The hospital room smelledwrong—antiseptic and artificial in a way that made my skin crawl. I paced back and forth between the vinyl-padded visitor chair and the window, counting my steps to keep from losing it completely. Seventeen steps from chair to window. Seventeen steps back. Milo’s dislocated shoulder was reset and immobilized in a sling, his warm brown eyes glazed from whatever painkillers they’d given him, while Xavier sat hunched in the corner chair looking like he might vomit at any moment. The fluorescent lights hummed at a frequency that made my teeth itch, and I couldn’t stop moving. And in the middle of all of this, my mother was sending frantic texts, worried about why I hadn’t called her back. Again. Why didn’t she understand that she was just adding to my stress? I turned to Milo and Xavier, anger rising as I looked at Milo’s broken, bandaged body, and the words spilled out.
“Street racing,” I said, my voice tight. “Illegal street racing. On public roads. With other vehicles. With innocent people who could have been driving by.” I tugged at my necklace, seeking the tactile comfort of my familiar fidget. “Do you know the statistical likelihood of fatal crashes during unsanctioned road races? Because I do. I looked it up while they were setting Milo’s shoulder.”
I spun on my heel at the window, catching sight of my reflection—wide eyes behind round glasses, hair a disaster, the fear still evident on my face despite the fact that Milo was going to be okay. The doctor had assured us that he would be okay. His gear had saved him from a much worse injury.
“June, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Milo tried to interject, but I was too worked up to stop.
“It is not fine,” I countered, resuming my pacing. “There are a thousand ways to ride fast without endangering yourselves and others.” My hands were shaking, and I shoved them into the pockets of my cardigan. “Laws exist for reasons. Good reasons. Safety reasons.”
I paused, struggling to articulate the chaos of emotions swirling inside me. This was always the hardest part—translating the intense feelings into words that made sense to other people.
“I understand breaking laws when they’re stupid or oppressive or don’t make logical sense,” I continued, my voice rising slightly. “But traffic laws? They exist to keep people alive. They exist because physics doesn’t care how good a rider you are—when metal meets flesh at eighty miles an hour, flesh loses every time.”
I stole a glance at Xavier, who hadn’t moved or spoken since we’d arrived at the hospital. He looked shell-shocked—his normally olive complexion ashen, dark circles under his eyes, his fingers clutching the armrests of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. He was staring at a spot on the floor like it contained the answers to questions I didn’t even know to ask.
“And for what?” I continued, unable to stop now that I’d started. “For some adrenaline rush? For bragging rights? Is that worth your life? Worth Milo’s life?” My voice cracked, betraying how deeply the fear had cut into me. “Do you have any idea what it felt like getting that call? Hearing you say Milo crashed? Do you know what went through my head?”
I stopped abruptly, my throat tight with unshed tears. I never cried. I hated crying—the loss of control, the messy emotions, the way it made people uncomfortable. But I’d nearly cried when I’d seen Milo on the ground, when I’d heard the pain in his voice, when I’d realized how much worse it could have been.
“X,” Milo said suddenly, his voice sharpening despite the meds. “Snap the fuck out of it. June needs you.”
Xavier’s head snapped up, his eyes wide like he’d been slapped. “What?”
“She’s spiraling,” Milo said, gesturing weakly with his good arm. “Do the thing. The breathing thing.”
Xavier stared at him for a long moment, then slowly pushed himself to his feet. He moved toward me with a hesitance I’d never seen in him before—Xavier, who always moved with such confidence, such grace, now approached me like I might shatter if he got too close.
“June,” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges. “Look at me.”
My body vibrated with tension as I met his eyes. Eye contact wasn’t the best with most people, but with Xavier, it felt safer, steady and focused. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but it halted the spiral. When it became too much, I let my eyes drift down to his soft, kissable lips, now tight with worry. For Milo and for me.
“Five things you can see,” he prompted, his thumbs tracing circles on the backs of my hands, the scratchy sensation of his calloused fingers grounding me.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. “Your face. Milo’s sling. The IV stand. The call button. The window blinds.”
“Four things you can feel.”
“Your hands holding mine. My glasses. Your breath on my lips. Your heartbeat. Are you okay, Xavier? It seems a little fast.”
His lips twitched. “Let’s finish the exercise. Three things you can hear.”
I closed my eyes briefly, listening. “The air conditioning. Your breathing. The nurse talking in the hallway.”
“Two things you can smell.”
“Antiseptic. Your shampoo. I really like your shampoo.”
“One thing you can taste.”
“The coffee from the vending machine.” I made a face. “It was terrible.”
He squeezed my hands. “Better?”
I nodded, my heart rate slowing as my breathing evened out. “Better. Thank you.” I exhaled slowly, some of the tension draining from my shoulders. “I was... I was really scared.”
“I know,” Xavier said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was too.”
“I’m sorry,” Milo said suddenly from the bed.
