“We can’t.”
I whipped my head around to my sister. She wasn’t looking at me, but looking at her hands clasped in her lap. She looked sad, and that did nothing for the panic and anxiety roiling within me.
“What do you mean ‘you can’t’?” I asked.
“The Bryants left this morning.”
It was like my sister’s words were the equivalent of ice water being thrown over me. My body stilled and dread pooled in every limb and crack in my body. I felt heavy, like I was drowning and dying and free falling like a rock off a bridge. She couldn’t be gone.
My pulse quickened and the dread spooled back into panic and I didn’t know what to do. Tears burned in my eyes and I swallowed them back again and again.
“From my understanding,” Petyr started, “She had quite the panic attack when you wiped out, and then went practically catatonic.”
“I was so scared and worried,” Zara said in a small voice.
I tightened my grip on her hand. I wasn’t sure which one of us was trembling.
“I talked to her parents before they left, made sure they knew you were okay—what the diagnosis was so that they could inform Aimee when she woke up.”
“Woke up?”
“When she became unresponsive, they took her to the hospital. Once she came to, they prescribed some sedatives and the Bryants thought it was best to go home.”
I stared at Petyr.
My heart hurt along with the rest of my body. We’d left things on such an incredibly shitty note, and now I couldn’t go to see her.
“Lukas?” Zara asked, her voice small, concerned.
“Can…” I cleared my throat. “Can I be alone for a bit?”
Petyr nodded. “We can go over everything later”
He stood up and offered a hand to my sister, and they left.
It was only after I heard the door click shut did I let the tears fall. Maybe it was cliché and dumb and shortsighted that it was only post terrifying accident I realized how fucked up that last day with Aimee had been. I’d handled it so wrong, had gotten so much wrong and had made her feel like shit.
I gritted my teeth through the discomfort and pain and reached for my phone. I wanted to call her and tell her I was sorry, but that felt like a conversation we needed to have in person, face to face. And a phone call wasn’t going to doanything to quell the emotions roiling in my chest. Ignoring the chaos happening in the group chat, I pulled up Chase’s number and hit the call button.
“Thank fuck. Are you okay? That was a fucking terrible wipe out.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I croaked, “Sprained wrist, tweaked knee and my body bruised.”
I sent him a picture of the goggle imprint around my eyes.
“Fuck. You’re still pretty though,” he joked.
I rolled my eyes. And then without thinking too hard about it, I asked a question.
“How did you know Rowan was the one?”
“Honestly, it kind of just happened. She used to hate me.”
“I know. I’ve heard the stories.”
“But that summer on the beach…everything just changed.”
“The first one, right?” I asked.
