Someone’s dropped a link to the usual karaoke spot with the wordsBE THERE OR BE SQUAREunder them. I don’t even look to see who said it before shoving my phone back into my pocket.
Vacation. With family. In a week.
I haven’t gone to see them in almost three years. I don’t know what I’ll be going home to. And with everything happening with Emma, I have no idea the kind ofusher and I will be then.
I want to be the us we were in the beginning. Fifteen years ago. Our first date, she sang “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield at the karaoke bar and absolutely butcheredit, then she dared me to do something more embarrassing. I took her dancing the next weekend at some dusty hole-in-the-wall where we two-stepped until our legs gave out. She was fearless and bright and warm in a way that made me feel like I’d walked into the sun and found it smiling back.
That woman still exists. She’s just tired. She’s been carrying more than she should have to, and I’ve been too busy, too tired, too single-minded to notice I’ve stopped showing up like I used to.
I need to fix this. Iwillfix it.
“Help!”
The scream cuts through the hallway like a blade. I spin toward it, already running.
Room Nine. Ava’s voice. Urgent.
When I reach the doorway, it’s vicious chaos.
A man—unkempt and wild-eyed—is flailing on the bed, thrashing violently while three nurses attempt to restrain him. One is nearly elbowed in the face. Another is trying to anchor him to the bed by restraining an ankle with both hands.
“Someone get security!” I yell, launching in to help.
I land across the patient’s chest, using my weight to pin him. He bucks hard, nearly throwing me off. My elbow jams into the mattress, ribs pressing against his shoulder. He’s strong—stronger than I expected. I use my full weight to hold him down as best as I can, but he writhes under me. He tries everything, biting, kicking, spitting. No signs of calming down in sight. “Call security!” I yell again.
He bucks hard. One leg kicks out, hits something—or someone—with a crack. I hear the slam of a body hitting the wall. I can’t look. I just press harder, digging my forearm against his collarbone, trying to keep him down.
He’s fighting like he doesn’t know whoor where he is.
He hisses words that make no sense, spit splattering against my face. I tighten my grip. “Hold him,” I tell the nurse trying jumping in to help.
The door behind me bursts open, and two guards rush in. Finally. Relief stutters through me, and I look up.
It’s just for a second, but it’s a second too long.
The patient surges, causing my grip to slip. His arm breaks free and he slams into my shoulder, throwing me back into the wall. My head snaps backward and a blinding pain rips down the center of it, then something wet trickles down the back of my neck. Suddenly, everything goes white and fuzzy. I hear yelling, boots squeaking, metal clanging. It’s loud at first then fades fast.
The world tilts. The room is sideways. Something hard and cold hits my cheek then…nothing.
Chapter thirteen
Steven
When We Would Visit
Cominghomeusedtobe one of the highlights of my year. In college, I was counting down the days until I could whip down the road to my parents’ ranch and shut out the world for a while.
Lately, though, it’s the opposite. I can’t escape reality here, even if I try. The reality that comes with being here is a million times heavier than anywhere else.
“We’re here!” Emma announces as we step into the foyer.
Instantly, we’re swallowed up by the noise of family. Dad, my sisters, nieces and nephews. The annual birthday celebration for Mom is already in full swing.Happy Birthdayis scrawled across a banner that is half-hung over the fireplace, a loose end flapping in the wind from the open window.
“Let me see my boys!” Tamara, my eldest sister, calls as she barrels down the staircase. Scooping Sawyer and Easton up into her arms is a challenge for her weak knees, but the boys giggle like it’s a game when she wobbles backward. Emma winces, but Tamara catches herself and whisks the boys away to the living room.
“Let me help you with that,” Dad says, grabbing Emma’s bags. He winks at me, silently reminding me thatIcan carry my own. I chuckle and follow him down the hall to our bedroom for the weekend.
“How was the drive?” he asks, hauling Emma’s suitcase onto the bed.
