Hooked (Harlequin Teen)

by Liz Fichera

  Chapter 47

  Fred

  AN ENGINE REVVED as a vehicle turned into the dirt road that led to our trailer.

  My glass of orange juice slipped through my fingers.

  When I stood, the glass dropped to the dirt and landed with a thud. Every muscle in my arm and fingers froze. Without warning, the quiet morning turned sideways.

  “Seth,” I murmured darkly. The roar from his monster truck haunted my thoughts whether I was awake or asleep.

  The vehicle wound its way among the leafy paloverde branches that hid our trailer from the road, its tires creeping along the dirt like snakes. The Labs barked and circled, but even the echo of their anxious yelps didn’t drown out the pounding at my temples. My eyes clouded with fear.

  When my knees threatened to buckle, I gripped the back of the chair. I should have bolted, but my legs wouldn’t budge.

  The car stopped at the edge of the front yard. The driver turned off the ignition and climbed out of the vehicle, slowly. The sky went silent, and for some reason my eyes could focus only on the ground.

  I watched as a pair of black Converse shoes hit the ground, both at the same time. The door closed quietly. My eyes traveled from the rubber soles to the top button of a faded pair of jeans. I couldn’t meet his face, not yet.

  I swallowed. “Seth.” I braced for the worse.

  The voice said, “No. It’s me.”

  I blinked, my vision clearing. “Ryan?” My jaw loosened with the sound of his name.

  Ryan walked toward me with his palms raised as if I were getting ready to jump off a twenty-story ledge and he was trying to talk me down. His hair looked like he’d dragged his hands through it a hundred times and hadn’t bothered with a comb in a week.

  “Fred,” he said. “Just hear me out. Please.” He looked as shocked to see me as I was him.

  The dogs trailed alongside his legs, their tails wagging. He lowered his hands, but he didn’t unlock his gaze from mine. He took a few more cautious steps, closing the distance between us.

  “Ryan?” I said again, tilting my head in disbelief. I couldn’t believe that I was watching Ryan Berenger move toward me like an apparition in my own front yard. Was this a dream, too? I was too numb to be embarrassed. “I thought you were Seth—”

  “I’m definitely not Seth,” he added quickly.

  I nodded, though still not completely convinced. I didn’t know what to believe at this point.

  “I tried calling you. Last night. After…” His voice trailed off, and then he swallowed. As if he needed to remind me. “I guess your phone doesn’t work.”

  He bent down and picked up my fallen blanket. I watched the top of his head shimmer in the morning light.

  “Sorry about the juice,” he said, dumping the rest of it in the dirt. He put the glass on the chair and cleared his throat. If he noticed the crushed beer cans littering the front yard, his eyes didn’t say.

  “What,” I said, summoning each word. “Are. You. Doing. Here?”

  “I had to see you.” He laid the blanket on the chair.

  “But—”

  “And I know you just want me to leave you alone, and I will, I promise, but I needed to apologize. In person. This couldn’t wait.”

  I finally remembered to breathe.

  “I didn’t know about the note till Riley told me.”

  “Riley…” I said.

  “It wasn’t from me.” He stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “It was Seth.” He paused and inhaled loudly. “He’s an idiot. And so am I. I am so sorry, Fred. I never meant to hurt you.” He extended one hand but then pulled it back when I didn’t reach for it.

  “But…” I said, my body still reeling from seeing Ryan. “How did you find me?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a sheepish smile. “I saw George Trueblood. He was out walking next to the road. I asked him. He told me.”

  “And you drove all the way out here to tell me that the note wasn’t yours, that Seth wrote it?” Still not computing.

  Ryan nodded again, slowly, like he was waiting for me to catch up. “But there’s more I’d like to say.”

  My hands began to shake. “I have to sit down.”

  Ryan continued to stand while I sat. Finally, he said, “Can I sit with you?”

  I waved absently to the other plastic chair and then buried my shaking hands between my legs.

  “It’s so quiet out here,” Ryan said, looking all around the yard as he carried the other plastic chair from next to the house and placed it across from me.

