by Marta Brown
Our trip. The memories flood my mind, making me feel nauseous all over again, but not in the same way. I’m sick to my stomach with heartbreak.
In one split second, my brother’s fighting for his life and I’m fighting a war with myself between blaming Lane for what happened and still loving him. No matter how hard I try to get my head and heart to merge, in either love or hate, I can’t.
I reach back in the plastic bag and grab the set of blackened keys lying at the bottom. I recognize them immediately by the silver L hanging from the keychain, a gift to Lane from Grandpa Frank. Holding the soot covered letter in my hand I notice an addition to the key ring, one I had never seen before, a beautiful matching silver A.
Tears run down my face as I clutch the book and key ring to my chest. “What have I done?” I cry, wishing Lane was here with me, on my birthday, helping me through this tough time. My heart and head finally merging together. In love.
I bury my face in the crook of my arm, still holding Andrew’s limp hand, while tears soak my sleeve. I feel like I lost both Andrew and Lane the night of the accident and the ache is overwhelming.
“Shhhhh, don’t cry.” I hear someone say faintly before I feel a gentle pressure on my hand. I whip my head up and see Andrew’s eyes fluttering open.
“Andrew? Andrew!”
I jump to my feet, throw open the door and yell down the hall to the nurses’ station until a nurse comes running down the hall frantically.
“Is everything okay?” she says in a panic, out of breath.
“My brother, he’s awake,” I say with a huge smile, tears still streaming down my face, but now they’re full of joy.
…
A flurry of white and blue blur together as nurses and doctors come in and out of the small hospital room checking Andrew’s vitals while my parents and I wait anxiously in the hallway, until finally, Andrew’s primary nurse steps out of the room, and quietly instructs us to let Andrew rest after we have a short visit.
Andrew is propped up against a stack of fluffy white pillows when we enter the dimly lit room. His eyes are open, but he’s squinting like the room is flooded in light. He smiles when he sees us and my heart bursts with happiness seeing him awake.
“Andrew, my darling,” my mother says, leaning over to hug him, careful not to hold him too tight.
“Mom, it’s okay. I’m okay,” Andrew replies, his voice is hoarse as he tries to return her hug but stops when it’s too much of a struggle.
She stands and wipes the tears from her face as my father leans down and kisses my brother’s forehead, his bloodshot eyes shut tight. “My son,” he says before righting himself, and then wrapping my mother in his arms while tears roll down both their faces.
“Hi,” Andrew says softly, when I take his hand in mine.
“Hi,” I whisper back through my smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Kinda sore.” He winces as he tries to readjust his position. “Otherwise I feel alright.” He reaches up, with great effort and touches the bandage wrapped around his head, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “What happened?”
My mother gasps. “You don’t remember?” She looks at my father then back to Andrew with concern, her hand clutched over her heart.
Andrew chuckles. “No, no, I remember I was in an accident. What I meant was, what happened… to me?”
My mother looks instantly relieved.
My father clears his throat. “Son, you had some pretty serious injuries when they brought you in. Two broken ribs, a torn spleen, your left leg was broken in several spots and there was some major swelling in your brain,” he says matter-of-factly. “They were able to alleviate the pressure with surgery but you’ve been in a coma for the last two weeks.”
“What?” Andrew says in a panic. “I’ve been in a coma? For two weeks?”
One of the machines attached to Andrew begins to beep frantically, causing Andrew’s nurse to return suddenly.
“All right, all right,” she says, checking the machine and then fiddling with a pouch of clear liquid hanging above Andrew. She straightens the thin tube running from the bag to the IV in Andrew’s hand. “Let’s get some rest now.” She pats Andrew’s arm then picks up what looks like a small joystick and presses the red button on top. “Just a few more minutes, alright, folks?” the nurse says before walking out and shutting the door behind her.
I watch as Andrew’s eyes become glassy and a warm smile spreads across his face. “Now that’s the good stuff,” he says, making us all laugh. Only Andrew.
