Sweet Caroline (Lennox Valley Chronicles #3)

Prologue

MILES

Ten months ago

Bent tones speed toward me and drone away, like some kind of fucked-up accordion. Blinding lights, angry voices, blaring horns—every jumbled sensation crescendos and whips past, like the Doppler effect or some shit.

Wait. I frown. Isn’t that a weather thing?

With effort, I lift my head, blinking against flecks of cold that dot my heated cheeks.

It’s snowing?

My feet seem to drag on the asphalt. Loose gravel skitters away from clumsy steps.

Fuck. Gotta piss.

I slop my attention to the left, blurred vision crawling to catch up with where I point my face. A grass median with a ditch. Piss ditch. Perfect.

Lights slice the dark to pieces as I lurch ditchward. Pissditchward. Even in my mind, the syllables slur.

Tires screech and swerve.

Someone shouts, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

I turn toward the voice.

Headlights sucker-punch my eyeballs. I wince and spin away, stumbling back. Slipping on the wet slope.

There’s a sickening crack when I hit the ground.

White-hot pain shoots from my fingers to my shoulder. My face skids in slo-mo across icy grass and something sharp gashes my lip open at the corner of my mouth.

Fuuuuuck.

The taste of metal on my tongue. I spit out blood then roll onto my back, groaning when pain stabs through my now-fucked arm.

Above me, clouds drift past. The moon looks like a pierogi. Or maybe a fat banana? Pierogi-banana.

Get help.

I shift a bit, clawing for my phone. Shit. Can’t reach my ass pocket like this.

Guess this is where I die. A drunk dumbass in a piss ditch.

I close my eyes.

Snow on my face. Cold and wet.

Blackness.

Blankness.

Then… beeping.

Head throbs.

Might throw up.

I try to move. Everything hurts. Face feels like it fought a cheese grater and lost. Arm weirdly heavy. I lift my head maybe an inch.

My arm’s… in a cast?

Shit.

Pale blue blanket. White sheets.

Hands. A gentle voice. “Hey there.”

“What happened?”

Fat, clumsy lips. Throat so dry it might crack, like I swallowed rocks. Mouth tastes like rocks, anyway. Rocks and blood and puke.

Buzzing inside my skull. Can’t hear what she says. Her name? Then something, something, Harborview Medical Center.

I blink hard. Try to focus. The throbbing buzz lets up a bit.

“You had quite a night. Police picked you up on I-90.”

The interstate? Jesus. How the fuck did I even get there on foot?

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

Fuck. This is bad.

“My phone?” I force a swallow.

A straw at my swollen lips. A sip of water. Better. Barely.

“You need to call someone?”

I nod. Regret stabs my brain.

The scraping of a drawer. My phone on my chest.

I manage to pry open an eyelid. Screen cracked. Battery at nine percent. Nearly fumble it. Nausea as I find my brother’s name. Nausea while I wait for him to pick up.

Don’t throw up.

“Miles?” Jude’s groggy voice. “Miles, it’s five in the fucking morning.”

He’s already disappointed in me.

Fair.

“It is?” Shit. I squint at the clock. Can’t make out the numbers. “Sorry. I’m… I’m at the hospital.”

“Fuck. What happened this time?” He sounds exhausted. Worried.

This is all my fault.

“You need me to drive out there?”

Another wave of nausea churns. My head pounds. Breathe.

Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

“Miles, you still there?” He sounds more awake now. Probably pissed. “Miles!”

Definitely pissed.

“I can’t…” My voice is rough. Salty tears sting my lip. “I’m not…”

“Okay,” he sighs. “I’m coming to the city. You at Harborview again?”

“Yeah.”

He mumbles something to Olena. “Getting dressed now. Be there in an hour, okay?”

“Jude, I can’t do this anymore.” My voice breaks and my hand starts to shake. I go to switch hands, then remember. Squeeze harder. Will myself to steady.

For once in your life, get your shit together.

“I don’t wanna feel like this anymore.”

His end goes quiet. “Yeah?”

“I’m done. I need help, Jude.”