by Sally Henson
“Yes. Thank you for inviting me to ride with you.”
“You’ll let us know if you need anything, won’t you?” Mr. Cary asks as he pulls out of my drive.
I latch my seat belt, fold my arms tight against me, and stare out the door window. “Yes. I will. Thank you.”
And we begin the hour-and-a-half journey of uncomfortable conversation with his parents. After we’re on the interstate, Lane insists on connecting his phone for music.
I don’t mind at all because he turns it loud enough, I don’t feel it necessary to talk anymore. I close my eyes and angle toward my window.
My peace only lasts a few seconds before Lane’s hand lands on my leg. He whispers in my ear, “Talk to me.”
The musky cologne he wears tries to break down my walls. I open my eyes and his face is inches from mine. “Why?” I ask, pushing his hand away. I would push him back to his side of the car, but I don’t want his parents involved. “You don’t care what I have to say.”
“That’s not true,” he whispers in a low, broken voice.
I move as far away from him as possible. Which isn’t that much space at all, since we’re confined to the backseat of his mom’s car and he’s already on my side.
“You are going back to Florida for the summer after I gave up Eckerd’s program for you.” Because of Lane, I missed out on my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
He stays close—can’t keep his hands off me. Any other time, I would love it. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. But I won’t be gone all summer. And when I get back, I won’t be working. We can do anything you want. Anything. I promise.”
Our voices are quiet enough, only we can hear each other but I catch his dad looking at us in the rearview mirror several times. It’s like seeing future Lane twenty years from now.
I shake my head and wipe a tear. I have been on the verge of crying since my eyes landed on him.
“I love you,” Lane whispers, kissing my ear through my hair. “Please, Regan. I screwed up. Don’t be mad at me anymore. I can’t take it.” His voice wavers.
I scoff but only halfway mean it. He’s been with me through a lot. Loved me when no one else did.
I wipe a tear from my cheek and finally look him in the eyes. They glisten, waiting for me to say something. “I never thought you were a double-standard kind of guy.”
“I—I…” He swallows so loudly, it sounds like a gulp. “I’m a jealous jerk, okay? I want to keep you all to myself. Hook, Cam…it doesn’t matter who it is. You say I shouldn’t be, but you’re so damn amazing, you don’t even know it.” His fingers graze the tender skin on the back of my hand before they lace with mine.
I shouldn’t let him do it, but I don’t pull away. My chest aches from fury and longing all aimed at the boy who’s had my heart for so long, I don’t ever remember it belonging to me. “I don’t feel amazing.” I sniff and wipe a tear.
“I know you don’t.” His voice cracks. “You make me feel like I could do anything, take on the world, be on the radio…anything. I’m sorry I haven’t done that for you. I want to. Starting right now.”
I let him hold my hand the rest of the drive to St. Louis, but I don’t join in any more conversations.
When Mr. Cary parks, I send a message to Linc that I’m here. He flew to St Louis in the middle of the week and has stayed near the hospital ever since. I wasn’t sure how Dad would handle his son bedside, but what’s Dad going to do about it? He’s been in and out of consciousness and can’t talk with a tube down his throat helping him breathe.
As I step out onto the concrete, Lane’s by my side. He shuts my door and slips his arms around me, holding me tight, and buries his face in my neck. I just stand there at first, his musky cologne and all his sorries and tear-filled eyes finally wearing me down.
I hug him back. Cam and Tobi said I was stupid if I talked to Lane right now. I’m not stupid, but I’m obviously weak. “Let’s go inside, okay?”
He nods, and we head for the stairs of the parking lot.
His dad calls, “You two go ahead. We’ll catch up.”
Lane keeps step with me as we wind our way to the elevators that take us to Dad’s floor. As his luck would have it, no one else is in the elevator. He steps so close and caresses my face the way that makes me feel special. He turns that intense gaze on me. The one that feels like he’s looking deep into my soul. “God,” he mutters, “I don’t deserve this girl.” He lands a silky, soft kiss on my lips that warms my skin and leaves me wanting more.
My heart and brain battle it out, crumpling me into a ball of confused emotions. The kiss softens my body into his. I’m about to give in and taste his lips when the elevator stops, and the doors open. I put some space between us and do my best to blink away the fog.
Lane doesn’t allow me to move too far though.
A man and woman, wearing white doctor coats, step in. The woman grins and greets us. “Morning.”
Lane clears his throat and says, “Morning.”
When the doors open again, the two step out, but a woman in pink scrubs carrying a plastic blue container joins us. I keep my eyes on the lit numbers above the door, watching quietly until we stop at fifth floor.
The first thing I see as the doors open is my brother. “Sis.”
I rush to Lincoln for a hug, burying my face in his chest. Guilt hits me for being annoyed with him for pushing Eckerd camp—for cringing every time I had to be in the same room with my dad—for not being happy that Lane gets a chance to work with Mr. West again.
“How is he today?” I ask in a muffled, raspy voice.
“You okay?” He pulls away, looking back and forth between Lane and me.
Tension fills the air. More tension anyway. It’s already volatile. We would probably have explosions if Lincoln knew why I didn’t send in the papers to Eckerd.
