by Olivia Luck
No. Nothing will happen to her. She’s going to be fine. She has to be fine.
It doesn’t occur to me that I should call Blake to find out if knows what happened at the school. My thoughts zero in on my friend and her safe return to me.
The taxi comes to an abrupt halt, sending me flying forward in the seat. My head knocks against the protective glass sharply and I cry out. Serves me right for not wearing a seatbelt.
“Police have blocked the road,” the driver tells me unnecessarily. The crush of marked cars and smattering of ambulances is clear as day. Reaching into my purse, I grab a few bills and push them into his waiting hand. I don’t wait around for change, shoving the door open and practically falling onto the curb. I right myself and run toward the first uniformed officer that I find. He stands in front of a horizontally parked police sedan, blocking the path toward the three-story red brick building. There’s a roaring sound rushing in my ears as I watch the SWAT team line up in a carefully choreographed dance.
“Miss?” the police officer prompts. I realize then that I’m standing next to him, my eyes racing over the exterior of the building like I have x-ray vision.
“My friend is in there,” I explain breathlessly. “Do they know anything? What’s going on? Who is in there? Has anyone been shot?” The questions roll off my tongue in a messy, desperate cadence.
“Unfortunately, we have no details at the moment,” he rumbles.
I’m not passed the point of begging, and just as I’m about to try again for more information, I watch in unchecked terror as the stealthy SWAT team bursts through the front doors of the schoolhouse.
“What does that mean? There were no gunshots. I didn’t hear anything. Did you hear anything?” Frantic energy crackles through my body like electricity.
The cop places either a restraining or reassuring hand on my shoulder, freezing me in place. “No loud pops are a good sign, girl. It’s going to be a while until we hear anything now.”
I nearly sag with relief at his words. He’s right. No gunshots mean… Well, it could mean anything. Zoe works in the library; maybe that was a good hiding place. Maybe she didn’t know there was a gunman in the school.
“Who is your friend?” the police officer asks calmly.
“Her name is Zoe Baker; she’s a librarian.”
The police officer, who I find out is named Mike and has two girls around my age, distracts me for a long time. God, I have no idea how long we stand there talking about mundane stuff. Minutes crawl by as I respond halfheartedly to his questions about how I know Zoe and what I’m doing in the city. Anxiously, I watch students file out of the school. Still, no Zoe.
Finally.
My friend wanders out of the school as if in a haze. Her complexion is ashen, eyes wide with anxiety, apparent enough from where I stand half a football field away from her.
“There!” I cry when I spot her. “Please—can I?”
Mike cocks his head to the side and mutters an acquiesce, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear him allowing me access to the crime scene. Not caring that I’m wearing pumps and a tight pencil skirt, I sprint across the pavement. Somewhere off in the distance, I hear the elastic on my skirt hiss in protest, but I ignore it, running at full speed to Zoe until I’m just a few feet away and my body slams into something hard, solid. The mass sends me reeling, stumbling backward a few steps.
“Stella.” The word is barked at me, his body wound tighter than a bow. His hands clamp around my upper arms to hold my flailing body still. He came from the office, I note ideally, still wearing a dark navy suit. The tie around his neck is yanked loose. The expression he wears doesn’t reveal anything, but worry lines etch the corners of his eyes. “Get her,” he rasps. “If I go to her, there will be photographs and the last thing she needs now is more media scrutiny. Bring her to the east side of the building. I’ll be waiting.” His grip on my sleeved arms tightens imperceptibly then he’s gone, weaving across through the chaos of police officers, crying children, and anxious parents.
I allow myself a second. One second to admire his confident gait. One second to appreciate his control in this uncontrollable environment. One second to fall in love with him a tiny bit more.
The second passes and I’m back in motion stopping a foot away from a dazed Zoe. Her arms are bent at the elbow, palms cupping her ears as if she can’t bear to hear the commotion surrounding her. Adrenaline courses through my veins, preventing me from latching on to my own terror.
“Zoe?” My voice is all but a whisper. I don’t want to startle her further.
