“What happened, Harry?” Noah asks.
Harry’s body relaxes next to mine, and I take that as a good sign, but his face hardens.
“You know, good old Dad. He came to the house, expecting to find Mum. I guess she forgot to tell him she’d be at the spa for the week,” he says with a cackle, like he finds his own words amusing. Like he thinks what he has to say is funny. Like he expects us to be laughing with him.
We stay silent.
I reach out, putting my hand on his leg. He looks down at it and then glances at me. His eyes are wide, and he seems merely curious as to why I’m touching him. I keep my hand there, my heart pounding.
“He roughed me up a bit yesterday—nothing unusual. Unfortunately, the headmaster called this morning to inform him that I had gotten detention and skipped a few classes this week. He didn’t take that too well,” Harry says, reaching for one of the liquor bottles.
I consider stopping him, but I can see Harry’s hand shaking as he grasps the bottle.
Noah takes the bottle from Harry and then brings it to his own lips.
Harry looks at me blankly, and I withdraw my hand, feeling my stomach twist. Because I’m part of the reason he got detention. I was kissing him in the hallway. I didn’t insist that he come to class. It is my fault that he is in this position.
Harry grabs a different bottle, taking more than a few gulps. Noah instantly pulls it away from him.
“Come on, mate. Let’s get you up to the bath. You stink,” Noah comments, putting his arm around Harry’s waist.
Harry makes a pathetic attempt to fight off Noah, but Noah manages to pull him up off the couch. The minute he does, Harry’s legs go slack, but Mohammad is right there at his side, putting Harry’s other arm over his shoulder.
“Make him a cup of coffee and get some ice for his eye,” Noah whispers to me as he and Mohammad take Harry out of the room and try to get him up the stairs.
I wait for them to leave and then rush into the kitchen.
I’m searching through the cabinets in a panic.
I finally find some instant coffee in a cupboard. Fortunately, the kettle is sitting atop the stove, so I don’t have to look for it. I add water and heat it up.
I rush over to the fridge, searching for an ice pack. Shit. They don’t have one. I move a few boxes of frozen food, finding a bag of peas. When the kettle sounds, I search the cabinets for a mug, throw in some coffee, and then pour the water over it.
I grab a bag of chips as well. Harry always eats them at school, so maybe he’ll eat them now. I take everything into my hands, trying to slow my heartbeat. I need to get upstairs to help. I need to be there for Harry.
I push my shoulders back, going up to Harry’s room. I slip quietly into his bedroom, putting the coffee and chips on the bedside table before peeking into the bathroom.
“It’s all I could find,” I whisper, waving the bag of peas in Noah’s direction.
Mohammad and Noah have gotten Harry stripped to his underwear and into the tub. Harry’s eyes are blank, and he barely blinks.
Mohammad is bathing him, running the water down over Harry’s shoulders and across his hair.
“Thanks,” Noah says, meeting me at the door. “Just wait out here.”
I nod but then grab Noah’s arm. “Your mom wants us to bring him back to your house, right?”
“I’m not sure we’ll get him there,” Noah says, shaking his head.
My eyes instantly pool with tears.
Even though I’m not in the bathroom with them, I am able to watch them.
Watch how gentle Noah and Mohammad are with him.
How they get him clean.
How they dry him off.
How Noah puts cream on Harry’s lip.
How Harry doesn’t move the entire time. Or say anything.
“All right, let’s get you to bed,” Noah says, wrapping his arm around Harry again.
They all come out of the bathroom and get Harry onto his bed. He lays his head against his headboard, staring at me. I move to the corner of the room, trying to hide, but his gaze follows me.
Mohammad gets into bed with him, and Noah turns on all the lights before walking over to me and taking me to the bed.
“Hold the peas on his cheek,” he instructs, making me sit down.
I watch Harry close his eyes, but Mohammad shakes him. “Nope, sorry, lad, but you’re going to have to stay up with us. You’ve got company. This isn’t anytime to go to sleep.”
I carefully place the bag of peas on Harry’s swollen face.
Harry’s lids push open again, but it’s almost like he isn’t even seeing us.
I look over to Noah, who is now pacing.
“Hold this,” I tell Mohammad before pulling Noah out into the hallway.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m worried Harry might have taken something. I’m not sure. I’ve seen him plastered before. I’ve been here after his dad was rough with him. But it’s never been this bad.”
“Do we need to take him to the hospital?” I ask, my eyes going wide. “Because if we do, we shouldn’t be sitting around here, waiting.”
“I think he just needs to let it out. He’s making a joke of it all,” Noah says, shaking his head.
“What do you want to do then?”
“I need to call Olivia,” he states.
“What?” I ask, instantly more upset. “Why would you do that? They aren’t even getting along.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s been here for him before. And she was the only one to bring him out of this … last time,” Noah stutters and looks like he might cry.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Call her. But if there’s any chance he’s taken something, if he doesn’t come out of this state, we need to take him to the hospital right away. Or at least call a doctor.”
Noah nods, agreeing with me.
I walk back over to the bed and sit down beside Harry.
“I’m back for ice duty,” I say, hoping he might smile at my lame attempt at a joke.