I nod.
Lane steps forward with his hand extended. He looks bigger, taller, all of a sudden. “Good to see you, Linc.”
Lincoln stands to his full height and grips Lane’s hand for a firm shake. “Yeah. Thanks for bringing her over.”
They eye each other, communicating in a silent language I don’t understand. My brother keeps his arm draped over my shoulder and turns us toward Dad’s room. Lane’s left to trail behind us.
“He’s talking,” Lincoln says. “Doing good without the ventilator. And I should warn you…he’s a little different.”
I knit my eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a soft chuckle.
I’m not a fan of surprises. It’s just a way of delaying bad news.
The further down the bright hallway we travel, the more my stomach hurts. When I first saw Lane in the car, it was like someone sucked all the breath out of me. But this, this is like my stomach turning to lead in the middle of the ocean.
“Maybe I should wait for my parents?” Lane asks. “Unless you want me there, Regan.”
Linc shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. He’s been asking to see both of you.”
I glance back at Lane. His furrowed brow shows he’s as uneasy as I am.
Linc knocks before pushing the door open. I see Mom first, sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed. She looks good for being here 24/7 since Dad’s surgery.
The mechanical inhale and exhale noise of the ventilator is gone. Lincoln nudges me forward. I peek around the striped curtain and see a frail man in an elevated bed. An invisible fist punches my chest. I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. Dad looks bad even though he has some color in his face, besides the purple bruising.
There’s not enough lead to drown me, but I don’t know how long I can tread water like this. “Hey, Dad.” I creep forward.
“Regan,” Dad says in a gruff whisper of a voice. He reaches for a hug. My throat tightens. When was the last time he hugged me? I may not drown, but losing it is still a probability.
“Are you…” I stop myself. I don’t even know
what to say. “Feeling better?” I ask before I lean in for a quick hug.
He smiles with watery eyes. “Your mother says you were here for days.”
I nod, barely touching him because I don’t want to hurt him. This arm has an IV, but the other has a splint.
What did Lincoln mean by “different”? Dad’s probably on pain killers and who knows what else. A punctured lung, a broken arm and leg, concussion, bruised spleen and whatever else is wrong will definitely make you different. For a while anyway.
Dad eyes Lane and calls him over. Hearing his weak voice makes this feel more unreal. I’ve never seen my dad so fragile before. Ever.
I sit on the chair next to his bed.
Lane grabs the stool from the corner of the beige walls and sits next to me. “Hey, Mr. Stone. You’re looking better.”
The smile on Dad’s face twitches. “Regan—” his eyes glaze over again— “You didn’t deserve what I put you through. I am so proud of you and so ashamed of myself.”
Lane’s hand finds the small of my back. It helps steady me because I can’t believe that just came out of my dad’s mouth.
I bite my lip and try to hold in all the emotions from the last couple of weeks. When I glance at my brother, he nods, wearing an I told you so smile.
Dad lets out a pathetic cough, and Mom is out of her chair and next to him in a flash. She helps him take a drink, and then he continues, “I want you to go to the camp this summer.”
I blink at his words as tears sting my eyes. He wants me to go to Eckerd? I nod, fighting to make sense of this. Going to camp is not a possibility anymore. Cameron checked the cutoff date after Lane announced he would not be around. That date is long gone.
The pressure from Lane’s hand increases. I can’t even believe this. Is dad changing his mind about marine science? My chest tightens as I try not to let my mind go there.
Dad turns his gaze on Lane. “I want to apologize to you too.”
While my dad pauses, reaching for his cup, Lane rubs both palms up and down his thighs as if he’s nervous. I don’t blame him. Dad’s not himself.
“Tim,” Mom warns, helping him with another drink. “You should rest.”
Dad shakes his head and continues, “I should have never asked that of you. It wasn’t fair to you or Regan.”
Lane stands. “No,” he shakes his head, “you don’t need to say anything.” He glances at me. “It’s okay. Really.”
Dad waves his hand for Lane to sit. It’s hard to read his expressions because of the bruising.
But Lane is…I’m not sure what’s going on with him. He runs his hand through his hair and grimaces as he sits. “Mr. Stone, please. It’s okay.”
Dad looks back and forth between me and Lane and chokes out the words, “It was all my fault, Regan.”
My chest tightens even more. It’s been tight since I got in the car this morning. “What’s your fault?”
“Mr. Stone,” Lane says, higher-pitched than normal. “You should rest.”
I turn my gaze on Lane. Disheveled hair, wild eyes. Are those sweat beads on his forehead? “What’s he talking about?”
Lane shakes his head. As soon as he makes eye contact, he looks away. “Nothing. I…” He swallows so loudly, the whole room had to have heard him.
I glance at Mom. Her lips press into a thin line, keeping her focus on Dad. When I silently ask my brother what Dad’s talking about, he shrugs as if he doesn’t understand, but his eyes are wide with concern.
I look back to Lane’s hunched posture. He’s hiding something. A thread of panic works through me. I stand, causing the chair to scrape against the hard, speckled floor. “What?” I ask. “Tell me.”
