He and I will be unequivocally done.
"Just call one of them," Mr. Youngblood snaps, grabbing a towel out of his wife's hands and putting pressure on the gash on the side of Remy's temple that's still gushing blood all over the floor.
Benelli looks at me across the dining room, and I shake my head. "I would call 911, but your father took my phone," I say. "But, I'm not the kind of person who'd stand around and watched someone I cared about die."
Benelli closes her eyes and presses three numbers on her phone. The relief is instant, and a cool, black dizziness circles around me. I stagger back into the corner of the dining room, and it's like I'm in a plane that ascended too quickly. My ears clog up and I can't hear a single thing. All I can focus on are the rushed, frantic movements of the people I love, loathe, and am undecided about until a knock reverberates from the door and breaks me out of my spell.
Paramedics rush in. Mr. Youngblood's face is fierce and accusatory. Benelli presses her phone to her lips and watches, eyes wide, as the workers shove Winch and his parents aside and begin the frantic work of trying to save Remy's life.
The seconds tick by in violently quick succession, but also drag like we're all set in excruciating slow motion.
They heave Remington onto a stretcher and rush out the door, Mrs. Youngblood at their heels, Mr. Youngblood following his wife. Winch chases after them, but the paramedic shakes his head. Not enough room in the ambulance.
I turn to Winch's siblings, huddled uncertainly in the dining room. Ithaca, who crept out from her bedroom when the screaming died down, is staring at the stain of Remington's blood.
"C'mon." I wave them with my hand. "Let's go make sure Remy is okay."
"Our father will call for us when Remy's ready to have visitors." Benelli crosses her arms and clamps her mouth in a determined line, even though her eyes race back and forth with anxious uncertainty.
Colt picks up the chair Remy knocked over when he fell.
"I want to go." His voice is shaky.
Ithaca comes to stand next to me. "Me too. I'm sick of waiting on everyone else to make decisions all the time."
I walk towards Benelli and keep my words low enough that her siblings can't hear. "You can wait for your father to call you. Just be prepared if you never get the call you're expecting. Did you see him? Remy is sick. Really sick. And this might be...you may want to be there. In case."
I can't bring myself to even say the words, but just hinting at them has Benelli blinking like mad, her resolve shaken.
"I'll get my purse," she murmurs, pushing past me.
The twins file to the car, and I come to stand next to Winch, who hasn't moved a muscle since the ambulance pulled away. He's frozen still, his eyes staring at the vacant spot where he last saw his brother.
I'm afraid.
I shake and cold sweat because this was my idea. I pushed things. I added fuel to the fire and even threw the match that ignited this raging inferno.
I had no idea it would turn out like this.
I had no idea Remy would wind up in the back of an ambulance.
I'm afraid Winch will blame me. Will accuse me of working against his family. Will take out his pain on me. Will be unable to forgive me. Will hate me.
I put one hand on his arm, and the touch of my fingertips on the skin above his elbow shocks him out of his catatonic state. He blinks once, twice, his face a complete and total blank that makes my throat go dry.
And then he sweeps me into a huge, crushing hug, his face buried in my hair so I won't see him crying the tears I feel soaking into my skin.
I slide my arms around his waist and rub along his back. He's a few towering inches taller and pounds of packed muscle heavier than I am, but I do my best to offer him as much physical comfort as I can.
"This is my fault." The words hiss out, and I know it's because if he speaks clearly, the sobs will make good on their clear and present threat. "I did this to him. I put him in the hospital."
"Shut up." I force my voice to stay firm and rough while my hands soothe and gentle through his hair and knead at his neck. "Shut your mouth. Don't you dare put this on your shoulders. Your brother was seriously ill. If he didn't fall today, in front of your whole family, he would have done it in private. And maybe choked on his puke or his tongue and died. Or maybe your parents would have decided not to take him to the hospital. It needed to happen exactly the way it happened. He needed medical attention, and now he's getting it."
He pulls his mouth across my face and presses his lips to mine in a kiss that's more ravenous than romantic.
"I love you," he says against my mouth. "Thank God you're here. I don't know what I would have done without you. I love you, Evan."
The relief is so intense, I sag against his body, dropping the strong girlfriend act for a long second so I can just be with him, locked in his arms, happy in this moment when we somehow crystallized as a unit, a pair, a bonded set of two. I am the pepper to his salt, I am the cream to his coffee, I am the jelly to his peanut butter, and it feels good. It feels right.
I hope with everything in me that it lasts.
His siblings file out of the house and squeeze into the back of the car, which I drive because Winch is still shaken and edgy. Even the fact that I’m the one driving is a huge proclamation of how our relationship stands and what it means. He trusts me behind the wheel, driving his siblings, taking him to the hospital to join the rest of his family. I just watched Winch's brother seizure and got talked down to from his parents, but I feel, strangely, good. Real. Happy.
And nervous. Frustrated. Mistrusting. I know very, very well how the best feeling in the world can sometimes be nothing but the prelude to disaster.
We pull into the hospital, and Winch shakes his unease and pulls on that air of command he wears so confidently.
