Wounded

by Abby Brooks

  Lexi nods, swallowing hard, her face full of determination. “But he wasn’t dead, was he?”

  “Nope. Just a concussion and a broken leg.” I sit back in the cheap plastic chair. “Doctors told my mom he had to be part cat and had just used up at least three of his lives.”

  “Which leaves him with six, right?” Lexi laughs and sits back. “Okay. It’s Michael, so he’s probably used up at least one or two more since then, but you know as well as I do that he has at least one left, Bailey.” She meets my eyes. “He’s gonna be okay.”

  I lick my lips. “Not after I get my hands on him. Life’s about to get really hard on Michael R. Schultz.”

  We wait for an eternity, but somehow, I feel hopeful. Instead of drowning in worry, I draft a master plan to make my brother better after tonight. He might hate me for a while, but damn it. I’m going to make him okay.

  As fear dissipates, I pull out my phone and open up the text from Liam. I never sent my response. Just as I lean over to ask Lexi’s opinion, a tall man enters the waiting room.

  “Ms. Schultz?”

  I stand, shoving the phone in my back pocket. “That’s me.”

  One look at the doctor’s face sends the hospital room spiraling around me. My knees go weak and I clutch at Lexi’s arm.

  “I’m Dr. Morgan. Your brother’s surgeon.”

  He blinks and I swallow, my breath so shallow I feel dizzy.

  “He’s resting now, but I want to make sure you’re fully aware of the situation. The trauma he suffered was severe.”

  A buzzing in my ears blocks out most of what he says next.

  “…on a respirator…”

  My heart thunders in my chest.

  “…ruptured spleen…”

  A flash of Michael’s smiling face, his eyes warm and happy as he throws his head back and laughs.

  “…traumatic brain injury…”

  Michael’s skin so pale. His tiny body crumpled at the base of a tree, his dark hair wet and clinging to his forehead.

  “…get ready to say goodbye.”

  My face crumbles and all the air leaves my lungs in one long breath. “What?” I dig my nails into Lexi’s arm as my legs threaten to drop me to the ground.

  “I’m so sorry.” Hollow words.

  A nurse I went to school with leads me and Lexi through the maze of hallways and rooms that I could walk in my sleep. Faces swim in and out of focus, people I know and work with, sympathy tightening their lips.

  Poor thing.

  Such a shame.

  Saw it coming.

  I ignore it all. I’m here for one thing and one thing only, and that’s to say goodbye to my little brother. A good kid who took a few wrong turns. A man who’s paying for my mistakes with his life.

  We stop in front of a room and the nurse steps back. “Take as long as you need,” she says, and I recognize the wall she’s putting up between us. I’m not Bailey anymore. I’m Grieving Family Member and will be dealt with accordingly.

  It takes me a minute, but I enter the room and stop just inside the door, unable to go more than a few steps. My brother is the wrong color, so white his dark hair looks black. One side of his face is covered in bandages. His mouth is hidden by a breathing tube. A tangle of wires snake to his body from the machines near his bed, monitoring his heart, pumping oxygen into his lungs, medicine into his veins.

  Lexi appears beside me, her face crumpling as she covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Michael.” She rushes to his side, drops to her knees beside his bed and takes his hand in hers, crying and sobbing and pressing his fingers against her cheek. “His skin’s so cold,” she whispers, her wide eyes seeking mine.

  I stand there for longer than I should. After all these years of being strong, smiling through so many tragedies, I might not have it in me to take one more step. Maybe I’ll just stand here and watch him slip away. Succumb to my grief and let someone else take care of it all. I’ve been strong for so long and I’m so damn tired.

  Except Michael deserves better than that.

  Reaching deep down inside myself, borrowing against tomorrow’s strength, I force myself forward until I’m standing at his side. He looks like our father, and yet he looks like he did when he was little, before everything got bad. It’s like the two men I mourn the most are stretched out in that bed and I have to say goodbye to them both all over again. My lips wobble and my eyes water, and I drop to my knees, clutching at his clammy hand and pressing it to my cheek.

