take us to her.”
With her gone, Will and I sit apart in awkward silence. Finally, with a stone in my stomach, I stand and move next to him on the bench. Any space between us feels ridiculous now. Mom was right—he’s my family. And I’m his.
I lift a hand to his back. He’s solid and shaking under my palm.
“I’m so sorry, Will.” It’s all there is to say. The words feel like they’re being carved into my skin. That’s how much they sting. How can this be happening?
Not Margie. We can’t lose her, too.
Like he’s read my thoughts, Will looks over, meeting my eyes. There’s so much there, lingering in the silence. But neither of us says a word. He just drops his head onto my shoulder.
All that pride, all that distance, gone.
We sit side by side, curled into each other, breathing and existing, willing this to be okay. In the silence, his hand finds mine blindly.
As if it’s instinct.
As if our palms have always known where to go.