“Sweetie, we’re going to let you get some rest,” my mother says, brushing Andrew’s hair from off his forehead. “But we’ll be right here so don’t you worry.”
“Wait,” Andrew says lazily, the pain meds working quickly. “Is Greg okay?”
“Gregory’s fine, dear. You sleep and we’ll give him a call and let him know you’re awake, okay?”
“Fine, Fine,” he says almost dismissively. “But where’s Lane?” Andrew looks at me and then at our parents. His eyes are unfocused from the pain medication, but he looks mad. “Are you two still keeping him and Ashley apart? You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says with as much force as he can muster under sedation.
“Andrew…” I stare at my feet not knowing exactly what to say. “Lane’s not here because…well, we broke up.”
“What? Why?” Disbelief laces his tone and it makes me wince.
“Gregory told us what happened, dear,” my mother explains, crossing her arms. “He said Lane practically forced your hand, manipulated you into taking his place by using his relationship with Ashley to make you feel obligated to race.” My mother shakes her head and tsk’s.
I glance up at my brother and see his eyes are opened wide, and he seems to be fighting against the pain in an effort to push himself into a more seated position.
“I don’t know what the hell Gregory told you, but that is not what happened,” Andrew says as sharply as he can against the weight of the sedatives in his system. “Gregory challenged Lane to another race, but Lane refused to take the bet, so I countered.”
“What in the world was the bet for?” my mother asks from over my shoulder, sounding shocked by this new information and taking the words right out of my mouth.
Andrew looks at me. “You.”
Me?
Why would Gregory bet Lane, and then Andrew, about me? Money, I get. Bragging rights, sure, but me? I stare at Andrew who’s fighting hard to stay awake. The medication must be confusing him.
“Andrew, I think you’re confused,” I say as kindly as possible, trying not to patronize him considering he just woke up from a coma caused by a pretty serious head injury.
Andrew shakes his head. “Ash, the only thing I’m confused about is why in the world you broke up with Lane,” he says. “Gregory bet Lane a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to break up with you and Lane turned him down flat.”
My jaw drops open and only a small sound escapes from the back of my throat. “What?”
“I’m serious. Greg offered Lane enough money to almost completely cover all four years at Yale if he would just breakup with you. He has some kind of warped idea if Lane wasn’t in the picture you guys would get back together. I got so fed up with Gregory and his stupid vendetta against you and Lane that I counter bet him he would have to leave you two alone for good if I won. That’s why I was driving. Lane had nothing to do with it, he even tried to stop me.”
I have to sit down. I grasp behind me until I find the chair I‘ve spent so many days sitting in next to Andrew’s bed and fall into it, my mind barely able to wrap itself around what Andrew is saying.
“You…were racing…for me?” I stammer. “And Lane… turned down the money?” I’m not sure anyone can hear my question since I can hardly hear myself over the pounding in my ears. A shudder runs through my body and just like the night of the accident, in a single second, everything I thought I knew has been shattered.
Andrew strains to take my han
d. “Don’t you know I would do anything to make sure my little sister is happy, and so would Lane for that matter.” Andrew smiles big, even though it looks like it’s taking great effort. “Ash, Lane told Greg you’re the love of his life and no amount of money would ever change that. Lane’s a good guy. A great guy actually.”
The lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow and my already swollen eyes start to fill with fresh tears because I know Lane is better than great; he’s amazing and I’ve lost him.
“Alright now,” my father says, helping me out of the chair and wrapping me in his arms, my knees weak. “Let’s let your brother get some rest, and we’ll get this all sorted out a little later. Okay, sweetie?” He leans down and kisses the top of my head.
“Don’t worry, sis. Lane will understand…I bet you,” Andrew mumbles before closing his eyes and finally letting the drugs take over.
I shake my head as hot tears spill from my eyes and run down my face.
That’s one bet I wouldn’t take if I were him.
