Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two)

by Rachel Dunning

  But I don’t cry.

  “So, anyway, the confession is that I’ve known you guys been dating—you are dating, right?”

  “Officially.”

  “Right, so, well, when I heard that... Well, I decided to go out on a limb and tell you I wanted to sign you immediately, Blaze. There’s vultures in this business and, well, I wanted to make sure you didn’t get eaten up by one of them.”

  “So it wasn’t just my world-moving talent.”

  He gets the joke, and laughs. “Of course it was, but there’s a certain etiquette in our crowd. Especially when someone plays at Gavin’s place. I sort of broke a few rules by coming out early and asking you first.”

  “So now you’re persona non grata?”

  “I will be. As soon as they find out what I’ve done.”

  “They won’t find out. I’ll make out like you never spoke to me about it beforehand. Maybe I’ll even go to a few meetings with other labels, just to keep up appearances.”

  “Wow. I’d appreciate that, Blaze.”

  “You know, Randy, that you’re telling me that you appreciate what I’m doing for you only makes me think you’re about the most incredibly humble and caring person in the world.”

  “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Blaze. We all have our flaws. And mine would make you run for the hills. But I appreciate the compliment. Now, send me the Belieber Axe Murderess’s number.”

  I give it to him. “I’ll call her first,” I say, “and tell her you’re coming. Otherwise she’s gonna rip your head off when you call.”

  “No. You’re under enough pressure, Blaze. I’ll call her myself.”

  “No, Randy, this is my mess—”

  “Blaze! Accept the help!”

  “You sound like my new best friend.” I elbow Vikki lightly. Her eyes are lidded and she’s half doping off next to me.

  “Good. Good. OK, Blaze. Stay there. And if you need anything else, just call. I’m not kidding. For Deck, there’s very little you can’t ask me to do.”

  “OK. Cool. He’ll be grateful for that.”

  “I owe him. And he knows that.”

  We click off, and I stare at the screen in amazement, wondering what it was that he owes Deck so much for.

  -13-

  At two-thirty P.M., Vlad brings us a pair of Big Macs and French Fries. I eat about two of the fries. Vikki eats half a burger. Vlad shrugs and downs the rest, not wanting good food to go to waste.

  By three-forty, I’ve read each the Hospital Notice Board signs at least three times through and now know that a cough moves out at sixty miles per hour and that our heart beats around a hundred thousand times a day. Not to mention seventeen other equally useless facts that are probably here to take people’s minds off their friends / family / lovers who are inches away from dying only a few feet away.

  Three forty-five: Trev and Skate arrive.

  At five of four, Declan goes into cardiac arrest.

  -14-

  I’m a wreck. Total wreck. I’m beyond panicking, beyond crying. Beyond shouting and screaming.

  Beyond begging.

  I’m beyond hoping.

  -15-

  Three fifty-six. Medics rushing past us, using words I don’t understand. But I know it’s about Deck. I know it. And this isn’t an episode of Gray’s Anatomy, so I’m not so hopeful that some young Doc-wannabe is gonna come up with a brilliant strategy to save Declan’s life.

  Vikki holds me.

  Trevor holds me and her.

  Skate holds us all.

  Together, each one of us, we cry. And we hold each other. And we fucking cry some more.

  Because there just ain’t nuthin else we can fucking do.

  The Docs make a noise. I feel time passing by. I feel Vikki’s waist under my arm, smell her sweat, and Trev’s. Skate’s old cologne.

  I feel their shivering bodies around me.

  Each one of us the lifeline of the other.

  My boys, I think. And my girl.

  -16-

  When the Doc comes by (how much later?), we separate, like football players getting up from a pile-on on the ground. Two grown men—Skate and Trev—wipe their tears. The Doc—a young fellow of black hair—looks at us, serious. I prepare for the worst. And all I know is I gotta hold the fuck on!

  I grab Vikki’s hand and squeeze for dear freaking life.

  Trev puts a bulky arm around Skate’s thick neck. Both of their eyes are as red as Vikki’s dress.

  Skate, on my left, grabs my hand.

  Lining up for the firing squad, I think.