  “Uh-huh,” I said vaguely. “Well, it is kind of early.”

  “I can see why you’d like living out here,” he added. “All of this space.” His eyes scanned the carport and along the front of the house before finally landing on the putting green. My putter leaned against the house. “Seriously?” he looked at me, wide-eyed.

  I knew what he was referring to. It wasn’t every day you saw a putting green made up of multicolored carpet samples. “Ryan.” I grew a little impatient. “What else do you have to tell me? This could have waited till Monday.”

  “No, it couldn’t. What Seth did was too—” he paused, shook his head and sighed “—whacked. I mean, he should be arrested for what he did.”

  “He’s nothing but a bully, Ryan. And if he’s your best friend, then you’re just as bad.”

  Ryan winced. “I am not a bully, Fred.”

  I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him, not after last night. Not after everything that had happened.

  “And I know this is going to sound crazy, but Seth used to be a pretty good guy. I know that he’s changed recently and what he did last night was horrible. But if you got to know each other…” His voice trailed off.

  My eyes widened. “Yeah, well, I don’t see that happening.”

  “He was picked on pretty badly when we were kids. His real dad got killed by a drunk driver when he was just a baby and his stepdad is pretty tough on him.”

  “So that makes it okay?” I snorted.

  “I’m just asking you to try to understand—”

  I lifted my palm, stopping him. “You think Seth Winter is the only one who hasn’t had it easy? Look around, Ryan. You’ve got to wake up.”

  “I know.” He dragged his fingers over the front of his head. “I’m trying.”

  Another wave of reality washed over me, enough for my entire body to shudder. My gaze darted back to the road leading to our trailer. Trevor could arrive any minute. “You better leave before my brother gets home.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Yeah. The one you and Seth ran off the freeway a while back.”

  Ryan looked at me, stunned. “That was your brother?”

  I shot up, knocking back my chair, glaring down at him. My chest ached from breathing so hard. “So that was you! How could you? You ran my brother off the road? You could have killed him! How could you be so cruel?”

  Ryan’s head dropped into his hands. He faced the dirt. His fingers wound through his hair. “I wasn’t driving, Fred. It was Seth.”

  “So that makes it okay?” I yelled.

  His face turned up to me, paler than before. “Of course not.” In a softer voice, he said, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. You’ve got to believe me. Please…”

  “Did you even try to stop Seth before he ran Trevor off the road?”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head, my voice hoarse. “Well, you didn’t try hard enough.”

  He nodded, his gaze locked onto mine. “You’re right. I should have tried harder. I should have forced him to stop. And I am so sorry, Fred.”

  My breathing slowed, watching his head drop again, his fingers thread through his hair. I sank back into my chair, thoroughly and utterly exhausted. I wanted Ryan Berenger away from me, away from our home, and yet I couldn’t say the words that would make him leave. “You’ve got to wake up, Ryan,” I said again.

  Ryan inhaled
and then said, “But that’s not everything I wanted to say.” He leaned his elbows onto his knees. “There’s more—”

  I interrupted him. “Riley already told me.”

  His eyebrows pulled together. “Told you what?”

  “That you’re leaving. You’re going to live with your uncle.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth. I hated myself for caring that Ryan was leaving. I hated that, despite everything, the news pulled on my heart.

  “Yes, I am. And—”

  A high-pitched scream filled the inside of the trailer, shattering the silent desert.

  “Oh, my god.” I sat up and turned toward the front door. But it was closed.

  “Who was that?” Ryan sat straighter.

  I leaped up. “My mom.” I ran for the front door. I could feel Ryan running behind me. I didn’t even think about telling him to wait outside.

  “Mom!” I yelled as I burst through the door and ran through the house. “What’s wrong? What happened?” A sick feeling rose to the top of my throat, fearful that she’d picked today of all days to start drinking early. What would I tell Ryan? A hundred ugly thoughts filled my head.

  Mom wailed again from her bedroom, long and loud. Wounded.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” I raced into my parents’ bedroom, Ryan at my heels.

