13. Knox
Knox
It takes forever to get the discharge paperwork. I guess it’s fine, though. Why should I be in a rush to get home? There’s nothing waiting for me there but more hell.
My father hovers near the door with his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at me. He’s been that way all day, not that it’s much of a change from his normal glowing personality, but it’s like every time he looks at me he’s reminded of the son he just lost.
“You ready?” he asks when the nurse finally comes in, pushing a wheelchair.
“I can walk.”
“It’s hospital policy.” The nurse, a guy about my age, probably fresh out of school, gestures to the chair. “Everyone gets the royal treatment on the way out.”
I want to argue but my head is killing me, my ribs are screaming, and this poor guy doesn’t need my bullshit. So I lower myself into the chair, gripping the handles like the ground will fall from under me.
Dad stops to sign something at the nurses station while I sit there waiting like a child. Other patients and families are being walked or wheeled into rooms. Normal people with normal emergencies, shit these people probably see day in and out.
But not us. We’re the family from the news…the miracle survivor with the dead brother.
“All set,” Dad says, following the nurse down the hall. “Let’s get you home. Mom’s waiting.”
“I want to go back to Ashford.”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps walking next to me toward the elevator doors.
“Dad, did you hear me?” I can’t stay at the lake house where we were supposed to be having a family weekend. There’s no fucking way.
“The lake house is closer, son. You need rest. Your mother needs you with her. And Ella’s still there.”
Shit. I forgot about Ella.
“Will you take me to my Jeep in the morning?”
A doctor passes us, flashing a practiced smile, while we wait for the elevator to open. As soon as she’s out of earshot, my father lowers his head so his words reach me and only me.
“Stop being a little shit. Your brother is dead and all you can do is bitch and moan. You’ll get your car when it’s convenient for me, you understand?”
His words are a slap to my already broken ribs. There’s no point in responding to him when he’s like this. And maybe he’s right…I am being a selfish prick. Not that I’d let him know that.
The elevator dings and he wheels me inside. I stare at the placard on the wall advertising the gift shop’s new hours…anything to keep me from focusing on the uncomfortable silence.
When the doors open on the ground floor, my eyes immediately land on Sawyer and her mother Helen standing near the exit. A woman in a business suit is speaking to them, and from Sawyer’s posture, I can tell that she’d like to be anywhere else.
“Okay,” my nurse says, stopping only a few feet from them. “Here’s where your royal treatment ends.” He pats my shoulder. “Take care, and I’m sorry for your loss.”
I nod, and hold my breath as I stand. Fucking shit hurts, but it does feel good to be upright. I’d run out of this place and keep going if I could.
My nurse heads back into the elevator and I notice the exact moment my father spots Helen Thorne. He goes rigid and inhales sharply. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s seen her.
We have to pass by them, there’s no other way out, but I swear I can see him scanning the lobby for alternative exits.
The closer I get to Sawyer, the more my chest aches. She’s leaning on Helen for support, and I’d bet that it’s not from injuries, but more for emotional support, and that guilt eats me alive all over again.
Helen notices us first. She stops speaking to the women in front of her and swallows hard.
“Richard,” she says, not exactly greeting him, more just acknowledging his presence.
“Helen.”
The air between us is thick with things unsaid. Years of history I’m not supposed to know about presses down on all of us.
But I do know…I know more than they think.
I was twenty years old when I came home early and found them in his office the first time.
Helen was crying, my father held her face, both of them looking at each other like they were drowning and each was the other’s lifeline.
I knew their marriages were falling apart, but I never expected both of them to seek comfort in the worst possible place.
I never told anyone. Not Owen, who was away at school. Not my mother, who was barely holding on as it was. I just carried it, added it to the pile of secrets I was already burying myself under.
And now they’re standing a few feet apart in a hospital lobby, trying way too carefully to not look at each other. This tension has fuck all to do with our families fallout and everything to do with the two of them and what they’ve done.
Sawyer’s eyes meet mine and for a second I think she recognizes what I do. But there’s no way she knows. Owen would have found out too. No. The look she’s giving me is more about what we went through. Those moments that only the two of us shared.
Then she looks away, and the air shifts.
Helen clears her throat, still avoiding looking at either of us fully. “We should go. Sawyer needs to rest.” The woman in front of her hands her a business card, and Helen nods.