  I ready myself for the worst. Because nothing can be worse than the worst. And if it happens...

  We’ll deal with that if it happens.

  If, not when.

  The Doc says, somber and serious, “He’s OK. Critical—some internal bleeding; the head injury is not the worst, not the best—but he’s OK. He went into severe shock, that’s why the cardiac arrest. Can happen. We’re gonna watch—”

  I feel the earth shift. I notice Vikki—my girl!—has her hand to her mouth and is gasping for breath, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks; her hand shivering and trembling in my own. I hear a thump next to me—Trev’s fist hitting Skate’s chest, the tears breaking through his own defenses as well. Skate’s serious, not crying, but his lips are pressed tighter than a US spy being squeezed for data by Al-Qaeda. His hand squeezes mine harder, so hard it hurts.

  The Doc is still talking. What did he say again?

  He’s OK. Critical.

  He’s OK. Some internal bleeding.

  OK.

  Not the worst. Not the best.

  OK!

  Declan is OK, ma’am.

  Me: “He’s...OK?”

  Doc says, “Yes.”

  Trev thumps Skate’s chest harder. Then he pumps his fist in the air. “Woot! WOOHOO!” Then he jumps up and throws both fists up like’s he’s just won the Superbowl. “He’s OK!” More fist-pumping; more chest-thumping; more hugging. And not one of those crappy man-hugs, either. A real fucking hug!

  “Sir, he’s still critical—”

  Trev: “But he’s alive.”

  “Yes.”

  Skate and Trev’s cheers drown out the rest of the Doc’s words.

  He’s alive! Critical? Who cares!

  Vikki and I join in the cheering. Tears stream, wild and furious. She and I hug as well. Trembling, quivering, bawling like incredible babies.

  I turn and hug Skate. He and Trev have meanwhile separated. I hold Skate’s big and muscular body and I say, “Thank you. Thank you so much. You guys saved his life. Thank you.” Still holding him, I gesture to Trev. My eyes are so freaking foggy I can’t see shit. “Come over here!”

  Trev’s monster size lumbers over, arms open. He grabs Vikki by the dress and pulls her into the hug again. I catch a glimpse of the Doc’s face. And the Doc smiles as well, just a little—tiny!—smile, but he smiles. Then his finger goes to the corner of his eye, and he wipes an obvious tear away. He nods, tightens his lip, nods again. “He’s OK. Yes”—he gasps a sudden laugh—“he’s OK. That’s right. He’s OK. Well...uhm...forget it. He’s fine. We’ll monitor him. But he’s OK. Yes.”

  The Doc decides this is a good time to leave. Just before he does, he pats Trevor on the back, says nothing else. Goes.

  And here we are again, as we were a minute or two ago. Crying, for a different reason. An entirely different reason.

  After five or six minutes, we separate. Skate pulls Vikki in by the nape of her neck, and she puts her head on his chest. But he doesn’t kiss her, just holds her.

  We sit—all of us—on the blue plastic chairs of the waiting room. And we hold hands.

  And we wait.

  Together.

  THIRTY-ONE

  NO TURNING BACK

  -1-

  Declan Cox

  When I wake up, I’m delirious. The room looks strange and misty, my mind is foggy. And my head feels just about ready to explode. It takes a
little while to figure out I’m in a hospital (the white curtains and drip in my arm are a dead giveaway.) I groan. Soon a nurse is at my side, pumping my arm to check my BP.

  My first words are, “B—Blaze. Blaze.” And that’s when the flashes hit me. Smack. Crack. Thump. At which point I panic: “BLAZE!”

  The nurse puts a hand on my chest and pushes me down. “Sir, calm down!”

  “What happened!? BLAZE? Where’s Blaze!” My head feels like it’s about to crack open, and as much as I want to rip this needle out my arm and throw this roundish nurse against the wall, I have no strength... “Blaze...” I mumble.

  A boot hits me in the head—at least it feels like it—and I’m back on the pillow. “Blaze. Blaze. Where’s Blaze?”

  “Get the doctor!” the nurse calls out.

  Soon the Doc’s at my side, feeling my pulse.