Chapter 29
Lane
The sun is too bright. It’s been too bright for the last two weeks.
“Lane? You ready?” Mom yells from the kitchen, her keys clinking together impatiently.
I walk into the kitchen, my backpack thrown over my shoulder with my work uniform getting wrinkled inside. “Yeah, I’m ready,” I answer without a single inflection in my tone, barely able to go through the motions of the day, let alone with enthusiasm.
Mom brushes the hair off my forehead with a sigh. “I know it’s tough right now, honey.”
“Don’t you mean I told you so?” I ask. I’ve been waiting for it for a while now.
“Lane, of course I had my reservations when I found out Ashley was a Stay, but those are my reservations because of my past. Your father never looked at me the way you look at Ashley, and I saw the way she looked at you too. She loves you, sweetie. I know you two will work this out.”
“You weren’t there, Mom, at the hospital, she blames me for Andrew’s accident.” I hang my head. “I don’t know, maybe she’s right.”
“Lane, it was an accident.” Mom puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. “Accidents happen all the time. This was not your fault. I’m sure she was just scared and let that worry for her brother turn into anger.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But I doubt I’ll talk to her before she leaves for school next week. She hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts, so I finally gave up trying. She doesn’t need me bugging her right now anyway, with Andrew still in his coma.”
“These things have a way of working themselves out,” she says with a small smile and a pat on my cheek. “Come on and let’s get you some breakfast in town. A little food will do you good.”
Mom tries to perk me up while we eat. She talks about all the things I’ll be able to do and see in Boston, but it doesn’t help. All it does is remind me of everything I’ve lost.
I wipe my mouth with my napkin then toss it on the table. “Breakfast was great, thanks, Ma.” She glances at my plate, which I barely touched, then gives me a sad smile. “I think I’m gonna head out and walk to work today, get there early and see if I can pick up an extra hour or two.” I may not be going to Yale anymore, but Boston Community College isn’t free either.
I take my time walking to work. It’s nice to be alone and not have to fake like I’m not totally miserable every second. By the time I get there, the early afternoon sun is high above me, and I can feel my nose is sunburned.
I walk into the garage, and I’m surprised to see Sam, in full uniform, standing in Vic’s office. “Sam?”
“Oh, Lane. Great, you’re here early, Officer Evans needs to speak with you.” Vic stands up from behind his desk. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
“Sam? Is everything okay?” I ask after Vic shuts the door of his small office, leaving us alone.
“Everything’s fine—I just had to ask you a few more questions, trying to wrap up this investigation.”
“Sure.” I nod.
“It’s about your tires.”
“What about them? You don’t think they had something to do with the accident, do you?” I ask panicked, praying Sam says no. I’m not sure I could take it if the reason Andrew was hurt was because of my car and I let him drive it.
“Well, we don’t know yet. We only have one of the tires, the rest were burned in the fire, but by the pattern of the skid marks on the road and the way the car flipped, it appears there may have been a malfunction with at least one, if not all four of them.”
I rake my hands through my hair. “Seriously? Do you think I got sold faulty tires? I just got’em, brand new in the spring. Or do you think…” I trail off, unable to finish the question. If they aren’t faulty tires, could the problem be how they were put on? Fear grips my insides. I changed the tires myself, just a few months ago.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, Lane?” he says, jotting down something in a small black notebook he’s pulled from his back pocket.
“I…I put those tires on myself.” I let my statement soak in. It does and quick.
Sam clamps his hand on my shoulder, avoiding my arms that are still wrapped in bandages. “No, no that’s not what I meant. The tires were put on just fine.” Relief washes over me that it wasn’t something I had done incorrectly. Sam glances behind him and then back to me. “The one tire we do have is completely shredded. It’s like he was screeching to a halt over a bunch of glass or nails or something, but besides the debris from the wreck itself, there’s nothing that would have caused that to happen. It’s most likely the tires were bad. Don’t worry, we’re gonna contact the manufacture, see if there’s been any other incidents like this.”