  The window shade was still drawn, and I squinted against the dim gray light. All I saw was Mom in her white nightgown. She floated around the dark room like a ghost, wringing her hands over her head, screaming.

  “It’s your father!” she yelled, leaping back onto the bed. “Oh, my god. He’s not breathing!”

  “Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” I said, my whole body shaking as I felt my way to the right side of the bed. “Dad!” I dropped alongside him to the floor and reached for his hand. His skin was clammy and cold. “Dad!” I screamed, patting his hand to wake him.

  “Call 911,” Ryan said, his voice the only calm tone in the room. “Now.”

  “But the phone,” I cried. Had he forgotten already that our number was disconnected? Again?

  Ryan tossed a cell phone from his pocket and wedged himself next to Dad. I shifted so that I sat closer to Dad’s head. “Let me through, Fred,” Ryan said, sounding strangely steady, as if he did this kind of thing all the time. “I can help.”

  Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or maybe it was the effortless way his body moved, but I obeyed Ryan without question. I leaned against the headboard and watched him like we were all characters in some kind of hazy dream.

  Oddly, Mom didn’t ask about Ryan or wonder why a strange white boy was inside our trailer giving orders. She was too busy wailing into her hands.

  “Hank.” Mom choked back a sob. “Please, don’t leave me. Please.” She stroked the hair off his forehead.

  Mom’s pleas tore at my heart. It was rare to hear her speak so tenderly to Dad, to anyone. My hands shook as I pressed the buttons on Ryan’s cell phone, coaxing myself to concentrate.

  The keys glowed green in the muted darkness. With my left hand, I dialed the phone with my thumb. My right hand stayed wrapped around Dad’s hand. Not a muscle stirred inside mine, but I continued to squeeze his hand anyway.

  “Mr. Oday?” Ryan said loudly. “Can you hear me?” He pressed his fingers to Dad’s neck. “Fred, Mrs. Oday, I need you both to sit back and give me some room. Please.”

  I inched deeper into the headboard, waiting for an operator to answer, my left hand shaking as I clutched the phone to my ear.

  Mom knelt higher in the middle of the bed. “Hank.” Her moans sank along with her body. “Hank…”

  Ryan pressed both palms against Dad’s chest. “One, two, three, four…” he said, pumping his chest.

  The operator said, “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “My father isn’t breathing,” I cried into the phone.

  “What is your location?” the operator asked, blessedly calm, and I told her. “Please, hurry,” I said, but the operator instructed me to stay on the line. I kept the phone pressed against my ear, watching Ryan, tears streaming down my face.

  Ryan continued to count, unruffled. Hovering above Dad’s chest, he inhaled and exhaled in clipped, ragged breaths, like he was getting ready to dive into a pool. His palms continued to press against Dad’s chest, and, for a moment, I thought I felt Dad squeeze my hand.

  My heart fluttered its own anxious response.

  “He squeezed my hand!” I said, my voice cracking, but Ryan ignored me. His hands still pumped against Dad’s chest.

  Then Ryan pressed his mouth over Dad’s, blowing hard. After three quick blows, he sat up, still pumping Dad’s chest. “Come on, Mr. Oday. Come on!” he yelled over Mom’s cries.

  “Please, Dad,” I sobbed. “Please, wake up. Please!” The room continued to spin with the weight of all of the sounds, Mom’s wails, Ryan’s steady chants, my own heavy breathing, even the growing thickness of the air.

  The operator returned to the line and said, “The paramedics are almost there. Stay strong, young lady.”

  “I will,” I muttered breathlessly. “I am.”

  “One, two, three, four…” Ryan continued to chant, pressing all his weight against Dad’s chest. He bent over him for more mouth-to-mouth in steady, even breaths. He leaned back on his knees and sucked in a breath

  My own breathing stopped. I thought Ryan was giving up.

  But then without another word or even a glance at me, Ryan balled his fist, lifted it high above his head and let it crash against the middle of Dad’s chest.

  *

  Somewhere between Mom’s screams and the three paramedics who flooded the trailer, I watched, paralyzed, as Dad was connected to a hundred different clear tubes and then lifted onto a stretcher.