“Of course.” Dad gives my back a nudge toward the door. “We’re leaving as well.”
The silence as we move toward the exit is suffocating. Helen guides Sawyer carefully, one arm wrapped around her waist. I wish I was the one holding her, walking her out of here. I’m a fucking fool.
My father’s hand moves to my shoulder, less supportive and more like he’s steering me away from a dangerous situation. I guess with him and Helen together, he could perceive it that way.
The automatic doors slide open and we’re ambushed.
Camera flashes explode in my face. People shout over each other. It’s so loud and so invasive that my already painful headache begins to throb again.
“Mr. Aldrich! Do you have a statement about the accident?”
“Sawyer! How does it feel to be one of only two survivors?”
“Can you tell us what happened on that ride?”
“Is it true Wonder World had previous safety violations?”
I squint my eyes from the light to look over at Sawyer. She’s almost fully hunched over now, like she’s trying to block herself from being physically hit. Helen tries to pull her back inside, but the reporters surge forward, blocking our path.
“Please,” Helen says. “My daughter is in no state to answer questions.”
“Did you see the other victims fall?”
“What were you feeling at the time?”
“Were you and Knox sitting together when it happened?”
Sawyer’s breathing changes. I hear it over the chaos—short, sharp gasps that I recognize from yesterday. In truth, I’d know every noise she makes, from a lifetime together.
This one tells me she’s spiraling.
“Get back!” I move without thinking, stepping in front of her and forcing the nearest reporter to stumble backward. “She’s not answering your questions.”
“Knox Aldrich, just one statement about your brother—”
“I said get the fuck back.”
My father appears at my side, finally acting like his normal self, that corporate mask he wears on tight. He’s no stranger to the press and what lengths they’ll go for a story. “My family has no comment at this time. We ask that you respect our privacy during this tragedy.”
Behind me, Sawyer’s breathing is getting worse. It’s too fast, too shallow. Helen is trying to talk to her, but who the hell knows if she can even hear her over the noise.
“Move,” I tell the woman with the microphone shoved in my face.
She doesn’t budge fast enough.
I shoulder past her, and my hand finds Sawyer’s arm. She flinches at the contact but I don’t let go. I pull her closer, using my body as a shield while Helen stays on her other side.
“Don’t look at them,” I mutter, close enough that only she can hear. “Eyes on the ground. Just keep moving.”
My father clears a path with his shoulder, repeating “No comment,” and somehow we push through to the parking lot. A few reporters follow, still shouting, but hospital security finally gets their shit together and starts herding them back.
“Thank you,” Helen says once we’re in the clear. She’s looking at me now, her eyes moist at the corners. I get this instinct to hug her that I quickly shut down. Helen was always a second mother to me, and even now, I hate to see her upset. “That was…She couldn’t…Just, thank you.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Sawyer is still pressed against my side. She’s fisting my shirt like she doesn’t realize she’s holding on. I can feel her trembling, can hear her trying to slow her breathing and failing.
“Sawyer.” I keep my voice low.“You’re okay. They’re gone. Just breathe.”
She looks up at me, and her eyes are glassy with this barely there look. Her fingers tighten on my shirt and she takes a shaky breath.
Then she blinks, awareness crashing back. She’s holding onto me. She’s letting me comfort her. She jerks away, toward Helen, like my clothes are on fire.
“I’m fine,” she whispers, looking from me to my father to Helen. “Let’s go, Mom.”
Helen shoots me an apologetic look and I wonder if Sawyer told her about our conversation in my hospital room. I doubt it. If she knew, she’d be looking at me with a hell of a lot more disdain, even if I did get rid of the reporters.
I watch them get into Helen’s beat up Toyota, my hand still tingling from touching Sawyer.
“Son.” My father’s already heading toward his Benz, not bothering to look at them, not even acknowledging the encounter. “Come on.”
I turn away from Sawyer before I can do something stupid, like follow after her.
The drive to the lake house is silent and uncomfortable.
I don’t know what the fuck to say to him, and clearly he has other things on his mind.
He grips the wheel hard, staring out onto the dark road.
There’s no music on, no conversation. I’m relieved when we finally turn into the tree-lined driveway.