The tires were shredded? Like he was stopping the car hard over glass or nails? I don’t need to close my eyes to remember the sounds of the accident, it replays over and over on a loop in my mind, but I close them just the same.
I watch the memory play back like I’m watching a movie. Andrew pumps his fist in the air before disappearing around the fork at full speed. There’s a screech, then two loud booms and finally crunching metal. It all happens so fast. I run until I’m engulfed by smoke and fear, my eye sight hazy. Andrew’s trapped and unconscious, and there’s fire everywhere. I hear Gregory yelling, but I can’t make out the words. He slams his trunk shut and then lifts his phone to his ear. He’s calling for help. I turn back to Andrew and see blood, everywhere.
I force my eyes open. It’s hard to see Andrew like that, lifeless and bloody. I shake my head, blinking a few times to clear my mind.
“Hey, I didn’t just come down here to ask about the tires, I wanted to let you know the good news,” Sam says, sliding the notebook back in his pocket. “Andrew Whitmore came out of his coma this morning.”
Like a thousand pound stone has fallen off my chest, for the first time since the accident, I’m able to take a deep breath. Andrew’s awake. And on Ashley’s birthday. I can’t help but imagine her, happy and celebrating, and then, in an instant, that thousand pound stone is back and crushing my heart. I miss her so much.
I cough to cover the rising lump in my throat, but even I can tell it’s fake, so I’m sure Sam can too. “Well, can you tell him I hope he…gets well soon? And that I’m sorry.”
“I’m actually going to the hospital to talk to Mr. Whitmore tomorrow…by himself,” Sam says, emphasizing the ‘by himself’ part. I must look confused because he quickly adds, “Andrew Whitmore.”
Oh.
“Really? By himself?”
Sam nods. “At two. I told his parents it would take about an hour, but I don’t suspect it’ll take longer than twenty minutes or so…If you wanna stop by.”
“Thank you,” I manage, unable to clear the lump in my throat with a fake cough this time.
“It’s the least I can do, Lane. You saved his life. He should know.”
…
As I sit in the parking lot of th
e hospital, I can’t help but scan the faces that walk out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ashley.
Twenty past two. It’s now or never.
I feel a pain pierce my chest as I step out of the elevator onto the fourth floor and wander into the empty waiting room. It’s not the same one I last spoke to Ashley in, but it’s practically identical, and the memory of the way she looked at me, and the things she said makes my knees feel unstable again.
I fidget and pace, trying to stop the onslaught of painful memories while I wait for Sam to finish interviewing Andrew.
“Lane?” I hear from behind me and recognize the rigid voice immediately.
Shit. Mr. Whitmore.
Ashley and her father made it quite clear the last time I saw them that I was not welcome here. At all. “Lane,” he says again, this time without a question in his tone.
I turn around slowly and put my hands up in front of my body; trying to show I’m not a threat like one might do with a frightened child or animal. “Sir. I’m sorry, I just wanted to speak with Andrew, make sure he’s okay. I swear I won’t cause a problem, and I’ll leave as soon as I see him,” I say in one long breath, trying to make a case for myself. “Please, sir, just a few minutes and then I’ll go.”
Mr. Whitmore stands firm, staring at me with a look on his face that seems conflicted, then takes three wide steps until he’s directly in front of me. I flinch involuntarily.
“I’m sorry, sir.” I drop my hands to my side and stare at my feet. “I’ll leave.”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he replies softly, causing my head to snap up in disbelief.
“I’m… sorry?”
Mr. Whitmore clears his throat and I see his eyes becoming red and watery. “No, Lane, I’m the one who’s sorry. I spoke with Officer Evans a little while ago, and he let me know what you did for Andrew. You saved my boy,” he says, his voice breaking. “I should have trusted Ashley’s judgment about you. I was wrong. You are a fine young man, and I am truly sorry for how I treated you.”
