22
Mercy
MY MEMORY HAD turned into shifting sand, sliding away just when I needed it most. Between the concussion, the transfusion, the surgery, and the Oxy, I was barely conscious for days.
And maybe that was a blessing. It kept my mind from circling back to Landon.
A near-death experience should have given me bigger things to worry about, but every time I clawed my way to consciousness—and wasn’t curled up in pain—he was the only thing in my head. I begged off the Oxy as soon as the doctor let me. It wrecked me, but addiction can be hereditary, and I had a low threshold for risk.
It was Wednesday before I felt remotely human again, which was convenient, since the hospital was already kicking me out to free up the bed.
I didn’t protest. I wanted to go home, if for no other reason than to get away from the damn whiteboard across from my bed. The right side was just numbers and medications.
The left side held names.
When my appendix had burst last year, there’d been one lonely name on my board: Ben.
Now there were twelve. Twelve people who’d shown up for me.
Staring at that list—at evidence that maybe my brother and I weren’t completely alone on this giant mud ball spinning in space—was almost more than I could handle.
Ben was the second name. He’d spent a lot of time beside my bed, filling me in on the legal proceedings. He’d taken the drugs, intending to distribute, but had wised up and was returning the package when one of Luke’s goons caught him. Now, he was cooperating with the district attorney. Drugs hadn’t been the only commodity his company was trafficking, and the case against them was stacking. Link’s ol’ lady, Emily, wasn’t involved in the trial, but she’d kept the club updated.
Ben alternated between dragging his employer through the mud and gushing about the club like they were mythic heroes. According to him, Link practically performed miracles. And after watching those guys crash in to save us, I couldn’t fault the awe.
But no amount of club glory changed the reality: Landon was the reason we were still breathing.
Ben now wanted to enlist in the service so he could one day be a Dead President. I’d immediately broken into tears when he’d told me, sobbing, “I love you; never leave me.” That put a temporary kibosh on all military talk, and he hadn’t brought it up since. I knew our discussion was far from over, but in my current state, that wasn’t a conversation I could handle.
Julia had popped in a few times. During her first visit, she’d confirmed Landon’s story that nothing had happened between him and Peach. They’d come back downstairs seconds after I left, and Peach had ended up in Frog’s bed instead. I didn’t know what to do with that information since I’d already told Landon off.
His name was at the top of the list. It used to have a hand-drawn heart beside it, marking him as my significant other, but his continued absence must have tipped the nurses off about our fake engagement, because the endearment had been erased.
He’d claimed to be falling in love with me.
And I’d panicked and kicked him out.
Still, his absence caused an ache in my chest that hurt almost as much as my shoulder, making it impossible to ignore. Especially since the pain meds couldn’t touch it.
If I hadn’t thrown his number away, I would have caved and called him by now, but my sense of self-preservation kept me from asking Beth for it. I’d made horrible accusations and had pushed him away, even though I knew deep down he was a good guy. He’d dodged a bullet by escaping me, a fact he must have realized since he hadn’t returned.
Beth’s name was on the list, too. She’d smuggled in a baggie of Christmas cookies, which I inhaled like I hadn’t seen food in a month. Ten minutes later, they staged a revolt in my stomach. After that, I swore off holiday treats indefinitely and had to promise the nurses I wouldn’t sabotage my own recovery again.
Zombie’s visit was strange. He stood awkwardly beside my bed for an hour and watched TV with me. Then he left.
When Rabbit and Elenore visited, she offered to perform a few science tricks at the party. I authorized the addition, but planned to draft an agreement restricting fire and explosions.
Judith Seaward, the board president, was the last name on the list. When she arrived, she stared at my whiteboard for a solid minute before asking, “You know someone named Zombie?”
To which I’d replied, “You don’t?”
Shortly after noon, Julia showed up to take me home. My cute sweater dress and leggings had been ruined, so I was perched on the bed in my hospital gown, wondering how to get into her car without flashing half of Seattle, when she walked in with a shopping bag, looking like my personal fairy godmother.
Julia wasn’t the type to leave a girl hanging, figuratively or literally, as proven by the sports bra on top of the stack. The good kind, with a front closure that didn’t require a shoulder dislocation to escape. Beneath it were dark leggings, no-show underwear, and a gorgeous jade blouse, all brand-new, tags freshly removed, but the quality was obvious.
I raised my eyebrows when she called the blouse a nursing shirt. Then she pointed out the shoulder snaps that would save me a world of hurt, and I realized Julia was freaking brilliant. Also generous and stubborn, because she refused to let me pay her back.
She helped me get dressed. Once I was decent, she opened the door and directed the two waiting prospects to carry my flowers. A third arrangement arrived yesterday, accompanied by a handwritten card that read, “I’m not going anywhere.” Landon.