Slowly, her eyes survey the scene, though they appear not to register what’s happening. I touch her bent elbow lightly with my fingertips to capture her attention. My touch causes her to blink a couple times and drop her arms to her sides. A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes from my mouth in a relieved puff.
“I…I…” comes out of her mouth in a weak stammer. Her unsteadiness sends me straight into action. Someone has to be the strong one, and right now, I need to be steadfast for my friend.
My arm circles around Zoe’s hunched shoulders and I yank her against my side tightly. “Stick with me. We’re going to Blake, and we’ll take you home.”
“Blake, Blake, that’s good. I need my brother,” she mumbles more to herself than to me. I don’t allow myself to be scared that she’s just a shadow of the friend that I’ve known for six years. My body moves automatically.
Using my shoulder and muttering excuses, I barrel us through the crowd as quickly as I can. I urge my friend forward, my steps sturdy. I have to hold it together. I won’t let Zoe down. Not now, not ever. She doesn’t have a mother to cry to, no father to cling on. Blake and I need to prop her up against whatever demons Zoe’s facing now. I won’t leave her side. With monumental force, I don’t allow myself to question what happened to Zoe inside the school. The story, however dark it may be, will come in time. Until then, I want to be the pillar opposite Blake. From what I’ve witnessed of my shaken friend, this won’t be easily forgotten.
Whatever she needs, I’ll provide, I silently promise the heavens. Please, please let her be okay. Let her move on from this and be okay.
I cast a quick look to my friend. She watches the pavement beneath our feet with abject attention. Yanking her firmer against my body, I double my speed. We cut around the side of the schoolhouse and I catch sight of a nondescript black SUV idling less than fifty feet away.
“Blake’s right there,” I press my cheek against Zoe’s as I speak, wanting her chilled skin to seep up some of my warmth. She nods against me. The back door flings open when we arrive and Blake extends one leg out. He hooks an arm around Zoe’s waist and we work together to assist her into the smooth leather bench seat. The door slams shut behind me after I hop into the backseat next to Zoe. A few moments later, Blake slams his passenger door with a vicious yank.
“Go,” Blake tells the driver calmly, and we sail away from the curb. Without a seatbelt, he shuffles across the bench toward the shivering Zoe. “I’m here now. You’re safe. You’ll always be safe. I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”
Blake’s cradling Zoe to his chest like she’s twenty years younger. He strokes her poker straight hair, continuing to murmur reassuring words that I’m not sure she hears. Needing to be close to her, needing my own reassurance that my friend is still in one piece, I reach out and tangle our fingers together. Her clammy hand falls limply in mine, but still I squeeze her. I watch as Blake shuts his eyes, still speaking soft words to Zoe.
If he can hide his fear from Zoe, then so I can.
For now.
Blake
Never let ‘em see you sweat. The advice has always served me well. I’ve never had a hard time sticking to the manifesto Dad drilled into my head. Until now. The moment my assistant hustled into my office spouting off about a disturbance at Clarkes Elementary, my heart lodged itself firmly into my throat. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Then the fucking co
ps wouldn’t tell me shit and I had to hide in my car like some sort of private detective on a stakeout. My driver, Gus, waited with me until we spotted my sister stumble out of the school and then I couldn’t help myself. I took off like I was running for my life. Then I saw her. Stella. Of course, she came for Zoe. She loves her almost as much as I do.
I gather Zoe closer against my body. She hasn’t spoken, but I can feel my dress shirt dampening with the salty liquid from her tears. That’s enough for the time being. Knowing that she’s well enough to cry against my shoulder like she did when she didn’t get into Northwestern, knowing that she’s breathing and not fighting for her life on some hospital gurney is good enough for now.
“Thank you,” I say hoarsely to Stella, more of my permanently affixed armor slipping away with the tremble in my voice. Red-rimmed eyes meet mine, the gorgeous clear blue shiny with unshed tears.
