Nobody is saying anything. I lean against Ashtyn, needing her support right now. In the back of my mind I fear the worst, but I'm not letting myself believe it's true. It can't be true. Trey Matthews is strong.
"Coach Dieter hasn't left his side," one of the assistant coaches says. "He's not alone, Monika."
"I want to see him," I tell one of the nurses who comes out in a stark white outfit and shoes to match.
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible at this time," she says softly. "Unless you're family, I can't let you see him."
Family?
We'd talked about marriage. That was a long time ago, before he started taking all those pills, before things changed between us.
Nobody knows about Trey's little secret. Only me.
I'll never forgive myself if keeping that secret hurt him.
Chapter Twenty-five
VICTOR
I hurt my best friend.
Trey was motionless as he was placed on a gurney and rushed inside the ambulance. The loud siren as they drove away is still echoing in my ears. My entire life I've felt like something bad would happen to me eventually, like I was living on borrowed time. Never once did I imagine I'd be responsible for physically hurting someone I actually care about.
I couldn't handle seeing them take Trey's lifeless body off the field.
The trainer and Dieter had frantically worked on Trey until the paramedics arrived and they took over. I had seen the grim expressions on their faces as they desperately monitored Trey for some hope, some sign of life.
I hadn't seen any.
After the ambulance took him and I heard Monika's broken voice cry out for Trey, I wanted to reach for her. I wanted to hold her and tell her I was sorry.
Instead, I ran.
My feet are moving on their own, my cleats pounding the sidewalk with each step. I don't even know how far I've run until I find myself panting and sweating as I run down to the beach in an attempt to escape the image of Trey lying on the turf after I tackled him. I keep up my fast pace, unwilling to stop or slow down for fear that the reality of what happened on the field back there will catch up with me.
I want to run away from my thoughts, but it's not working.
My legs feel numb when I stop and turn toward Lake Michigan. The waves rush onto the shore and lick my cleats. Unfortunately, the sound of the waves don't drown out the sound of the ambulance siren in my head or the echo of Monika's cries.
I always treated life as if it were a game and I was invincible. Truth is I didn't care if I lived or died. Maybe it was the way my dad looked at me as if I was worthless. But Trey... he's the guy who has everything to live for. He has a dad who supports him, a girlfriend who loves him, and a mind that can rival fucking Einstein. Countless times I wished I could trade my life for his.
What if Trey is paralyzed or worse and it's all my fault? What if I've ruined everything he ever had and I wanted? How can I look him in the eyes and tell him that I didn't mean to run him down? Because that would be a lie. I wanted to tackle him hard, to prove to him and everyone else that I could beat the best. I wanted to prove to Monika that I was stronger, bigger, better.
All I did was prove that I'm an asshole.
Pressing my palms to my eyes in an attempt to erase my thoughts isn't working.
I can't do this.
I run to mi papa's office, smack-dab in the middle of town. The investment firm of Salazar, Meyer, & Kingman is impressive. The building he works in is polished and shiny, with big windows that look out toward the street. It's sleek and imposing, just like my father.
I'm so fucking scared I don't know what to do.
Papa always takes care of business. It's like I'm blind and need him to guide me. He's failed me in so many ways, but this time I don't know where else to turn.
I need him to be there for me. I've never needed him more than this moment.
For the first time that I can remember, I feel my eyes welling up with tears. I swipe them away with the back of my hand.
The receptionist, Brenda, is a skinny girl with blond hair and bright red lipstick. I've been here enough times throughout the years that she immediately knows who I am--the boss's troublemaker son. Hell, I don't even mind the label, because it fits. It also makes the employees avoid me like the plague, which suits me just fine.
Before I even step up to the desk, Brenda is on the phone whispering something into the receiver.
Calm down, Vic. You can do this.
"I need to see my dad," I tell her, stating the obvious as I try to stop my hands and voice from shaking.
