by L.H. Cosway
Dylan’s stroking started again. “Do you want to see her?”
I shook my head. “Not really. She’s not a very nice person.”
“If my mam were still alive, I’d want to see her, even if she wasn’t a nice person.”
“But your mam was nice. You don’t know what it’s like when they just leave. Yvonne’s love was the only thing that stitched me back together. When Mam left, when I realised that she’d been wanting to leave for so long, my heart broke.”
“You can’t forgive her,” Dylan said, like he understood.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t think I can.”
“Then it’s simple, don’t answer her calls.”
“What if she shows up though?”
“Then you can come stay with me until she leaves again.”
I smiled. “Not sure your dad would agree to that.”
“My dad loves you. He wouldn’t mind.”
I arched a brow. “He wouldn’t love the idea of me sleeping in your bed and that’s a fact.”
Dylan traced the line of my jaw with his finger. “Hmm, you’re probably right. I can’t wait until we have our own place and can sleep together every night.”
I grinned. “Oh really? Tell me more.”
“There’ll be a strict no-pyjama policy. Also, oral sex every night. For both of us.”
“Well, how can I argue with that?”
He bent to give me a kiss and whispered. “You can’t.”
The kiss deepened, and before I knew it I was squirming beneath him, wishing we were somewhere more private. Dylan’s phone buzzed, distracting us. I broke away and caught my breath as I told him to check who it was. He opened the message and grinned.
“What is it?” I asked and peeked over his shoulder. He hid the screen from my view.
“Don’t think I’m supposed to show you.”
“Oh, come on, now you have to,” I said and reached for the phone.
He held it in the air, so I couldn’t get to it. I struggled again, but he only held it higher.
“Now, now, don’t be nosy,” Dylan chided as I stretched across his body, reaching for the phone but finding no purchase. His hard chest beneath me was a little distracting, but I was determined to find out what the text said.
“Fine,” I huffed, giving up. “You keep your secrets. See if I care.”
Dylan let out a sigh. “Okay, I’ll show you. But only because you’ve told me before that you don’t like big surprises.”
I narrowed my gaze curiously as I took the offered phone. It was a group text from Sam.
OKAY, LISTEN UP, PEEPS. It’s our girl Evelyn’s B-day in two weeks and I’m planning a big old-fashioned knees up. Yvonne’s keeping her out of the flat all day so that we can decorate, and I’ll need all your help. Be there at 12pm sharp or consider yourself blacklisted by yours truly. Sam. Xoxo.
“Oh, that sneaky little . . .”
“He just wants to do something nice for you,” Dylan said. “Why didn’t you say your birthday was coming up?”
I blew out a breath. “I honestly didn’t even think of it.”
Dylan rubbed his chin ponderously, a twinkle in his eye. “Now I’ve got to think of something special to do for you.”
“You don’t need to do anything, just be you. That’s special enough for me.”
He grinned and pulled my mouth in for a soft kiss. “God, we make me sick sometimes.”
I chuckled. “We make me sick sometimes, too.”
Chapter 16
“Well, what do you think?” Yvonne asked with a smile as she stuck her head out of her brand-new car and honked the horn. Well, it wasn’t brand new. It was a second-hand Volkswagen but in pretty good nick. She collected it from the lot this morning, and I’d come down to the front of the flats to check it out.
“Pretty snazzy,” I said and grinned.
“Come on, jump in and we’ll go for a drive.”
I opened the passenger side door without hesitation and slid into the seat before securing my seatbelt. It was a mild morning, tendrils of pretty sunlight streaming through the windows as we left the flats behind us.
“This is so great. We should go on a road trip down the country some weekend.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed just as my phone rang. It was Dylan. I hit ‘answer’ and held it up to my ear, thinking he and Sam had probably just finished their run in the park.
“Dylan! You’ll never guess what me and Yvonne are—”
“Ev,” he choked. “Come quickly . . . I think Sam’s—”
“What’s wrong?” My stomach tightened instantly at the pained rasp in his voice.