"Winchester Youngblood, here to see my brother, Remington." He charming smile brings out a smile on the face of the pudgy nurse behind the counter.
She's not immune to his good looks and flirtation. "Remington Youngblood," she repeats. "That's some name." They exchange another smile, and my blood boils. I know this is all about playing a game, getting things done. I still hate it. But all my stupid jealousy dies down quickly when I see her face lose its flirty smile. "Oh. Your brother is in critical care. I'm afraid I can only admit family."
He doesn't even look back. "We are. His family."
"All of you? Siblings?"
I expect her to single me out, but I at least have the dark hair and light eyes the rest of them share. It's blond Ithaca she's frowning at.
"All of us." Winch says the next words with such a simple flip, I'm almost able to keep the shock off my face. "My brother, my younger sisters, my wife."
My heart races, and I feel a blush born from a mix of happiness and embarrassment stain my cheeks. It's a credit to the Youngblood penchant for lying that not one of them even draws an audible breath.
The nurse raises an eyebrow, but there's something about Winch that people want to believe, and, in seconds, we're headed up to the hallway she directs us to, hushed in the chemically-pungent corridors, not making a single sound other than the squeak of our sneakers on the polished linoleum.
Mr. and Mrs. Youngblood are at the nurse's station. Her eyes are red and bleary, and she's desperately clutching a balled-up tissue in her fist. He looks pale and gray-skinned, his paunch and thinning hair somehow more obvious and relentlessly aging in the dull fluorescent lights. They're both incredibly stupid, selfish parents, but my hate for them melts when I see the crippling weight of their sadness. Even if their problems are their own damn fault, I have a heart.
A small, mean heart, but a heart nonetheless, and it's filled with pity.
Winch approaches his father. "Pop, what do they say?"
"They think the seizures were caused by the mix of drugs in his system. He has a concussion from hitting his head. There's been some damage to his kidneys and his liver isn't looking so good, but may be
repairable." Mr. Youngblood lists Remy's ailments in a monotone.
"Can we see him?" Ithaca asks, biting her lips.
I know she's upset that she stormed out of the room before it happened, even if there wasn't a single thing she could have done to help him. I know because irrational guilt is something I get.
"We know we need to let him rest," their mother says to the nurse on duty, her voice thick. "Can his brother and sisters see him? Just for a minute?"
The nurse behind the desk frowns to let everyone know that Remy's not well, that this can't be a long visit. "Just for a minute."
Winch has my hand in his, but I pull back gently. "Not me."
"You belong in there. Remy would have wanted it," he argues.
His father sighs and shakes his head behind Winch’s back, and his mother's eyes narrow at me.
"No. Go see your brother." I push him to the room, and he walks over, looking back at me a few times as he does.
As soon as he disappears into the room, his father turns to me.
"It would be best if you didn't see my son for a while," Mr. Youngblood says, straightening his back and looking down his crooked nose at me. "We're going to have a serious family situation to deal with, and the last thing he needs is an outsider taking his attention away from what's important."
A few weeks ago, Mr. Youngblood's little dictate would have been all it took to make me crumble inside, push me away and make me roll over and give up. But Winch and I are a unit now. A team. Where he goes, I go. What he does, I do.
So I look both his parents in the eye, first one, then the other, and hold my hand out, palm up.
"I have no interest in what either one of you thinks I should do. Please give me my phone back before I have to report it stolen."
His mother clicks her tongue and mutters something about "disgusting lack of manners," and his father yanks my phone out of his pocket like it's a germ-ridden piece of crap before he slaps it into my palm.
"You're feeling high off of this right now, missy, but listen to me." He wags a finger in my face, so close I could snap out and bite it if I wanted. And it takes everything in me to keep myself from following through with what I want. "Winchester is loyal to his blood. He's misguided right now, by you, by what you're probably doing with him between the sheets." I veer back in open disgust, and his snaking smile tells me that he knows he's pushed over a line and doesn't care. "But that fades. He'll come back to us. He'll forget you. I wish you'd make it easy on yourself and just leave before you wind up dumped."
My spine stiffens and my throat tightens. I have to force myself not to blink until the threat of tears is gone, and I work hard to get my voice under control so I can answer him.
"Trust me. He's never coming back to you."
It's a bet. It's a bet on Winch that I'm willing to make even if I can't see the end result, like I always could with the horse races.
He comes out of Remy's room just then, his lips pinched and white, and the look of sadness in his eyes makes his mother flick a smile and an arched brow of triumph my way.
But it's me he goes to, me he folds in his arms for a long, tight few seconds. I grip right back, and hope that our love will be strong enough, that we'll have what it takes to make it through all of this together.
Winch 16
My stomach is twisted in knots. My parents are standing in the hallway outside my room, glaring, arms crossed, feet tapping, and the hate and anger they're obviously feeling simmers and pollutes every ounce of space.
"This is unnecessary, son." My father gestures to my nearly empty room. "This is still your home. You wanna strike out on your own? Okay, fine. But you don't just strip your past clean."
I stack the boxes neatly, but I don't feel any energizing hum of defiance or righteous fury. I feel old and sapped. I feel a little like my brother must have when the hospital finally released him, spent and barely able to stand up straight.
