She ignored his question. “How bad is it? Is he going to be okay?”
Linc dropped himself into the nearest seat and spent the next hour talking to his sister, trying to explain to her that he didn’t know what was happening with the job, with the money, with Wyatt.
“Don’t be an idiot, Linc. We’ll figure it out. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Linc leaned back, closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief and just let her talk, her reassuring words soothing the ragged edges of his nerves.
Linc really didn’t deserve Ellie, but he was certainly glad he had her.
Opening his eyes was exhausting. The dim light overhead scattered the thousand spiders nesting in his head, making his brain buzz like he was being electrocuted. Somebody had wrapped his world in cotton. Everything was fuzzy, everything hurt. His arm was on fire and somebody had forced it through a block of Swiss cheese. Wyatt blinked in confusion. No, that wasn’t right. It was spongy and looked like cheese, but it held his arm propped up, his arm they’d swaddled in a thousand bandages.
He slowly looked around, his stomach lurching in protest as the world tilted on its axis. Tiny screens surrounded him, lines jumping and numbers he didn’t understand blinking, and six bags of fluid hung from a metal pole over his head, leading to a line in the side of his neck. Machines beeped, pumps whirred, and down the hallway, somebody was shouting. It was all so much. He tried to lift his uninjured hand but found it weighed down… by Linc.
Linc had pulled the reclining chair up to the bed, propping his feet next to Wyatt’s, holding his undamaged hand in a death grip. He’d lost the battle for sleep, his head tipped back, mouth hanging open. Wyatt’s eyes filled with tears. Linc had stayed. He swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, but he had no voice. He tried once again, but it was just too hard. His eyelids fluttered closed as he lost the battle to remain conscious.
When he opened his eyes the next time, it was as if somebody had pulled the veil from his eyes; things were brighter, clearer. His skull still felt like somebody had cracked his head open, but it no longer felt like somebody had turned the volume up on the world.
“Wyatt!”
He jumped at the shrill sound of his name. Charlie now sat where Linc had been what felt like just moments ago. His heart sank. He was in the hospital. How long had he been there? How long had he been unconscious? What had happened to him?
“Where’s Linc?” he rasped. Charlie gave a surprised laugh then burst into tears. Wyatt’s heart rate skyrocketed, sending the machine to his right into a fit of rapid beeps. Tears filled his eyes. “Is he… Is he okay?”
A nurse burst through the door, studying him as she came to check the monitor. “Oh, you’re awake. Your color looks better today. How are you feeling?”
Wyatt ignored her, his gaze pinning Charlie in place. “Where is he?”
She wiped at her cheeks. “Wyatt, relax. Linc is fine. You’re the one who almost died.”
Wyatt settled back against the sheets, his whole body on fire. Died? What was she talking about? Why did everything hurt? The nurse adjusted his pillows, then checked all the leads and wires before pushing something through his IV that made him feel cold and then warm. Why was his throat so raw? He looked to the nurse. “Can I have some water?”
She nodded, leaving and returning with a huge white Styrofoam cup with a straw. “You’ll have to help him,” she warned Charlie.
“Where’d he go?” he managed after the nurse left.
Charlie held the straw to his lips, and he sucked down half the cup. “He just needed to take care of some paperwork with Jackson. He’s been here with you every single day and night, boo. Honestly, he’s going to be pissed that he missed the first coherent words you’ve spoken in a week.”
Butterflies took flight in Wyatt’s stomach. Linc had stayed. “A week?” he asked. Charlie nodded solemnly. “What happened?”
She frowned. “You don’t remember any of it?”
Wyatt racked his pounding head. “I remember the stupid party. I remember my dad trying to make me work for Victor. I remember telling Linc I loved him and him saying we could leave… together. Then… nothing.”
Charlie wept once more, her cheeks an angry red like she was more frustrated than sad. “You fucking cut yourself. You went too deep, and you hit an artery. You almost fucking bled to death in my new car, you fucking dick. How could you do that to me? To Linc? What were you thinking?”
Wyatt’s memory flooded back like somebody flipped a switch. The razor blade. The car horn. Linc holding him while he died. “It was an accident.”
“You accidentally took a razor blade to your arm?” she asked, incredulous.
He shook his head like it would somehow take back what he’d done. “I just wanted to make a little cut, just to ease the pressure, but I was drunk, my elbow hit the car horn and it scared me. It was just an accident.”
Charlie blew her nose hard, and when she looked at him once more, she seemed… resigned. “You can’t keep doing this to us… to yourself. You need help.”
Wyatt just closed his eyes. He was so tired. In his bones, he was tired. He felt like he’d lived a hundred lifetimes in his twenty-two years and he just didn’t want to do it anymore. He gave a slight nod. If that’s what it took to get Charlie to stop crying, to stop looking at him like he was breaking her heart, then he’d talk to somebody.
“There’s something else we need to talk about,” Charlie said, her tone hesitant.
Wyatt studied her warily. “Okay.”
