“Yeah. She’s coming.”
He nods and rubs a hand across the back of his head as he searches my face. He swallows, and the hand still by his sidetwitches, like he’s thinking about reaching for me but isn’t sure he should. His brow furrows slightly as he watches me.
My chest hurts and my arms feel like jelly. Tears burn beneath my eyelids, and I squeeze them closed. I know he’s still here with me, even if I can’t see him.
“Gregory?”
“Yeah?”
“You know how, when we were at the beach on your dad’s birthday, you said you weren’t one of those people who wants to be touched when you’re upset?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounds closer.
“Well, I am.”
And then he’s there and I’m in his arms, and I’m melting into his body, hoping he’s not one of those guys who can’t handle it when a girl cries. He’s not, I decide, because his hold tightens, and I’m thankful he’s so tall because his chin comes to rest on my hair, and his embrace is everything I need right now. It’s one of those generous hugs that holds nothing back, that doesn’t care how it looks but only how it feels. I feel warm and safe, and like as long as I stand here surrounded by Gregory McLoughlin, I’ll be all right. We’re not at the hospital, Luke’s at home playing video games, and I never betrayed my closest friend. Not a single thing in my world is amiss.
It’s different from how I felt in Myles’s arms, and I can’t decide if it’s better. All I know is, I don’t want this feeling to stop. I’ll stand here as long as he lets me.
He doesn’t seem in a hurry to let go either, and I wind myarms all the way around his waist. One of his palms flattens out on my back, and he moves it up and down, slowly. For someone who says he doesn’t like this kind of comfort, he’s really good at giving it.
I rest my cheek against his chest, tears streaming steadily down my face. I focus on breathing—in, out. In, out. I try not to notice how good he smells this close, or how solid his body feels, because my boy problems are nothing compared to what’s happening with Luke, but my senses are all jumbled, like my brain can’t figure out what to prioritize. How is it possible that three months ago we’d never even met? And that soon he’ll be thousands of miles away from me?
Eventually my tears slow and my breathing regulates, and I pull back a little. Gregory pushes hair away from my face, using his index finger to free a few strands damp with tears.
“Better?” he asks, voice low.
I sniff and nod. His brown eyes catch mine, and for a long moment we just stare at each other. Our faces have never been this close.
“Want to sit?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He resumes the seat he was in, and I settle beside him. The waiting room is otherwise empty, and a small television mounted on the wall plays a muted episode ofFriends.
My anxiety creeps back up, and I tug at the frayed edges of my shorts. Gregory reaches across the armrest and takes my fidgety hand in his, threading our fingers together.
I still, then glance over at him.
“This okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s okay,” I say. If the circumstances were anything other than what they are, would I find it better than okay? What if Myles was the one sitting beside me right now, holding my hand? Would I feel this same inexplicable sense of calm? “Thanks for staying with me.”
The look he gives me says he wouldn’t be anywhere else.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, shoulders touching and hands clasped together on his thigh, and then Gregory lifts his hips to slide his free hand into his pocket. He pulls out his phone and earbuds case. He releases my hand to open the case and fiddle with his phone, wipes the earbuds on his shirt, and hands me one while he sticks the other one into his right ear. I take it and insert it on my left side as he takes my hand back. Moments later “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls starts up, and I sigh and lean my head against the wall behind us, closing my eyes to let the sound wash over me.
We just listen and don’t speak for the next several minutes, and then Kat’s mom bursts through the sliding doors. She barely makes eye contact with me before she makes a beeline toward the desk, breathlessly giving her name and asking to be taken to her son. She’s back there for twenty minutes before she reappears. Despite the red cheeks and puffy eyes, she seems calmer.
Gregory and I both stand and tug the single pods out of our ears. Neither of us loosens our hold on the other’s hand.
“It’s alcohol poisoning,” she says matter-of-factly. “They pumped his stomach, and now he’s getting fluids. The doctor is optimistic.”
“So he’ll be okay?” I ask.
“He’ll be okay,” she confirms. “She said it could have been a lot worse if he hadn’t been brought in when he was.” She looks at Gregory. “I’m told you drove him here…?”
“I’m Gregory,” he says. “A friend of Amelia’s.”
