“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I’m struggling to hold Axel up. “Tell me the truth.”
“Fine!” She drops his ankles. “You want to know the truth? I’ve been fucking your brother all summer. We do coke together and sometimes pills. Happy?”
More tears stream down my face. “No. No, I’m not happy because you’re my best friend and you were doing this behind my back?”
“I’m not a fucking saint like you!”
“I can’t even look at you,” I mutter.
I continue dragging him down the stairs alone. I didn’t think I had the strength, but I’m fucking livid. That anger helps me pull him through the party, outside, onto the sidewalk.
My phone buzzes. Again and again.
I pull it out. Koa’s calling.
“Where the fuck are you?” he snaps.
I start crying. “Axel might be overdosing. Please come.”
The pain in my chest unleashes through tears. The fear fills me to the brim.
“Hurry,” I whisper.
I drop him a pin and sit on the curb, waiting. Checking Axel’s pulse every few seconds. It’s there. Faint but there.
Koa pulls up, and I’ve never been more relieved to see anyone in my life.
He doesn’t ask questions. Just gets out, grabs Axel off the sidewalk like he weighs nothing, and puts him in the back seat.
I climb in beside my brother, pressing my fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. It’s there. Faint. Too faint.
“Are we going to the hospital?” I ask, voice shaking.
Koa pulls away from the curb, but instead of heading toward the main road, he turns down a side street. Away from the party. Away from the noise and the crowds and the people who might see.
He parks around the block under a broken streetlight.
“What are you doing?” Panic rises in my throat. “We need to go—”
“I need to check him first.”
He gets out, opens the back door, and starts moving with a precision that looks almost bored. Like this is routine.
He rolls Axel onto his side, props him with his jacket. Pulls out his phone, turns on the flashlight, and checks his pupils. Pries open his mouth, makes sure nothing’s blocking his airway.
“Hand me that water bottle,” he says, nodding toward the cup holder.
I grab it with shaking hands and pass it to him.
He unscrews the cap, pours cold water on the back of Axel’s neck. Axel twitches but doesn’t wake.
Koa leans close, talks in a low, steady cadence. “Axel. Can you hear me? Axel.”
Nothing.
He checks his pulse again, counts silently, then sits back.
“He’s going to need the hospital,” Koa says, voice flat. “They need to pump his stomach.”