His face remains hardened, and he doesn’t laugh.
“I’m tired,” is all he says.
Mohammad props him back up, not letting him lie down.
“We can’t go to bed yet,” Mohammad tells him. “We have some fun things to talk about. Like, did you hear that Mallory has water duty with Olivia at Noah’s match tomorrow? Ten bucks says they’ll end up in a water fight.”
Mohammad looks hopeful, his face light.
But he gets no reaction.
“I’m not sure. Olivia and I have been getting along,” I comment, not wanting to upset Harry. I know that he probably isn’t listening, or he doesn’t care, but I correct Mohammad just in case.
“That might be even scarier,” Mohammad admits, attempting to keep the conversation going.
As I gently dab the ice across Harry’s cheek, I bite my lip, aching for him to say something.
To look at me.
I want to kiss him and make him feel better. But his eyes are so glazed over, I’m scared to even try.
I get up off the bed, walking over to Noah, who is still pacing.
“He hasn’t said a word, except that he’s tired,” I say, my concern growing.
“Let’s go make sure the front door is unlocked for Olivia,” Noah replies, and I can tell he’s aching for something to do.
“All right.”
“She should be here by now,” Noah says, his frustration growing.
But before I can even respond, Olivia bangs through the front door, her eyes wild.
“Where is he?” she almost shouts, her voice strained.
“Up in his bedroom,” Noah says, motioning.
Olivia stops upon seeing me. My heart sinks, and I think hers does too. It only momentarily pauses her though.
We all run up the stairs.
When Noah opens the door to Harry’s bedroom, Olivia’s hand goes to her mouth at the sight of him. She takes in his injuries, the way
his head is resting against Mohammad’s, and his cold and detached look.
“I’m here now,” Olivia says, rushing to his side while I stand and watch.
She takes Harry’s hand, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s still just looking forward, staring into space, almost like he can’t even see her.
“Look at me, Harry,” Olivia says more forcefully, gently putting her hands on his cheeks, guiding his face in her direction.
I almost stop her, afraid she might hurt him on accident, but Noah holds on to my arm, keeping me in my place.
I watch Harry’s gaze finally connect to Olivia’s, and all of a sudden, it’s like he’s back. His lips start quivering and his arms start shaking.
Olivia drops her hands from his face.
“It’s okay. It’s all right,” she says, running her hands slowly down his arms in an attempt to comfort him.
But I can hear it in her voice—how her heart is breaking for him.
Tears start pouring down Harry’s face and his cheeks go red.
He looks broken and devastated.
Like every part of his life has just shattered, right here in front of her—in front of all of us.
“It’s not okay,” I hear him whisper, reaching out to her. His arms wrap around her, pulling her close.
I look over at Noah and see tears in his eyes. And my stomach drops. Because seeing Harry suffer hurts him.
I take Noah’s hand in mine, knowing he needs the support. He squeezes it tighter as he watches Harry.
Mohammad looks relieved. I guess Noah was right; he needed Olivia. He needed to cry and be held by someone who was familiar. Someone he has a history with.
Tears fall down my cheeks as I watch them together.
Because I wish I could have been that for him.
I wish I could have hugged him, drawn him into me, and had the same effect.
But it’s different. Our bodies don’t forget our pasts as quickly as our minds do.
And his body recognizes Olivia’s.
“It’s okay,” Olivia whispers again. She gently slides her finger across Harry’s cheek, wiping away his tears.
“Why can’t he just love me?” Harry asks, still crying and holding on to Olivia for dear life.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why he can’t.” Olivia’s hands tremble and a single tear falls from her eye. She forcefully wipes it away, trying to keep herself together for Harry’s sake.
And I admire her for that. Because I don’t think I could be that strong.
“He hates me. And I make it so easy for him to,” Harry replies with a laugh, wiping at his own face now.
He pulls back from her, but Olivia grabs on to his hands, lacing her fingers through his.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay, baby. Look around,” she says, tilting his chin up. “You have us. You have all of us. I love you, Harry. We all love you. Look, Noah is here. Mohammad. Mallory. And me. We love you, and we will always take care of you.”
Harry cries harder, as does Noah. My lips are quivering, but I do my best to keep it together. Because Olivia is right.
I am here for Harry.
I want to be here.
And that means I need to be strong for him.
He needs to be taken care of, to feel safe and loved. He can find strength in us, when he is ready.
Mohammad pats Harry’s shoulder, letting him know that he is here.
Harry finally nods his head, his breathing steadying, taking comfort in Olivia’s arms. She sits farther up on the bed, pushing her back against the headboard.
Harry rests his head on her shoulder and closes his eyes.
“Shh, baby,” she whispers sweetly, and I feel like I might be sick.
I try to shake it off, squeezing Noah’s hand harder.
“It’s okay. He will be all right now,” Noah says even though I can see for myself that he will be.
What I’m not so sure about is if Harry and I are going to be all right after this.
Noah and I go downstairs, checking the ashtray to be sure all Harry lit up were a few cigarettes. I check his bathroom, feeling guilty for going through his drawers and cabinets, but happy not to find any pills.