“I’ve called an ambulance, but they haven’t arrived yet. Jesus Christ, I can’t feel his pulse, I can’t feel his pulse,” Dylan rambled chaotically, and I felt like I was being submerged under water. His words spread terror right through my body.
Then, something inside of me swallowed up all the panic and jumped into action. “Where are you?” I had no idea what was going on or what had happened. All I knew was I had to get to him as quickly as possible.
“We’re j-just in front of the Wellington Monument. Please h-hurry.”
Yvonne glanced from me to the road in concern. “What’s wrong, Ev?”
To Dylan, I said, “We’ll be there in five minutes,” and then I told Yvonne where to go. She drove like a pro, avoiding all the heavy traffic areas so we could get to them faster. She didn’t ask any questions, probably sensing my trepidation. I kept blinking, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare. A million possible scenarios ran through my head, all of them horrific.
As soon as we got to the park, I jumped out of the car and ran straight for the monument. Yvonne called after me, but I didn’t look back. Every part of me felt heavy as I pushed forward. There was something in Dylan’s voice, a fearfulness I’d never heard before, that filled me up with dread.
I saw a few people gathered around and without thinking headed in that direction. In the distance, I heard ambulance sirens, but they were a way off yet. I broke through the people and gasped at what I saw. Dylan sat on the ground with Sam in his arms. He looked so . . . small. Both of them were beaten to a pulp and tears filled my eyes.
I fell onto the grass beside Dylan, hands moving over him in panic. “What happened?” My throat was heavy with emotion. It was just so wrong to see them both like this. They were two of the people I loved most in the world. Dylan was in such a daze he didn’t even register my presence. He just rocked Sam back and forth as though willing him to open his eyes.
And Sam. My God. I could barely stand to look at him. There was a lesion above his eye that leaked blood all over his face, and the rest of him . . . the rest of him . . .
Yvonne let out a cry of shock when she finally caught up. Tears streamed down her cheeks as one of the onlookers approached. “I was sitting in my car when it happened,” the man said, sounding shaken. “They were jogging, and a gang of teens ran out from behind the monument and attacked them. I called for help, but nobody’s arrived yet. They were all wearing hoodies, so it was hard to make out their faces . . .”
I barely took in his words, too much shock in my system. I had my arms around Dylan, who still wouldn’t let go of Sam. He held his small, battered body like he was terrified to let go. A terrible reality pushed at the edges of my brain, but I refused to acknowledge it.
The sirens blared as both the ambulance and the police arrived on the scene. Yvonne pulled me away from Dylan so that the paramedics could see to him and Sam. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered soothing noises in my ear.
I wanted to rage and scream.
I wanted to get whoever had done this and do the same to them.
I’d never felt so helpless, so enraged, and so heartbroken all at once. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening. Yvonne guided me over to her car, and we drove to the hospital in stunned silence. Once there, she called Dylan’s dad and Sam’s parents, doing her best to
calmly relay for them what had happened. Both parties arrived at A&E in full panic, but nobody would tell us anything. Sam’s mother was inconsolable. Nothing like this had ever happened to any of her children before. She just cried and cried, while her husband tried his best to soothe her.
We were told to stay in the waiting area until a doctor came out. About thirty minutes later, a female doctor came and informed Dylan’s dad of his son’s injuries. I listened intently, barely breathing, as she relayed the information: cracked ribs, a fractured nose and elbow, a concussion. With all that, I was surprised he was still conscious when I’d arrived at the scene. Only his dad was allowed in to see him. That would’ve frustrated me more if I wasn’t still waiting with bated breath for news of Sam.
Hope was the only thing that kept me going, and every second that passed was a new agony. I kept hearing Dylan’s words in my head.
I can’t feel his pulse.
And the way he’d looked in Dylan’s arms, so tiny and battered. A whirlwind of pain swept through me.