She gives me a fake disappointed look. "I'm sorry, Victor. He's in a meeting and doesn't want to be disturbed."
"It's an emergency," I tell her. "Please. Tell him it's an emergency."
She picks up the phone again. "He says it's an emergency," she whispers into the receiver. She covers the mouthpiece with her palm. "He wants to know what kind of emergency. He says to be specific."
"I can't."
She puts the phone back in its cradle. "He says he'll see you at home, after he leav--"
Before she can finish her sentence, I rush past the reception area and the security guard even as I hear their protests behind me.
I enter my father's huge corner office without knocking. Four guys, all in pristine suits, are sitting around a long table.
As soon as mi papa sees me, he frowns. "Excuse me," he tells the other men. "I'll be just a second."
He doesn't introduce me as his son, but I don't care. I follow him out of the room and into the hallway. He's got a stern, pissed-off look on his face.
"I... I... need you," I say, desperation laced in my voice.
He sighs. "What now?"
The words start to flow out of my mouth. "It's Trey. We were doin' drills at practice and somethin' bad happened. Papa, I need help. I don't know what to do."
He regards me with the look of someone annoyed and bothered. "Victor, I'm in a meeting. I'm not surprised you did something bad. I'm tired of bailing you out. Deal with it and stop bothering me at work, something you wouldn't know how to do because you're too busy fucking up. Whatever you did, man up and fix it."
"I can't fix it."
He rolls his eyes. "Then you're useless."
I stare at his back as he retreats to his office and practically slams the door in my face.
Reality is kicking my ass right now and I can't deal with it. I need to escape, to pretend I don't exist.
I run to Enrique's Auto Body. Isa follows me up to her apartment.
"Can I stay here a while?" I ask as I sit on her couch and put my head in my hands.
"Of course. What's going on?" she asks.
"I don't want to talk about it," I tell her. "I can't talk about it."
"Want me to leave you alone?"
I nod.
When she's gone, I gather up the nerve to call Monika. Her phone rings and my pulse starts to race.
"Hello?" she answers, her voice weak.
"It's Vic," I tell her. "How's Trey?"
I hear a bunch of other voices. I can tell by the muffled sounds that the phone is being passed around.
"Vic, tell me where you are," Jet's voice echoes through the line. He sounds like he's been crying. "Everyone is looking for you."
"I'm fine. Tell everyone to stop looking for me. How's Trey?"
"Tell me where you are."
"No. How's Trey?"
There's a long pause.
"He didn't make it," he finally says. "I'm sorry."
I didn't think my mind could get to a darker place, but it just did.
My best friend is dead.
And it's all because of me.
Chapter Twenty-six
MONIKA
The news about Trey's death spreads like wildfire in our small town. Since I got home from the hospital last night, my phone hasn't stopped buzzing with texts and calls. Most of them are comments asking how I'm doing and confirming that the school board chose
to postpone the homecoming game and dance. I eventually turn off my cell and toss it across the room. It's almost noon, and I haven't picked it up.
I don't want to talk to anyone.
I don't want to be around anyone.
I want everyone to stop reminding me that Trey is gone. Maybe if people stop talking about it, that'll mean it was a really big mistake. While part of me wants to believe that fantasy, I know Trey's never coming back.
My gaze turns toward my new blue dress still on the hanger with the price tags dangling from it. Last year we doubled with Cassidy and Vic for homecoming. With a lot of convincing, we even got Vic to get on the dance floor. We were all having a great time until Cassidy got drunk and puked all over Vic's car. Wherever Vic was, Trey was never far behind. Wherever Trey was, Vic was never far behind.
We all shared crazy times together.
Now they're just memories.
My mom, who's been checking in on me every couple of hours, peeks her head inside my room. "How are you holding up, sweetie?" she asks.
I'm lying in my bed, staring out my window at nothing. My eyes are open, but my mind is a big mess. "I don't know."
"Do you want to talk?"