When I went with him to sign into the long-term rehab facility, I was pretty sure it was just one last attempt to stall the inevitable, and that he'd check himself out and find the closest bar fast. But he's been there, role-playing and keeping a journal and talking to a whole team of doctors.
Which is why I'm leaving.
I have to if I want my brother to live.
I have to if I want a shot at a real future for myself.
"I think it's time for a clean start, Pop." I pull a long piece of packing tape over the closed flaps of the last box. "Remy needs this."
His eye twitches, and I regret saying the last words.
"Remy need this? How, exactly, do you think it's possible that Remy needs not having his family together, working to get him back on his feet? Or is this going to be where you repeat all that psycho babble those quack doctors are charging me an arm and a leg to throw in my face?"
My dad's voice is so loud, it brings Colt shuffling out of his room.
"Are you leaving today, Winch?" He eyes the boxes and then me. For the first time in a long time, my brother looks at me with something other than disgust; he looks proud.
A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have given a shit if Colt was proud of me or not. Now I'm glad he can look up to me for doing the one thing every Youngblood is trained never to do; walk away from the family.
"Yeah. I'm packing the last of it today, and moving into my apartment.” I turn back to my father. “And, what the doctors say? It's not psycho babble," I explain for the hundredth time, even though I should just drop it. I start to lift a box that's a little too big, but, before I rip my back out, Colt swoops in to grab the other end and grins at me. I grin back and look at my parents. "They explained how what we do, what I do specifically, enabled Remy. When he gets out, he's gonna need to be so careful about things. I don't want him to fall back on bad habits."
"How will he get well without us around him?" my mother asks, grabbing at the gold and ruby cross around her neck. She's been going to extra masses for weeks, praying about the whole situation. Sometimes I wonder what, exactly, she's asking God for. Most of the time, I'm glad I don't know.
"He has a support team," I remind her. "And I'm not out of his life forever. I’m keeping my distance for now. Just until he's back on his feet."
"So you're planning to come back to the family, run things like you did?" My dad's face is so relieved, I feel like a dick smoking holes in his fantasy of us being one big, obedient family again.
"I have my own plans, Pop. I love you all, but it's time I did what I need to do."
Colt picks up three boxes that are probably too heavy for him. "You want me to bring these out for you?"
My little brother has always hated arguments and fights, ever since he was a tiny kid. Lately it's been brawls day in and out around here, and since he sees another one brewing, he's eager to get away from it.
"Thanks, Colt." I watch him leave, then turn my attention back to my parents, who look like they're in mourning when they should be happy. "I'm going to apprentice. That's a good thing. And Remy is getting treatment. That's good, too."
"I don't understand how all this good stuff has to come when you're all so far from this family," my father argues. Mama puts an arm around his waist and presses her cross to her lips.
It's so obvious, I consider not answering him. But I was blindsided by my family for years. It took almost losing my brother and the girl I love to wake me up. Maybe losing me and Remy will be the wake-up call my parents need.
"Because the family isn't working the way it needs to," I explain as patiently as I can. "So we need to separate on some levels. I'm still your son. I still love you."
My father looks at me for a few long beats, and I wonder if any of what happened in the past few weeks is going to sink in for him, going to change him. But he just grimaces and shakes his head. "Yeah, well, you got a real funny way of showing us your love, son. That's for sure."
He and my mother watch silently as Colt and I pack the boxes into the U-Haul I rented. My sisters come out
of their rooms just as we're finishing, and we all move to the front room.
So this is it.
I don't feel as good as I imagined I would. A lot has changed in a short amount of time, and I know that there's this time in my life or this place I once had that's gone forever. I'm glad I'm moving on, but, even with all the shit my family got itself wrapped up in, there was still a lot I loved about being so close to them. Evan's Sometimes, Always, Never game flashes through my brain.
I'll always love my family.
I'll see them sometimes.
I'll never be under their thumb again.
But never being under their thumb means that I'll be shut out. There will be secrets I'm not told, there will be problems I don't help solve. I'll miss the downtime, the fun time, the family dinners and UFC fights and masses that are all I've known my whole life. I feel like I'm having an organ transplant. Even though I'm taking out what's poisoning me, I'm still losing a piece of myself. And it aches.
We do the requisite hugging and well-wishing, more so with my siblings than my parents, who look aged and shell-shocked. I feel guilty, but not guilty enough to stay.
And, before anything is resolved, before I know what I'm really doing or if it's really a good idea, I'm driving. It doesn't take long to pull up where I need to be, but this is the goodbye that's really going to hurt. Luckily, it's still a day or two away.
The door to Evan's grandparents' house swings open and Mr. and Mrs. Early give me a lukewarm greeting.
"Winchester," Mr. Early says, gripping my hand too hard and staring me down with a warning glare. For someone who resembles a cross between Colonel Sanders and Santa Claus, this guy is pretty intimidating.
"Evan is up in her room." Mrs. Early still hasn't completely forgiven me for being the persistent suitor they couldn't get rid of. She wanted me to disappear, let Evan date some nice boy from one of the families they knew. But I wasn't about to let that happen.
Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) Page 28