“Whatever she needs. Whatever. I’m here.” Her voice is a lot more resolute than mine. I relish in her strength for a moment. I’m more than thankful that she appeared when my sister needed her most. I’m eternally grateful that Stella appeared when I needed her most. She refuses to let my gaze go, a silent question between us: are you okay?
I want to tell her that she’s the support propping me up. I want to say that if I hadn’t seen her running toward my sister at full speed with a determined look fixed on her face, I might have done something stupid, like run into the school to see what the fuck happened. Instead, she distracted me, reminding me that looking after Zoe was the top priority. She grounded me while simultaneously setting me on the right path. Effortless, and without a word, Stella brought out the best in me. A guardian angel watching over my sister and me.
Gus smoothly parks the car in the attached garage of my house. Stella climbs out of the car first and rushes around to where my driver has already opened the door. I shift my sister into my arms, awkwardly stepping out of the car in an attempt not to jostle her.
“We’re home,” I tell her softly. “Do you want something to eat? How about tea? A cupcake?” Zoe shakes her head feebly.
“I want to lie down,” she whispers.
That’s not what I want. She needs to talk, tell me what happened. Every last detail of what went down in that school needs to come out. Now.
“That’s good, honey, rest will make you feel better. I’ll get Mom to bring soup from the restaurant and some biscotti. That would be good, won’t it?” Stella’s sweet voice interrupts my impatient musing when she reaches out to stroke my sister’s cheek with the back of her hand and smile tenderly at her. I’m transfixed by the smile. Having Stella here is soothing the torrent of anxiety tearing through me.
A small hand falls on my shoulder when I cross into Zoe’s room with my sister still clinging to me like she’s a small child again.
“Let me help Zoe get changed,” Stella murmurs.
I nod my head jerkily, the resolve I’m clutching to beginning to unravel. Once Zoe’s firmly on her feet, I shut the door behind me.
God, I could have lost her today.
I grip the back of my neck with one hand. Losing my sister is incomprehensible. I’m good at my job, I throw a decent football, contribute to various charitable organizations, but that’s not the way that I define my character. Who I am reflects on the character of my sister. By my mother’s will, I became her guardian. Since the day Mom died, though, I’ve carried the weight of Zoe’s life on my shoulders. She’s not my daughter by blood, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel like her father.
“Okay.”
I whirl around, surprised because I didn’t hear the bedroom door click open. It takes all the well-practiced restraint I have not to let my jaw drop open. Stella took off the tight skirt and blouse she wore this morning and replaced them with Zoe’s clothes. Little does Stella know, she’s wearing one of my old football shirts. Damn if it doesn’t look better on her than it ever did me.
Fuck.
If I’m so concerned with my sister, why do I notice Stella’s wearing cotton shorts, high-cut, and revealing firm, tanned legs? With a frustrated scowl, I step toward the bedroom, forcing Stella to shrink back.
Now I’m not only a horny bastard, I’m an asshole, too. Whatever. Zoe’s my first priority.
My sister is curled on her side in the middle of the queen-size bed we bought when she turned sixteen. After she had finished graduate school, she rented a place closer to Clarkes Elementary. I wonder when she’ll want to go back there.
Without hesitation, I strip off my jacket, tie, and dress shirt. My shoes follow and then I position myself next to my sister, not paying attention to where Stella stands uncertainly near the door. I collect my sister against my chest again, feeling her shudder against me.
“He wanted to die. He wanted to take the kids with him. He wanted to take me with him,” she mumbles. I push her face forward into the crook of my neck, torn between wanting to hear what happened and not wanting to hear because I’m certain the details will haunt me.
A small whimper turns into deeper, body-wracking sobs. I shut my eyes, letting out a helpless sigh.
The weight of the bed dips then that same gentle touch I felt earlier is back as a tender hand on my cheek. Is Stella soothing me? No one except my mother has ever touched me with this much care.
I open my eyes to find Stella on the other side of my sister’s trembling body. Her hand falls from the gentle reassurance on my cheek to drift away, settling around my sister’s waist.
