“Hey, um,” the girl with the mop said, approaching the table, “I hate to bother you but—”
“You gotta close,” Mick said, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Thanks.”
And, with that, we rose from the table and headed back to the stark emergency room to bide our time.
Although I driftedoff from time to time, it was hard—not only because I was worried, but sitting in those vinyl chairs with my head leaned against Braden’s shoulder wasn’t conducive to sleep. There were also a handful of other people and patients, a steady drip of people coming in and out. There was a parent with a sick teenager, a woman with what looked like a nasty break on her wrist, another man with his hand covered in a bloody towel, and another person in a wheelchair who was taken back and then brought back out—and so many other souls in need of medical attention.
Finally, around eight that morning, a nurse came out to talk to us to let us know they’d moved Zack to a regular room. “We need to continue monitoring him for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours until everything’s out of his system.”
“Can we visit him?” I asked.
“Yes. He’s stabilized. He’s not fully alert yet, so he might seem tired or confused. He’ll probably be sleeping a lot, but he might appreciate seeing you. Two at a time, of course.” Mick asked for the room number and directions and we started to leave the area, but the nurse’s voice stopped us. “If he becomes nervous or agitated, be sure to let the nurse know right away. We’ll have a counselor speak to him before he’s discharged, but not until he’s fully awake and completely stable.”
Acounselor? As we walked out, I realized that maybe that would be the best outcome—maybe that meant he’d hear about the dangers of his behavior from someone neutral…and that meant he might take the message better than he would hearing it from all of us.
As we headed to the floor where Zack was staying, Braden said, “I can call Zack’s mom so you don’t have to, Mick.”
For the first time in a while, Mick’s brows seemed to relax. “That would be great. Thanks, son. I’ll call the label while you do that—but let’s check on Zack first.”
Walking out of the elevator, I felt like the four of us were united, closer than ever…and we were about to become whole again.
CHAPTER 16
Ihad never seen Zack appear so exhausted or sickly before. He looked as if the world had beaten the shit out of him and left him in an alley to die alone.
That was actually kind of what had happened.
Mick said, “I’m going to step out and call the label, so I’ll talk to him after.”
As he walked down the hall, Cy said, “You guys can go first.”
He had the right idea—after all, Braden and I were his oldest friends, but I thought it would be selfish and rude to say so out loud. Instead, I said, “Thanks,” and we headed to the room down the sterile hall.Sterile, yes, but it felt crowded. The nurses’ station was huge, taking up much of the space, and they could have kept an eye on us as we walked toward Zack’s room, but they were all absorbed in either a phone call or one of the many computers that lined the back wall. Along the hall there were carts and various equipment, making me wonder if it always felt like there wasn’t enough space.
When Braden and I pushed open the door that wascracked open, we walked softly inside. Rarely had I ever seen a hospital room, so I tried not to be judgmental about how stark it seemed. There was a generic painting on the wall beside the bed and a TV across, and there were so many machines with wires and tubes hooked up to Zack, making him look almost like a dying cyborg. I detected the faint scent of rubbing alcohol and something else that signaled sterility, making me feel like I was bringing in the filth of the world into this sanitized space. The curtains on the window were open but it was overcast and, even though snow wasn’t in the forecast, I wondered if Mother Nature planned to surprise the meteorologists.
As we approached the bed, his eyes were closed, but I didn’t know if he was sleeping. I whispered to Braden, “Maybe we should wait until he’s awake.”
But, at the sound of my muted voice, Zack’s eyelids fluttered. “Hey.” His voice sounded weak and a little raspy.Oh, Zack.If I could have, I would have held him in my arms, trying to soak up the pain and torment he’d inflicted upon himself. I knew, though, that Zack didn’t want to share any of it with anyone. He wanted to face it all alone, take up the mantle of guilt and blame without any help…and I was convinced that was a huge part of the reason why he was suffering.
“How are you feelin’, dude?” Braden asked as we took the last few steps to the edge of the bed.
Despite how he obviously felt, Zack cracked a slight smile. “Fan-fuckin’-tastic. Ready to play another show tonight.”
I felt a little relief that he was feeling good enough to be a smart ass, but I also wondered if he was trying to deflect what was really going on. I’d seen Zack avoid enough during our relationship to know he was good at it—and I wondered if he was trying to evade whatwesaw or if he was attempting to hide the truth from himself.
Possibly both.
I knew then that it would be up to us to force the truth—as gently as possible. “Seriously, though,” I said softly.
“Seriously…I feel like shit warmed over. Like somebody took a baseball bat to me and didn’t stop until I was flat as a pancake.”
“Can we get you anything?” Braden asked.
“No…I think I probably need to sleep.”
“Oh,” I said. Maybe ourCome to Jesustalk would have to wait. “We can go.”