  “I’m so sorry. I failed you.” I close my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “And I miss you already. I did everything I could but it wasn’t enough.” Sobs wrack my body while my heart wails its sorrow. “Oh Michael, you deserve so much better than this.” My tears eat my words and I cry until I’m raw.

  I want him to open his eyes one last time, just like my dad did.

  To look at me and smile and tell me it’s all going to be okay.

  To tell me he loves me and that he forgives me. That he will be waiting for me with Mom and Dad.

  I need him to give me a task. A job to carry out for him that gives my life meaning after this because without him, what do I have? But Michael doesn’t move and I fall asleep to the steady rhythm of the machines keeping him alive.

  Sometime during the night, while I hold his hand and beg for forgiveness, my brother lets go and slips away, leaving me to deal with the rest of my life alone.

  LIAM

  “The whole world thinks you’ve lost your mind, you know.” My mother sits at my dinner table, her perfectly manicured nails drumming an imperfect rhythm on the lacquered wood. “Chicks dig scars, Li-li. This little accident is an opportunity. You’re getting too old for pop, anyway. Maybe it’s time to transition into movies.” Her smile is sweet and venomous, cyanide whipped in cotton candy.

  The woman wields my childhood nickname like a weapon. She stopped feeling things like love and affection for me years ago. I’m nothing more than a business decision to her. She only calls me Li-li when she wants something.

  “There’s only one chick I care about and she doesn’t give two shits about my movie career.” I pace my dining room, realizing that Bailey’s entire house could fit in here.

  “You can quit trying to punish me with this ridiculous charade. You and I both know that you aren’t going to throw away your entire life for a two-bit whore in Trash Heap, Ohio.”

  I stop in my tracks and level a finger at my mother. “You can say whatever you want about me, but you leave Bailey out of this.”

  “Bailey,” she says, as if it pains her to get the word out past her teeth. “What a stupid name. What is she? A cat?” She picks at an invisible piece of lint on her dress.

  “Bailey is the only person in this whole world who really knows who I am.”

  “Oh, please. I brought you into this world and I built you from the ground up.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and settles her gaze on the miles of sky on the other side of the wall of windows. “Although it’s painfully obvious I didn’t build you strong enough if this tantrum is any indication of anything.”

  “Tantrum?” I pull out a chair and take a seat across from her. “You mean the one time in my life I’ve ever made a decision based on what I want?”

  “And what about me? Your mother? This decision”—she wrinkles her nose—“is bigger than you realize. It affects more than just you.”

  “Right.” The word is caustic. “Because none of this has ever been about me. I am the one who has to live this life, you know.”

  “How can you say that? Look around.” She gestures to my monstrous dining room. Cold. Sterile. And lacking anything that makes me feel like I’m home. “You really are as spoiled as they say. I guess if I failed you at all, that’s where I went wrong. You act as if having all this is a prison sentence. Do you realize how many people would be thrilled to have a fraction of what you have? Although,” she says, rolling her eyes. “That lawsuit you got hit with for punching a fan in the f
ace set us back a pretty penny, didn’t it?”

  I stare at the woman across from me. She stares right back, not one ounce of warmth in her gaze. There was a time when I used to crawl into her lap and beg her to sing to me. She’d smile and stroke my hair and I’d press my ear to her chest and listen to the way her voice moved within her body, vibrating with an energy all its own. No matter how scary the nightmare, how hard the day, how long the night, I could crawl into her arms, ask her to sing to me, and she’d make me feel safe. Now? She sits across the table, her back straight as steel, and stares at me with so much loathing it steals my breath.

  “All I ever wanted to do was make you proud of me.”

  “And I’ve never been more disappointed in you in your life.” My mother leans forward, her eyes cold. “Don’t do this.”