“Breathe, Zo. You’re safe and we won’t let anything happen to you.”
We. The word has a nice ring to it. Stella and I, a unit. Somewhere in my mind that fits. What’s left of my restraint drops away, and I use my top hand to wrap around Stella’s waist and haul both my girls tight against me.
I don’t bother to analyze the repercussions of imagining Stella as my girl and holding her this way. Holding them both this way is the only thing that releases the knot of fear clogging my throat.
Stella
“Did this really happen to me?” Violet stares at the sparkling stone in amazement, her lunch easily forgotten.
Leaning back in the bistro chair, I cock my head to the side. “Why wouldn’t it happen to you? Max has been in love with you from the moment you sat down next to him at Red Bar. Whenever you’re in the room, the guy can’t keep his eyes off you. He once told me, verbatim, ‘I will spend the rest of my life with Violet Harper.’ And don’t you blush, I know he’s said that to you at least fifty times in front of me. Who knows how many times he’s said it behind closed doors.”
“You’re right. What am I thinking? I’m getting married to the greatest man in the world. Life is freaking swell.” Over the past few years, I’ve come to learn that Violet’s extremely religious Baptist parents raised her not to swear. The worst curse word I’ve heard her utter is darn.
“Couldn’t happen to a better couple. I’m so happy for you two, I could burst,” I tell Violet genuinely. “Then we’ll be more than best friends, we’ll be related.”
Violet beams at me. “Can I call you cuz? I think that’s a cute way to refer to a cousin.”
“You’re a dork.”
“A dork you’re about to be related to!” Her pleased expression settles into a more concerned one. “Any word from Zoe or Blake?”
A sour feeling settles into my stomach. Failure is something that, up until now, I’ve had the fortune of not experiencing. It’s almost December, three months since Clinton Smith marched into Clarkes Elementary with a gun and Zoe convinced him to turn himself in. The morning after Clinton stalked into the school and pointed a gun at Zoe, she painstakingly shared the details with Blake and me. The suicidal young man wanted to hurt the students and then himself. Zoe, our beloved Zoe, stopped him by talking him down.
It was a miracle that she wasn’t hurt. Physically, at least.
“No better than the last time you asked.” I grimace and set the fork down. Suddenly, my appetite is gone. “Whenev
er I visit her at Blake’s, she sends me away. He thinks that maybe she’s ashamed of herself, but what is there to be ashamed of? I’m supposed to be her best friend and I want to support her through this.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I can see it in your eyes that you do.” Violet shoots me a pointed look, reading my mind as usual. “Zoe needs time to get herself together and if the girl wants to do it alone, you have to let her do it alone. She’ll be back when she’s ready.”
With a defeated sigh, I press my back into my chair. “If I give up on her, I’ll fail her.” That’s the bottom line. Zoe finally relented to see a therapist a few weeks back, according to Blake, and yet she continues to refuse to see me.
“How is her recovery a reflection on you?” Violet scoffs. “Unsolicited opinion alert: seems like whatever happened at Clarkes dredged up underlying issues for Zoe. There’s nothing you can do –”
“Except keep trying,” I interrupt.
Violet nods thoughtfully. “Fair enough. Don’t take me the wrong way; I want Zoe to be back to her old self, too. But I hate seeing you in pain. Perhaps it’s time to give her the space that she clearly wants.”
I frown at the thought. Deep down, I know Violet has a point. Zoe’s recovery is not under my control, and at some juncture, I need to respect her wishes and stop dropping by unannounced. At least, my visits are unannounced to her. When I offered to manage Zoe’s move out of her apartment and back into Blake’s home, we exchanged phone numbers. Now, I text him before I visit Zoe, though we haven’t spent much time together. Ever since that day in Zoe’s room, he’s been short with me, avoiding any possibility of us being alone. I haven’t had much time to dwell on his unfriendly behavior because I’ve been too busy worrying about his sister. I guess that’s what he has been doing, too, by taking a short leave of absence from work and interviewing dozens of therapists until he found one who he felt was just right.
