“He’s the love of my life,” I say over a sob. “I’m not waiting out in the hallway when he might need me.”
“He’s going to be okay,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or me.
“I feel sick,” I admit. “I will die if he’s hurt.” I rub my eyes, quietly sobbing as tears flow down my face.
Fingers thread through mine. “We’ve got you, Presley,” Keanu says, squeezing my hand.
Get a grip, Presley. It’s not like Kent’s brothers aren’t scared shitless too. “I’m okay.” I brush my tears away. “It’s the room at the end,” I add, walking toward it with renewed purpose.
It feels eerily like déjà vu as I step into the room that taunts me in my sleep. The room is pitch-dark, and visibility is poor. The same disgusting smells slap me in the face, and I work hard to avoid puking. Low moaning sends shivers creeping up my spine as Keven turns on a flashlight, aiming it in front of us. Most of the beds are occupied again.
“Jesus Christ,” Kyler says from behind me. “This is like something from a horror movie.”
“He’s not here,” Kalvin says. “There’s no way he would come here.”
We continue walking, and Keven swings the light around, flashing it in every face. Most everyone is comatose or too blissfully zoned out to do more than utter a few curses as we advance in the room.
“No!” Keanu cries, his voice sounding strangled. “No!” he shouts more loudly, racing around us to a mattress a few feet away. I run after him, dropping to my knees, sobbing when Keven shines the flashlight on Kent’s unconscious body. His suit jacket and bloody shirt are discarded on the floor, but he’s still in his suit pants and dress shoes. I clamp a shaky hand over my mouth, crying openly as my gaze drifts to the spoon and lighter on the edge of the mattress. His shredded knuckles rest listlessly on either side of his limp body, but it’s the tie wrapped tightly around his arm and the empty needle protruding from his vein that are my undoing.
Keanu has his fingers pressed to Kent’s neck, and he’s crying. Kent’s eyes are closed, and I pray he’s only sleeping. Keven takes Kent’s wrist, checking that pulse point. Kalvin and Kyler drop to their knees on the other side of the bed, clinging to one another. Kyler is silently crying. Kalvin looks dazed. I can’t stop shaking as I notice how pale Kent’s skin is, and the bluish tinge on his lips terrifies me. Kalvin wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.
“I’ve got a pulse,” Keven says, his voice strained. “It’s faint, but it’s there.”
“I just called for an ambulance. ETA is five minutes, and backup is just around the corner,” Sinead confirms while Colin is giving directions to someone on his cell.
Kent’s eyes blink open, and he gasps for air before his body starts thrashing about, his limbs flapping uncontrollably. Keanu hovers over him, calling out his name, while I hold onto Kalvin for dear life. I pray harder than I have prayed in years, begging someone to save him.
Vomit projects from his mouth as his body continues to jerk and spasm, and I can only stare horrified at the man I love, knowing he is leaving me.
The spasming stops. His eyes roll back in his head before closing, and the silence is suffocating.
Sinead pushes Keanu out of the way, clearing the vomit from Kent’s mouth with gloved fingers, opening his airwaves.
“No! God, no,” Keven cries, his body visibly trembling. His eyes dart wildly about. “I can’t feel a pulse! I can’t feel his pulse! He’s got no pulse!”
His words spur me into action, and I push past a shell-shocked Kalvin and Kyler, nudging them out of the way as I lean over my boyfriend’s lifeless body. Pressing my hands on Kent’s cold chest, I start compressions while I pray and I beg and I make all kinds of promises to a God I stopped believing in a long time ago.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Kent
The steady beeping of the machine by my hospital bed wakes me sometime later. I groan as I come to, unsticking my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth. “Mom,” I croak, swallowing over the pain in my throat as her worried face looms over mine.
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
My head pounds, and I know my forehead is clammy without needing to touch it. She brushes damp strands of hair out of my eyes. “Water,” I rasp as I attempt to sit up.
Dad moves to my other side, helping to prop me up against the headrest. My body feels like a deadweight in the bed, my limbs heavy and achy and my stomach is sore and uneasy.
“The nurse only left ice chips,” Mom says, lifting a few to my mouth.
I open my cracked lips, letting her drop a few inside my mouth, while my gaze quickly roams the room. I’m relieved only my parents are in here, though I’m sure the others are in the private waiting room outside. Mom presses her lips to my cheek, lingering there, while Dad holds my hand, refusing to let go.
A tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a white coat with a name tag, enters the room. “Ah, you’re awake.” The doctor smiles. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit,” I truthfully admit.
Mom sits back down, holding my hand and moving her chair in even closer to my side.
