“There were superficial cuts on his wrist that we’ve cleaned and bandaged,” he continues, and Mom makes a choked sound. “They did not cause significant blood loss. The primary concern is the ingestion. We’ve started treatment to help his body process and eliminate the medication. He’s being admitted for monitoring and a psychiatric evaluation once he’s medically cleared.”
“Will he—” Ashton’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Is there any permanent damage?”
“That’s the good news,” Dr. Miller says, and some of the ice in my chest cracks. “Based on the estimated time frame and his current labs, we caught this early. We’ll be watching his heart and his liver closely, but so far, there are no signs of organ failure. The next twenty-four hours are important. If he remains stable, his prognosis is good.”
Good.
“Can we see him?” I ask.
Dr. Miller hesitates. “He’s very sedated,” he says. “We gave him medication to counteract some of the overdose effects, and his body is doing a lot of work. One person can go in at a time for a few minutes. He may not respond, but he might be able to hear you.”
Mom looks at me immediately, her eyes are red and fierce. “You go,” she says. “He lives with you. You found him.Ve, mijo.”
My whole body wants to argue. To put her first, to let an actual parent go in there and assess the damage.
Dad shakes his head. “She’s right,” he says hoarsely. “Go. Tell him we’re here.”
I nod, unable to speak, and follow Dr. Miller down the hall.
The room is small and too bright. Machines beep in a rhythm that’s half comfort, half threat. An IV pole stands by the bed, a bag dripping clear fluid into his arm. There’s a monitor with little green mountains tracking his heartbeats.
My pretty boy.
The reason my heart beats.
He looks swallowed by the white sheets and the hospital gown, the color leached from his face, the tan he works so hard on looks washed out. There’s tape on the back of his hand and another line at the crook of his elbow. His left wrist is wrapped in fresh gauze, a little spot of red seeping through like a bad secret.
There’s an oxygen cannula under his nose, with tubing looping over his ears.
I stand in the doorway for a second because I can’t seem to make my feet cross the gap.
“Talk to him,” Dr. Miller says softly. “You don’t have to say anything profound. Just let him know he’s not alone.”
I step forward and I stop by the side of the bed and wrap my fingers around his unbandaged hand.
It’s warm.
So warm.
“Hey, baby,” I say. My voice comes out raw and weird. “You picked a shitty way to skip your stats review.”
His eyelids flicker, maybe. Or maybe it’s just my desperate brain making patterns out of nothing.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I whisper, leaning closer. “You know that? I walked in and you—” My throat closes. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to lock the door and check out. We had a couch day planned, remember?”
The monitor keeps beeping.
“I’m not mad,” I say, and realize that’s only half true. I’m furious and I’m not mad at him, exactly. I’m mad at his history.At his brain chemistry. At every adult who didn’t yank him out of hell sooner. “I’m just… so fucking sad, Caleb. You’ve been carrying this for so long. I wish I could carry it for you. All of it. Just for a while. So you can rest.”
A tear falls onto the sheet. I hadn’t realized I was crying until I saw the wet spot.
“I love you,” I tell him, because if this is the last time, those are the only words that matter. “More than anything. More than my own stupid life. I need you to fight a little longer, okay? Just… a little more. Let the meds do their thing. Let your body catch up. We’ll figure everything else out later. One day at a time, remember?”
His fingers twitch around mine. It could be a reflex. It could be nothing.
I choose to believe it’s something.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. “You’re stuck with me. We’re not done yet.”