Finally, a doctor emerged, and as soon as I saw his face, I knew. Sam’s mother let out an agonised wail. His dad held her tight, but there were tears in his eyes, too.
And I, well, as soon as I heard the words, “Mrs Kennedy, Mr Kennedy, I’m so sorry . . .” something inside of me died. My candle, which had once burned bright, flickered out, leaving nothing but darkness.
My Sam was gone, and I would never, ever recover.
Chapter 17
There’s this thing called broken heart syndrome, where the emotional pain of losing a loved one leads to an actual medical condition. The surge of stress hormones causes a temporary disruption in the heart’s normal pumping system, resulting in severe chest pain.
I felt like that was happening to me, because every part of my upper body ached.
My best friend, the boy who made me smile, who made me feel better whenever I was down, was gone. Just like that. Only yesterday we’d laughed in my bedroom and danced around to Fall Out Boy. It already felt like a lifetime ago.
I couldn’t seem to reconcile the fact that I’d never see him again. That I had to live the rest of my life without him.
H-how . . .
How was I supposed to live the rest of my life without him?
I sat in the hospital waiting room, tears streaming down my face as I tried to make sense of how all this had happened so quickly. Yvonne placed a cup of tea and an oat bar in front of me, but I wasn’t hungry. I felt like I might never be hungry again. All I felt was sick, empty, and hopeless.
When a nurse finally came to say I could go in and see Dylan, I walked down the corridor in a daze. He was being treated in a room with several other patients, but Tommy had pulled the curtain over. Dylan’s dad came and hugged me tightly.
“That poor, poor boy,” he rasped, speaking of Sam. “There’s no justice in this world. None.” He left to give us some privacy, and I brought my eyes to Dylan. He lay in bed, bandaged and hooked up to pain meds, his face devoid of colour.
“Evelyn,” he breathed, and in that one word I heard all his guilt, pain, and anger. I heard his sadness. “I’m s-so sorry,” he choked.
I didn’t say anything for a moment, just came and sat down next to him. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it softly. A lone tear streamed down my face, its saltiness stinging my already raw skin. “Why? None of this is your fault.”
“I brought him running with me, if I hadn’t . . .” He paused, tears filling his eyes. As soon as I saw it, I started crying, too.
“Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself. The fault is at the hands of whoever did this.”
Dylan’s sadness turned to anger. “Jackson,” he seethed. “As soon as I get of this hospital he’s a dead man.”
For a second, time stood still. “How do you—?”
“I saw him. He was one of them,” Dylan gritted.
“Did you tell the Gardaí?”
“Yeah, but they’ll be lucky if”—he paused and shifted his body, grimacing past the pain—“if I don’t get to him first.”
“Dylan, look at you. You’re not fit to go after anyone,” I said, thoughts racing. I couldn’t believe a boy from our school was behind all this. Well, I mean, I could believe it, because he had a reputation for violence and was gunning for Dylan for months. But how could things escalate this far? How was this the logical outcome?
The man who witnessed the attack said there was a gang of them. A gang against two people. They didn’t have a chance . . .
A memory flashed in my head, of Jackson at school with Kirsty whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Or was she whispering something else? I was certain she heard Dylan and Sam making plans to meet up for a run at the park. She could’ve easily forwarded this information to Jackson.
God, it didn’t even bear thinking about, but I couldn’t help it. The idea wormed its way into my brain, blackening my heart and soul. Was this her way of getting back at Dylan? A burning, fireball of anger lit inside me. I stood and walked straight out of the hospital room. Dylan called after me, but I didn’t stop or turn back.
Like a raging bull, I walked all the way to the flats. I climbed the stairs to the very top floor where Kirsty lived and hammered on her door until it flung open. Her mam stood in front of me, a lit smoke hanging out of her mouth.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing banging my door like that?” she questioned in irritation, hand on hip.
