I settle into the seat, breathing slow, careful. The Jeep smells like engine oil and nicotine, with a faint hint of whatever cologne Silas uses.
Silas slides behind the wheel. Beckett climbs in the back.
I watch the city blur, slowly allowing myself to relax. Nothing will crawl back to us. I have Jax to blame for the bruises and broken arm. I have an alibi.
My mind races, but keeps rewinding to those wet eyes. Crying for a boy who isn’t worth the space he takes up on this earth. Crying for a boy I made sure would never look the same again. Just fucking crying.
She has no idea what she just stepped into.
And I have no intention of letting her step out.
Chapter 4: Adela
Waitingforasurgeryto end is like waiting for summer in the dead of winter. Endless. Hopeless. Like you haven't seen sunshine in days.
The waiting room feels smaller every hour, like the walls are inching closer, like oxygen costs more than I can afford.
Penelope, Elena, Julian, and Ryan came before their classes started for the day. They sat quietly for ten minutes, trying to encourage me to stay positive. I appreciated the effort. But there's no comfort to be found here — not from friends, not from my parents, who I scared away as soon as I could. I told them I was fine and was staying regardless.
The sun is already setting. A whole day gone. The first day of being twenty-one years old, spent in an ER waiting room, praying that Cody comes out alive.
I close my eyes and think about this time last year, when Cody was still at Puget Sound with me. He was leaning against the railing outside my dorm, the golden light catching the edges of his hair so it glowed. He had smiled at me in that way that makes the world tilt on its axis.
"Hey, birthday girl," he had said. My hair fell into my eyes, and he brushed it back, his fingers lingering just a second too long on my cheek. I remember thinking I liked how possessive it felt. I had shivered at the brush of skin against skin, and he had laughed, that low, quiet sound that vibrated through my chest.
The way he kissed me that morning — soft at first, then deeper when I leaned into him — plays behind my eyelids like a film, and for a second, I am back inside that golden bubble before everything went dark.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulls me back. A doctor steps out, clipboard in hand, eyes tired but kind. I push myself to my feet.
"Ms. Kalkaska?" he calls gently. "I'm Dr. Lane. Where's Cody's father?"
I swallow. "He had to go to the courthouse. He said I should call him with any updates. Do you want me to call him?"
"Do you know when he'll be back?"
"An hour or two, maybe."
He shifts. "Once he arrives, I can give him the full update."
My gut sinks.
No.
That's bad.
"Is he dead?" I sob out before I can stop myself.
"Ms. Kalkaska, I'm only authorized to—"
"Is my boyfriend dead?"
Dr. Lane clears his throat. "No. He's okay. The surgery went well. Cody is stabilized. There's some swelling in his brain, so we've placed him in a medically induced coma for the night. We'll reassess how he responds tomorrow."
My knees threaten to buckle, and I catch myself on the arm of the chair. "He's… he's alive?"
"Yes. He's in good hands."
The door opens behind me. It’s Mr. Ravenshaw. His shoulders are hunched, his eyes red, and his trembling hands clutching his coat. The judge's composure isn't here — just raw, fatherly panic.