  Strange smells filled the room, sharp ones that you’d prefer to forget. Someone turned on the overhead light and raised the window shade, drenching the bedroom in morning light, making it bright and cheery when it was anything but. Ugly words like faint pulse, barely breathing, cold skin, and heart attack invaded the bedroom like stains.

  When the paramedics hauled in the stretcher, Ryan gently pried my fingers from Dad’s hands, one finger at a time. “He started to squeeze,” I insisted, daring anyone to doubt me. “I know he did. I felt it. Twice, I think.”

  “Yes, you did,” Ryan said quietly. “Come on, Fred. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  “What about Mom?” I said, my voice cracking. “Where is she?” I suddenly realized that the wailing and moaning had stopped. She was gone.

  “She’ll ride in the ambulance with your dad.” Carefully, he took both my hands in his and coaxed me to my feet. He held me till my knees stopped shaking. My legs tingled from being wedged into a single position for so long. How long, though? I wasn’t certain.

  Ryan dropped one of my hands but held the other.

  “Where are they taking him?” I dragged my free hand down one cheek. It was damp from tears.

  “Phoenix General,” Ryan said. “I know the way.”

  We followed the paramedics, but I stopped at the front door, staring at all the red-and-white flashing lights outside the window. The ambulance and fire truck dwarfed the front yard. “Will he be all right?” I whispered to Ryan, tugging back on his arm. Pleading. Begging. “Will he?”

  When Ryan didn’t answer right away, my chest tightened.

  But then he said, “Yes. He’ll be okay.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “The paramedics are doing everything they can.”

  I drew back a breath, mostly to steady another wave of nausea. My body began to sway. Ryan swept his arm around my shoulder. My vision turned cloudy again.

  “Come on,” Ryan said. He pulled me forward, gently. “Let’s go.”

  As I climbed into the passenger seat of Ryan’s Jeep, the ambulance had already vanished down the driveway with its sirens wailing and lights flashing. “Hurry, Ryan. Please.”

  Ryan turned the ignition, a
nd within seconds, we were behind the ambulance. “Seat belt, Fred,” he said, buckling his own.

  I pulled the strap across my chest and then placed my hands in my lap. I stared ahead, anxious, until Ryan placed his warm hand over mine. My eyes dipped briefly to study our hands. Then, slowly, I studied Ryan’s profile. His brow was furrowed; his jaw, set. He concentrated on the ambulance like he expected it to disappear. Finally, I said, “How did you know what to do?”

  Ryan swallowed, pressing hard on the accelerator to keep up with the ambulance as it approached the freeway. “My mom’s a doctor.” His shoulders shrugged. “Some parents take their kids to the zoo when they’re little. My mom took me to medical seminars. I just kind of learned.” He sniffed, embarrassed-like. “From watching people.”

  I looked back down at his right hand like I was seeing it, touching it, for the first time. It was smooth and slightly tanned with a smattering of freckles, brownish-orange like his sister’s skin. A blue vein bulged above the middle knuckle. Suddenly I felt compelled to press my cheek against it. And then I kissed the back of his hand before brushing it against my cheek. A few stray tears landed on his knuckles, but I quickly wiped them away with my thumb. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice catching again, just as Ryan’s Adam’s apple rose very slowly. When it finally returned to the base of his neck, I threaded my fingers through his hand and concentrated on the windshield.

  I watched the ambulance’s silver bumper all the way down the freeway, each shiny red letter searing itself permanently into my brain. I was afraid to blink, afraid that if I did, Dad would disappear forever.

  We didn’t speak again until we reached the hospital.

  Chapter 48

  Ryan

  THE SLIDING GLASS DOORS TO THE Phoenix General emergency room burst open when Fred and I raced through, making that sharp, swishing airport sound the moment our feet met the mat.

  I knew hospitals well. The incessant buzzing and bells and antiseptic smells were familiar. I’d seen this one’s pale yellow walls and linoleum floors plenty of times and plenty of places like them. Cold, impersonal, detached. Oddly, I felt right at home.