“I’m looking for Kirsty,” I answered, using all my might to keep my anger at bay until I saw her.
Her mam made a sound of displeasure and turned to call, “Kirsty, there’s some young one at the door for you.”
Kirsty emerged a moment later, eyes narrowing when she saw me. “What do you want?”
“Are you happy now? Do you feel better?” I fumed.
“Bitch, get the fuck away from here before I call my brothers out,” she threatened.
“Jackson Keegan and his gang attacked Dylan and Sam this morning at the park. He and his buddies beat them so bad that Sam . . .” I choked, hardly able to say the words my grief was still so fresh. Finally, I blinked away the tears. Kirsty didn’t deserve to see my pain. I pulled myself together, looked her dead in the eye and told her, “Sam died at the hospital.”
Her mam, who was still standing in the doorway, put her hand to her mouth and gasped, while all the colour drained from Kirsty’s face. “You’re lying,” she whispered, but I’d told her the truth, and she knew it. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. She looked like she was about to be sick and faint all at once. Gone was her tough exterior and catty attitude. Now she looked like she was realising the consequences of her meddling, the awful, horrific results.
“I hope you live a long life, Kirsty, and I hope that every single day you think of my best friend and know you had a hand in his death. I hope the guilt eats at you until there’s nothing left.”
With that I walked away. It wasn’t enough. There was no justice in this. There never would be. Every year people were killed by violence in the city, but even if the criminals were sent to prison, it didn’t bring the person you lost back.
Sam was gone, and I would never be the same without him.
I went home, got into bed, and cried so long my pillow was soaked through with tears. I cried until my throat ached. And then finally, with a hollow in my belly, I fell into an empty, dreamless sleep.
I refused to leave my bedroom for days. I was so consumed by grief I couldn’t bring myself to go see Dylan at the hospital. I kept going over and over things in my head, wondering if I had done even one thing differently, maybe Sam would still be here.
If I’d said something to Kirsty at the lockers that day, if I’d tried to clear the air, would she still have told Jackson where Dylan and Sam would be that morning?
My brain was sore from my endlessly frantic thoughts. Once, I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, like if I focused hard enough I could turn back time and prevent it all from ha
ppening.
My birthday came and went. I mostly slept through it, not wanting to think of how Sam was planning a surprise. It only hurt worse when I did.
I wasn’t sure what day it was, or how long I’d been lost in my grief, when the door to my bedroom opened and someone stepped inside. I didn’t look to see who it was. Didn’t care. Then, Dylan’s recognisable form crawled into bed behind me. I hadn’t seen him since . . . since that day, but I knew he had one arm in a cast, his ribs were bandaged, and stitches sealed the deep cut on his temple. He pulled me close, wrapped his good arm around my middle and rested his head in the crook of my neck. He didn’t speak, he just held me.
“They discharged me from the hospital an hour ago,” he said, after a long few minutes of silence. “I came straight here.”
I didn’t say it, but I was glad he did. The fact that he was still breathing was the only thing keeping me going. Without him, the pieces I was made of would crumble and scatter. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his attempt at comfort, that I was sorry I hadn’t come back to see him, but there was a block on my heart, on my voice. I was clogged up with anguish and didn’t know how to expel the pain.
“Jackson was arrested,” Dylan said, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper.
I stilled. My heart jumped into my throat as I attempted to swallow it back down.
“When?” I asked. The word was painful to speak, but I had to know. I needed someone to blame, someone to despise. There was so much hate in my heart I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be the same girl.
“This morning. They got three of the other lads who were with him, too. They’re all eighteen, so they’ll be tried as adults.”
I swallowed and blinked away my tears. “Good.”
“They’ll go to prison for a long time,” he went on. It sounded like he was saying it more to himself than to me. Like he was trying to convince himself it was for the best. I knew he’d wanted to go and get Jackson himself, but all that would achieve was him sharing a cell right along with him.