"No." Talking about it makes it more real. I don't want to deal with reality right now. I don't even know if I should tell people we broke up. I feel like that would taint his memory.
"Would you want to talk to a professional?"
My heart starts to race. I remember the time Victor told me that the social worker at school called him into her office and tried to get him to talk about why he seemed so angry all the time. When he refused, she called him into her office four more times before she gave up.
"No. Please don't make me do that, Mom."
"Okay. I don't want to push you or stress you out. Just let me know if you change your mind." She walks into the room and stands at the foot of my bed. Her dark brown eyes and long, straight black hair is in stark contrast to my own green eyes and crazy curls, both of which I inherited from my dad's side of the family. "You should come downstairs and eat something, Monika. It's not good for your body to go without food, especially in your condition. You need to get out of that bed at some point and move before you get too stiff."
"I know. I promise I'll come down when I'm ready." My knees are already feeling like they forgot how to bend, but I don't care. The aches and pains my body is giving me pale in comparison to how bad I feel emotionally.
"It'll get easier in time," Mom tells me in a soft, calm voice.
When she leaves my room, I panic at the thought of her or my father asking me too many questions, questions I don't want to answer. The problem is that nobody knows what happened between Trey and me these past few weeks. He made me promise to keep his secret about the pills to the grave. Proving that I'm loyal to him means lying to everyone else.
Trey said he needed the pills. I guess a small part of me sympathized with him, because of the pills I take when my body starts to ache so bad and I need some relief. I sit up and my bones protest, reminding me that I didn't take my meds this morning.
Ugh. I hate feeling so powerless over my body, Trey's death, and the fact that Victor doesn't want to have any contact with anyone. I don't know if I can get through this without him. As I walk into my bathroom and open my medicine bottle, new tears start invading my eyes. They won't stop.
I feel like I'm free-falling into a bottomless, dark hole.
*
Two days later is Trey's funeral. I got a call from Mrs. Matthews asking me to sit with the family and I can't say no, even though there's a part of me that wants to tell them we broke up. I'd like to stay in the back and mourn on my own. Nobody knows how I'm feeling.
Mrs. Matthews, with eyes all puffy and bloodshot, hugs me when I walk in their apartment. She looks as miserable as I feel.
"Monika, we'd like you to go in Trey's room and take whatever you want," she says in a small, weak voice. "There are a lot of pictures of the two of you on his corkboard. We want you to take them and keep them. Anything you want, honey, is yours."
"You sure?" I ask tentatively.
"Of course. Trey loved you."
Just hearing those words makes me feel sick. Tears well in my eyes.
I've been in Trey's room more times than I can count. We had such good times together. But as I walk down the hallway to his room, a deep sadness washes over me.
I stand in front of his door, staring at the worn wood grain.
Grasping the doorknob, I walk inside. Familiarity assails me as I step into Trey's peaceful, quiet world.
The entire room seems empty without him, but at the same time I feel his presence here. The walls are filled with posters of his favorite singers, and his football trophies form a straight line like a marching band on the top of his dresser. I step further inside and stare at the pictures pinned to the big corkboard above his desk.
It's filled with pictures of us.
And a bunch of our friends.
We're always smiling in the pictures, but nobody knew Trey had a dark side. He didn't know how to deal with stress and it ruled him at times.
I want to turn back time and talk to Trey again about the pills he was taking. I wish I would have said something to his parents... to anyone.
But I didn't say a word.
As I graze my fingers over one of the pictures of me and Trey at the beach this past summer, a picture falls out from behind the corkboard and lands on his desk. I pick it up, and my entire body shudders.
It's a picture of Trey and pink-haired Zara. She's sitting in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck as she smiles into the camera. Trey's not looking into the camera. Instead, he's looking up at her as if he's totally in love with her. He used to look at me that way when we first started dating.
A chill runs down my spine when I turn the picture over and read the words on the back.