  “It’s done.” I sit back in my chair and let out a long breath. “The studio is letting me out of my contract because, unlike you, they’re smart enough to admit the scar is a deal breaker and they want out before my career completely crashes and burns.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s my face that sells my music, Mom. Without it, it’s just a slow-motion fall into obscurity. Better to go out on a high note. You’re the one who beat it into me year after year. Always leave ‘em wanting more, right?”

  “So, just like that? You get to decide when it’s over?” She sucks in her cheeks, her nostrils flaring. “After all this work, all the time and effort I put into you, and it’s all gone because you say so?”

  “Pretty much.” I push the chair back from the table and stand. “And you know what? I’m happier than I ever thought I could be. I smile for no reason. None at all. I get to go back to Bailey and finally live a real life. Can you even imagine what it feels like to put down the weight of being Liam McGuire and just be me?”

  “You’re not making any sense. You are Liam McGuire.” My mother draws her eyebrows together until she remembers that emotions give you wrinkles and purposefully relaxes her face.

  “No. That’s the thing you don’t understand. The man you’ve built, the one the whole world sees when they look at me, that’s not me. Not who I want to be. I just want to be real. I don’t want to be a face or a name. I don’t want to have to worry about every little thing I say or do, worry about if it’s on brand or not. I just want to be a normal person.”

  “Then why aren’t you there with her now?” My mother crosses her thin arms over her chest. “If that woman is everything you’ve ever wanted in the whole wide world”—she widens her eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word—“why are you here instead of there?”

  “Because I didn’t want the train wreck that is my life to derail hers.”

  “So you left her?” My mother shakes her head. “Why are we even having this discussion, then?”

  “Yes, I left, but it’s not permanent. I’m only here long enough to get my life straight. To protect her.” Those words feel so damn good, I smile despite myself. “I love her.”

  My happiness enrages my mother. “And now, a month later, you’re going to show back up on her doorstep and expect her to welcome you with open arms?” She straightens her posture, sitting even taller. “You say you’re not the man the world sees, but that sounds pretty damn spoiled and self-centered to me.”

  Her words hit me in the gut and I slam a fist down on the table. “Get out.”

  My mother jumps, her lips parting in surprise. “Liam…”

  “Get out!” I point at the door, spittle flying from my mouth.

  She purses her lips and looks away. “Don’t be an ass…”

  I lean in, growling at her through clenched teeth. “Get. Out.”

  My mother stands, smoothing her hands over her dress—bland and black and made by a designer that charges more than Bailey makes in a month—and lifts her chin. “You’ll regret this.” She gathers her handbag and drapes it over her wrist. “I gave you everything,” she says, and leaves without another word.

  I stare after her, my teeth grinding together until my jaw aches, my hands balled into fists. I pace, waiting for the guilt to set in—and considering my mother knows how to push each and every single one of my buttons, the guilt should hit anytime now. Imagine my surprise when I don’t feel anything at all. I grab my phone and check for a text from Bailey. Nothing. Tension settles into my shoulders and I drum my fingers across the screen. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her for a few days and it’s like she’s disappeared.

  I didn’t think it would take so long to take care of things here. Each time she called, each text she sent, she needed answers, a timeline for when I was coming back. But with Brent tying up every single hour of the day, keeping me busy day and night, trying to get me to forget her and my life back in Brookside, I never had the time to give her the attention she needed. I kept waiting until I could say I was coming back to her. That we wouldn’t have to worry about paparazzi and crazy fans stalking around her yard and digging through her trash. I wanted to have the solution to the problem ready before I gave her any details. Proof that I’m capable of taking care of her. Negotiations took longer than I expected, although each and every day brought me closer to where I am now.

  Free.