And although quite a few liquor bottles are scattered about, it doesn’t appear that Harry drank much from them—thankfully.
When we get back upstairs, we find Harry asleep on Olivia’s shoulder.
“Did you find anything?” she asks the second we walk through the door.
“No. I think he just drank too much.”
“That’s good,” she says, visibly relaxing. “I’m glad you called me.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Noah admits, pushing his hands back through his hair. “I can’t believe it happened again. And so much worse this time.”
“You know Harry,” Olivia says, biting her lip. “He’s always running his mouth in the worst situations.”
“Regardless …” Mohammad comments, looking and sounding upset.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Olivia says, noticing Mohammad’s edge. “It’s just his dad … well, you guys know. Sometimes, I wonder if Harry could avoid trouble like this with his dad by just keeping his mouth shut.”
“I get your point,” Noah says, “but it doesn’t change anything. It’s still not okay. It’s not acceptable.”
“Are you going to stay here tonight?” Olivia asks, now looking directly at me. Her gaze softens as she takes in my tear-stained face.
“No, we’re going to let him sleep a bit and then take him over to Noah’s house.” Mohammad says, looking relieved.
“That’s good,” Olivia replies. “I don’t think he should stay in this house again until things get sorted.”
I nod, agreeing with her.
“Why don’t you boys go grab a snack downstairs? Mallory and I can watch him for a bit,” Olivia says.
Mohammad and Noah both do as they are told.
Olivia’s gaze connects to mine, and I’m not sure what to expect from her. My stomach tightens at the thought of another fight.
It’s the last thing Harry needs right now.
“Thank you for being here for him,” she says once we’re alone.
I turn to her, a little shocked. “Of course. I … I feel terrible,” I admit, needing to talk. “I texted him today when he wasn’t at lunch or in class. I should have called. I should have come over. I didn’t want to bother him, but maybe if we had gotten here sooner … he wouldn’t have been alone all day,” I say, sucking in a breath. Because the thought of Harry alone, suffering, makes me feel nauseous.
“Mallory, you didn’t know.”
“You’re right,” I whisper, trying to convince myself. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I tell her, feeling like I’m betraying myself with the statement.
Olivia’s gaze flicks up to mine, her rounded lip pushing out. “I’m glad too. Harry needed us. All of us.”
We sit there, watching Harry for a while before he starts to rouse. When the boys come back up, Noah decides to wake him, wanting to get him over to his house.
I wonder if it might be better to just let him sleep, but Noah disagrees, saying that he needs to be out of this space. In a clean home with a different energy. I’m not sure if Harry, in this state, will actually feel the love in the Williams’ home, but I don’t argue.
Olivia hugs Harry for a long time before leaving his house. He hugs her back, his hands staying around her waist, his eyes barely open.
Noah gives him a water when we get in the cab, but Harry doesn’t touch it, his head resting on my shoulder until we get to the Williams’.
Mohammad and I sit on the couch across from Gene while Noah and Helen take Harry up to Noah’s room.
“How are you two doing?” Gene asks, focusing his attention on me and Mohammad.
“I don’t know,” Mohammad admits. “I’ve never seen Harry so … beat down before.”
Gene nods in understanding.
“And you, M
allory?”
“I don’t know either,” I admit. “I’m feeling somewhere between brokenhearted for him and so upset that someone could do that to their child that I want to scream.” I don’t hold anything back when I talk to Gene. I can’t.
I wish I could say it will all be okay. That I know Harry will be fine. But not a single part of me believes that.
When I finally get in bed, I lie awake for a long time, listening to the boys whisper in Noah’s room. I can hear pieces of their conversation. They talk about Olivia. About Harry’s dad. About what Harry should do. But when the voices go silent, I roll over, trying to get comfortable.
Trying to sleep.
“Hey,” Noah whispers, coming into my room.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up, feeling a little dazed.
I wasn’t asleep, but I wasn’t really awake either, my mind somewhere between crystal clear and so foggy that I’m not sure what to make of anything.
“Mind if I take the floor?” he asks. “Mohammad and Harry are asleep, but I need a few minutes, I guess.”
“Of course,” I say, tossing him a pillow. “I wouldn’t mind the company, honestly.”
Noah sinks onto the ground and lays out a blanket he brought from his room. I pull an extra one off my bed, giving it to him to cover up with.
“I thought as much.” He lies down on his back.
I roll onto my back, so both of us are looking up at the ceiling.
And that’s when the tears come. I just can’t hold them back anymore.
“I don’t know how you did it today,” I admit. “Seeing Harry like that was awful. You really were there for him. Strong for him.”
“It didn’t feel like it,” he admits, taking a ragged breath.
I roll over and look at Noah. He has bags under his eyes, and I have never seen him look so exhausted.
“I felt helpless,” I say.
“I felt that way too,” he whispers.
I hear his body shifting, knowing he’s probably uncomfortable on the floor.
“I don’t know what to do, Noah. How could someone do that to their child? And is anyone going to say anything? What are your parents going to do? Will they call his mom? His dad should be thrown into jail,” I blurt out.
London Prep Page 24