Forever and always
Little hearts are drawn below the words.
Trey used to say those words to me.
I collect a bunch of pictures of the two of us when another picture of Trey and Zara falls out. This time they're kissing while lying in the snow. When I look behind the corkboard, five more pictures fall out. All the pictures are of Trey and Zara; one is a selfie of them in his bed. It's clear that she's naked under the blanket.
I'm dizzy now, my mind reeling.
I'm thinking of a ton of explanations and excuses, but the truth hits me hard in the gut.
Trey had been cheating on me for a long time.
I start hyperventilating, and I can't catch my breath. Everything I believed is a lie. Everything I knew about Trey is fake--including our relationship. I can't confront him because he's gone. I want to yell at him and cry to him and demand answers.
But I'll never get them.
I'm so confused and tired and sad. Life isn't fair. I gave him so much, and he gave me lies and made me promise to keep his stupid secrets. I hate him for that.
Take a deep breath.
Shoving the rest of the pictures in my purse, I walk out of his room almost in a trance. How can I act like the loving, grieving girlfriend when our entire relationship had been a lie?
I overhear Mr. and Mrs. Matthews talking in the kitchen.
"They've got to be wrong," Mrs. Matthews tells her husband in a low whisper. "My son wasn't on amphetamines. He was smart and had so much to live for."
"That's what the initial toxicology report says. His heart gave out and he died of a heart attack. He had an overdose, Clara," I can hear Trey's father tell her. "He wasn't dehydrated, and the school and Victor Salazar are not at fault. I've heard from the police. They're ending their investigation after they receive the final report from the pathologist."
Mrs. Matthews whimpers. "I don't believe it," she cries. " I won't believe that my son was on drugs. Ever."
I step into the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Matthews suddenly become quiet. Mr. Matthews is all business as he herds us into the car and drives
to the funeral home.
We arrive before everyone else. It's hard to look at Trey's mom. She's wearing all black and can't stop weeping. Just hearing her sobs makes my own tears flow down my cheeks.
Mr. Matthews is stoic. He's greeting well-wishers with a thin-lipped, grim expression. There are no tears in his eyes, but I know it's just a show. Trey and his dad were close. His dad was his biggest fan, attending every football game and proudly wearing a Fremont Rebel Parent shirt whenever I saw him at a school event. He bragged about Trey to everyone and anyone who would listen.
The line of people coming to pay their respects at the cemetery is longer than I've ever seen. It seems like the entire Fremont student body is here, along with most of the parents and Fremont teachers and staff.
I'm not shocked when I hear people talking about homecoming being canceled and the game against Fairfield being postponed. Trey's death has had a ripple effect, and the entire town is reeling after losing one of its sons.
Someone taps me from behind. "Hey," Ashtyn says in a comforting voice, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. "How are you holding up?"
I shrug, thinking of the pictures of Trey and Zara in my purse. And the fact that Trey's death was most likely caused by an overdose that I might have been able to prevent.
"I don't know." It's the only answer I can give right now.
Turning around to see Ash, Derek, Jet, and Bree standing behind me is reassuring, but I still have a weak sensation in the pit of my stomach. On top of that, my bones feel like they're old and brittle. I woke up this morning stiff, and I haven't been able to shake it off. I took my meds, but they haven't taken the edge off like they usually do.
"Where's Vic?" I ask, wondering if he knew all along about Trey and Zara.
"Nobody's heard from him," Jet says.
"Rumor has it he's running with the Latino Blood," Bree chimes in.
The Latino Blood gang? No. It can't be.
I look at Ashtyn. She's got a worried look on her face, but she quickly masks it and gives me a small smile. "I'm sure he's okay. He's not with the LB, Monika. That would be crazy."
But Vic can be crazy. Trey and Vic were like brothers. Vic admitted more than once that if it weren't for Trey he'd probably be dead. Trey was the calm one who brought some normalcy to Vic's volatile life.
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