  “What happened? Where’s Blaze?”

  “She’s fine, Mr. Cox.”

  I fling my head at him, an insanely bad mistake because it makes me scream with torturous pain. “She—she’s fine?”

  “Yes, now let me just run some tests on you and I can have her come in here briefly and say hello, OK?”

  “Blaze. I need Blaze...”

  “Mr. Cox, just a few tests.”

  “OK. OK. And I’m thirsty, Doc.”

  He laughs. “Good. That’s good. Nurse Thompson?”

  “I’m on it!” I get a clearer look at the nurse—a large African American woman with a “Don’t Fuck with Me” look. But she also has a caring smile, and that kinda reminds me of Trevor’s mom (if she put on fifty pound or so) and that makes me smile as well. “Whatchoo smilin at Mr. Cox?”

  “Uhm, nothing, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am. Hmmm, that’s right, son. Now open your mouth and take a sip of this water here.” She puts a straw in my mouth and I’m so desperate for it that some spills out and onto my chin and neck. “Easy there, little man.”

  After a few minutes of a lot of poking and prodding, the Doc says, “OK, Mr. Cox—”

  “Declan, sir. Mr. Cox is—was—my father.” This makes me inexplicably sad suddenly.

  “OK, Declan, we’ll bring Blaze here briefly. A few minutes only.”

  “Yessir.”

  He goes out to get Blaze. Nurse Thompson stands looking at me like I’ve done something seriously wrong, arms folded.

  I swallow. “You know,” she says, “I seen worse. Upper East Side, now there’s some crazy shit if I ever seen any. Them private schools is worse than the damn projects. I had a girl come in once, got slapped by another high-class girl—damn near broke her back!”

  I open my mouth to comment, but then Blaze walks in the door, and I swear the halls behind her start glowing from her radiance.

  Nurse Thompson leaves.

  “Bla—” I can’t finish, because the distance between the door and me snaps shut and suddenly she’s by my side and her lips are all over mine. And I can feel her wet tears on my skin as she kisses me. She says nothing, just kisses and caresses my searing forehead.

  Then she sits next to me. She’s completely undone. She’s gasping, crying, holding my hand with both of hers, and looking down. “I’m OK, Blaze, I’m alright.” Between sobs, she nods, lets me know she’s heard me. I squeeze her hand tighter, and she does the same. The five minutes we spend together are spent like this: Blaze’s emotions letting go. And me joining in. Because I can’t hold it back. I can’t hide that I feel her fear with her like a plastic bag over my head.

  She just holds on with her hands, and lets go with her emotions. And I let her. Because sometimes that’s all we need: To let go, or to just be allowed to.

  -2-

  “You look good in a buzz cut.”

  “Wh—” My hand fires up to my head. “Fuck— Damn it!”

  “Deck, it’s cool. Just don’t rip your damn stitches out.”

  Through clenched teeth, I growl, “That fucking asshole.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Deck, please, chill. It’s over. OK? It’s over.”

  Oh, but it’s not. Not even close. It’s only just begun, Dino Mo-Fuckin-Retti...

  -3-

  Once Blaze is gone, Nurse Thompson comes back in and says, “So, whatcha do, son?”

  “Huh?”

  Her eyes go huge and she sticks her face in mine. “What did you do!? Shit like this don’t happen for no reason. I been around, honey. I seen all kindsa shit up in here. Don’t try get nuthin by me. So, what did you do to bring that crazy fella wielding a chain at your head?”

  “Uhm, I dated his sister?”

  She pauses while taking my temperature. “Yip, that’d do it.”

  -4-

  “Sumthin tells me you got a good one there—that young lady with all them colorful pictures on her arm and the colors in her hair.”

  “Blaze, ma’am.”

  “You see? Now that’s what I like about you—you got manners. Damn, if half these sunsabitches who come in here just learned how to say ma’am and sir, we’d all get along a whole lot nicer. Anyway, the young lady—Blaze—she got any unhappy brothers around?”

  “No, ma’am, but, uhm, I did a little more than just date Dino’s sister. In all fairness to him, I mean.”