Dad reaches for my hand, and I take his. “It’s not his fault,” he says.
“What’s not?” I ask, staring at Dad, waiting for the brick upside the head because I know it’s coming. Whatever this is, I’ve never seen Lane like this before, it’s that bad.
“I let him see you when you were grounded on one condition.” Dad catches his breath.
I look down at Lane, hanging his head in his hands. Salty liquid threatens to drop from the corners of my eyes. I squeak out, “What condition?”
Lane lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes are wide and begging for something I’m not sure of. He stands. “I wanted to tell you. I tried…”
Dad coughs, drawing my attention back to him. He squeezes my fingers ever so slightly. “I asked him to change your mind about marine science. Keep you close to home.” He coughs again.
Mom stutters a disbelief.
Linc barks as he crosses the room.
Lane utters what I think are apologies, maybe explanations, but all I hear is noise and then the roar of rushing water.
More voices carry through the air, but all I can do is stare at the boy I thought was my best friend. The one who said he was in love with me. The one who helped take my dreams away.
Lane’s beautiful blue eyes are full of fear and as shallow as a mud puddle. His lips move, those lips I couldn’t get enough of, but I don’t hear what they’re saying.
Pain explodes from my chest, shooting like bottle rockets from my heart in every direction.
No secrets. We agreed to that in his dorm room when I saw his ex kiss him in the coffee house. How many more secrets does he have?
My birthday, all the moments we’ve had, the I love you’s…Was any of it real?
Is that why he didn’t want to be closer? My stomach clenches, threatens to empty its contents right here on the hospital floor. I swallow it back.
Lane moves so close, his breath heats my skin. “Say something,” he pleads.
But I can’t.
It’s all I can do to even breathe right now. I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head in disbelief while the bickering voices continue in the background.
Tears stream down my saturated face in a never-ending flow, and I shrink inside myself to the insignificance that I obviously am.
I need to get out of here.
I angle past Lane, shirking out of his grip of my wrist, and past the people I thought of as family until I’m out the door.
The bright hall turns into a narrow tunnel that goes on as far as I can see. Even though everything is a blur from all the tears, I manage to find the sign for the stairs. I push through the door and run up the steps, huffing and puffing, until I escape to the top floor. Once I am safe inside the bathroom, I lock the door and collapse in the corner.
My phone vibrates with a phone call. There’s no way I’m talking to anyone right now.
I reach up and tear some toilet paper off and blow my nose. Call after call, message after message comes in, and I finally look at my phone.
Lane, Lincoln, Lane, Lincoln, unknown number, and repeat.
I thought I wanted Lane to keep trying to call and text me earlier, but not anymore. I want the liar to leave me alone. I am NOT riding home with him. If my brother won’t take me, I’ll call Cameron.
I send my brother a message.
Me: I’m NOT staying here and I’m NOT going home with the Carys.
Me: If you won’t take me home, I’ll get a ride somewhere else.
Lane calls. No thank you. I press the red button to end it before it even starts. I switch screens to send Cam a message.
Me: If I need you to pick me up at the hospital in St. Louis, no questions asked, will you?
A message comes in from my brother.
Linc: Where are you? Mom and Dad are worried. So am I.
Me: I’m safe. In the hospital. But I’m not going back there.
Me: I’ll just find my own ride.
A message from Lane comes in as I send the last one, but I ignore it and read Cam’s.
Cam: Yes. Unequivocally. I’ll leave in ten minutes.
Cam’s the best. He’s been a real friend since Spring Break. I wipe my tears and hug Cam’s message close to my heart. This has been the worst year of my life.
The phone vibrates against my ches
t. I look at the screen.
Linc: Of course, I’ll take you home. I think I need a break from this place too. Do you want to come back and say goodbye?
A bitter, angry laugh rolls out of me. Is he crazy?
Me: No!
I quickly message Cam back and thank him for being my hero. Then I send him and Tobi a message about what Dad said and that I would talk to them later about it.
Lane keeps calling. I can’t even think. All I know is he hurt me more than anyone has before. And my body is shaking, and he won’t leave me alone.
I make arrangements to meet Lincoln at his car in twenty minutes and shut my phone off.
How could a father do something like that to his daughter? I can’t believe he used my love for Lane against me like that.
And Lane…he was everything. The only one who loved me through it all. But it’s been a lie since the first time he said I love you. I would have done anything for him—was ready or him to know all of me.
Every painful beat of my heart pulls me back into the darkness I thought I left behind.
43
REGAN
“Regan,” Linc hollers, pounding on my door, “I made breakfast. Get your butt in here.”
The banging makes my head feel like it could burst at any second. I don’t want breakfast. I want this headache, this heartache, to go away.
I make my way to the bathroom and splash some water on my puffy face. There are two acetaminophens left in the bottle. I’d say it was my lucky day if my life hadn’t shattered into a thousand pieces two days ago. I pop the pills in my mouth and swallow them down.
The smell of brewed coffee hangs in the air as I pad down the hall to the kitchen for a tall glass of water.