  For the last few weeks, I fell asleep each night worried about Bailey. Afraid that she was sitting at home wondering what happened between us, hurt and confused. Or worse, questioning my love for her. The thought of her crying herself to sleep wrecked me. And yet the whole time I consoled myself with the knowledge that the moment I explained why I had to disappear, she would understand. The way I feel for her—that just doesn’t go away because of one little fight and a few weeks of separation. And I know she feels the same. I have more faith in our love than in anything I’ve ever encountered.

  The moment Bailey walked into my life I was forever changed. The scar that runs down my face? I should hate it for taking everything away from me.

  But I don’t.

  Because it didn’t.

  This scar brought me Bailey, which means it brought me everything. My soul is tangled up with hers. We’re twined together and there’s no undo on this one. She’ll be a part of me for as long as I live.

  The longer we went without contact, the more I worried that I had it all wrong. That things were taking too long out here and that I needed to reach out and explain what was happening before I knew if it was real or not. But then she texted a couple nights ago—three little words, I miss you—and I thought that was my proof that she wasn’t mad. That she hasn’t been planning nine different ways to rip off my balls and shove them down my throat. She was simply waiting for me to come back to her so we can go on with our life.

  Except I haven’t heard from her since. The texts I sent went unanswered until I gave up last night and called. She didn’t answer so I left a voicemail and when she didn’t call back by the time I was ready for bed, I called again. No answer. This morning? Nothing.

  I’ve been talking to Michael almost every single day since I left. He helped me keep a pulse on Bailey. Let me know how she was doing. And he told me that she hadn’t burned my stuff in the front yard yet, which was a damn good sign that we’d be okay. But he hasn’t been answering his phone for the last couple days either.

  After weeks of working on that damn patio with the man, I got used to seeing his stupid face every couple of days. I haven't had a best friend since I was ten years old, but I'll give that title to Michael Schultz without flinching. He's a drunk and an asshole. He hides his broken parts behind a sardonic smile and has a sarcastic streak a mile wide, but he's one hell of a good person. And he promised to call me the moment things with Bailey looked like they were going downhill.

  The shit with my mom today, it’s such a stark contrast to what I had in Brookside. Life here in Los Angeles is like an old black and white movie while life in Ohio was full, high-definition color. Sitting here in this fancy house way up on the hill like some kind of prince overlooking his subjects, it makes me lonely. And m
y mom’s visit? It just added weight to how empty my life is. When my own mother sees nothing more than dollar signs when she looks at me? Fuck. No wonder I want more.

  I check the time. Michael’s home from work by now. I dial his number. The phone rings once. Twice. A third time.

  A fourth.

  And then voicemail.

  Frowning, I hang up and call Bailey. Nothing.

  A shadow of doubt spreads through me. Something’s wrong.

  BAILEY

  The mattress sags as Lexi sits down next to me. “Bailey?” Her voice comes at me from so far away. So far. I wonder if I should meet her eyes, but that seems too difficult. Too much. So, I don’t.

  Her hand on my arm. Too much sensation. She leans down, trying to meet my eyes.

  “Bay?”

  Her voice is sandpaper. Her touch feels like nettles digging into my skin. She runs a hand over my hair and I flinch.

  “I’ve got soup.” The bed bounces as she stands and then kneels in front of me. “Are you hungry?”

  No. I’m not hungry. I’m filled with an aching void, frozen and numb. There is no hunger when you’re nothing.

  “You need to eat, sweetie.” Her voice cracks and it’s just one more thing I can’t bear. Her grief is too heavy for me when I’m drowning underneath the weight of my own.

  She stands. Moves to the window. Leans her arm on the wall and her head on her arm. Her shoulders shake as she cries. If there was more of me, I’d call to her. Tell her it would be okay. But there’s nothing left in me and nothing is okay. So, I stay silent.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she says. “God, it all hurts so much. I miss him every day and now I’m losing you, too.” She sniffs and I close my eyes.

  Too much.

  A buzz. My phone.

  Lexi crosses the room and plucks it from the night table. “It’s Liam again. Want me to answer it?”

  I shake my head and the world spins. “No.”