  “I knew that. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  I don’t comment.

  “And why did you suddenly feel the need to share that vital piece of information with your friendly nurse?”

  “Because I ain’t gonna do that shit—”

  She slaps my arm! “Language!”

  “Sorry. Well, I ain’t gonna do that stuff with Blaze—the stuff that got that ass—I mean, Dino—to go all ape—uhm, crazy—on my, er, derriere.”

  She laughs. “Good man. And good choice.” She wraps up the BP machine, and starts walking out. Just before she leaves, she turns and says, “By the way, you’re more than welcome to call that other young man an asshole in my presence. Because he is one. A big one. And I hope I never have to serve his sorry ass ever again so long as my own sorry ass lives.”

  At that, she leaves.

  -5-

  The Doc comes in later and, in the course of him checking me out, he tells me it’s Saturday.

  “Saturday? I’ve been out for two days?”

  “One and a half.”

  “Blaze has her gig at Sacrament tonight.” He says nothing, just checks out his chart. “She can’t miss it! Doc!” My head almost explodes as I reach out to grab his wrist. I explain to him that she’s probably not wanting to do the gig because of me. I ask him to tell her she must do it!

  “I’ll convey the message.”

  “No, Doc, you gotta hear me! She must! It’s her dream!”

  “OK, Mr. Cox, I’ll tell her. And I’ll also tell her that we’re out of the danger zone with you. You’ll need to stay here a few days, but we’re not due for any more surprises. OK?”

  A huge weight lifts off my shoulders.

  The Doc goes a step further—he lets her visit me again so I can tell her myself. Her light green eyes are rimmed by red. She kisses me, holds my cheeks. Explains how “the gig is not so important anymore.”

  “Bullshit, Blaze. You heard the Doc—I’m good. Go now!” She kisses me again—fresh water on a hot day.

  “I love you, Declan Cox.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I love you, babe.”

  She walks out, and while I look at her back, I’m thinking of how much she means to me. But when the door closes, I’m thinking something else. And it ain’t love. It’s something darker.

  Much darker.

  I turn my head and face the window, thinking of Dino Moretti’s surprise attack on me from behind. The crunch sound of hard steel to my head. The laser sting piercing through me as my vision went white; the floor coming up to meet my face.

  Then the silence afterwards—except for Blaze’s tears. I heard those. I heard those like the calls of a child before the axe murderer brings the blade down on its neck.

  What pain he
caused her, I think.

  Where is that punk-ass now?

  My fists clench under the blanket. I try move my head but my neck burns when I do it.

  A few more days, the Doc said. And then I’ll be right as rain. That’s good. That’s good.

  And then I’ll call Tramone.

  -6-

  Days pass. And so does pops’s memorial service...which I miss. I can’t say I feel too bad about it. I don’t want to relive it. I said my goodbyes to him in his apartment. And I’m OK with that.

  But Blaze went. She cried, she told me after. She cried a lot. And she was happy to do it. “It felt good,” she said, “to just let it go, to mourn for someone properly.”

  Trev visited me after it as well—later that Sunday—and told me to “stay out of trouble.”

  I said nothing to that. Then we hugged—gingerly! because my head’s still exploding—and he left. Gone. Back to PSU. For another six months at least.

  It felt like losing my father all over again.

  Blaze’s gig went well. More than well. She’s lined up for one every weekend at Sacrament’s underground room for the next four weeks. Two Gs a night. That’s eight grand in the next month.

  I’m happy for her. She deserves it.

  I sit up on my hospital bed. She doesn’t ask me why I’m probably acting a bit dazed. Maybe she thinks it’s because I’m drugged or something. But I’m not. I’m focused. Focused as a blade across the neck.

  She kisses my cheek and holds my shoulders. “Deck, you sure you OK?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Her eyes search me and I struggle to keep mine on hers. As if she can see the lie...

  We beat it from the hospital and she takes me to my place. The headaches are still rough as a mofo, but a Percocet every few hours keeps them at bay. Doc said it’ll be another week or two before they fully disappear. You were very lucky, he’d said to me as we’d left.