The air between us is thick with things unsaid. Years of history I’m not supposed to know about presses down on all of us.
But I do know…I know more than they think. I was twenty years old when I came home early and found them in his office the first time. Helen was crying, my father held her face, both of them looking at each other like they were drowning and each was the other’s lifeline. I knew their marriages were falling apart, but I never expected both of them to seek comfort in the worst possible place.
I never told anyone. Not Owen, who was away at school. Not my mother, who was barely holding on as it was. I just carried it, added it to the pile of secrets I was already burying myself under.
And now they’re standing a few feet apart in a hospital lobby, trying way too carefully to not look at each other. This tension has fuck all to do with our families fallout and everything to do with the two of them and what they’ve done.
Sawyer’s eyes meet mine and for a second I think she recognizes what I do. But there’s no way she knows. Owen would have found out too. No. The look she’s giving me is more about what we went through. Those moments that only the two of us shared.
Then she looks away, and the air shifts.
Helen clears her throat, still avoiding looking at either of us fully. “We should go. Sawyer needs to rest.” The woman in front of her hands her a business card, and Helen nods.
“Of course.” Dad gives my back a nudge toward the door. “We’re leaving as well.”
The silence as we move toward the exit is suffocating. Helen guides Sawyer carefully, one arm wrapped around her waist. I wish I was the one holding her, walking her out of here. I’m a fucking fool.
My father’s hand moves to my shoulder, less supportive and more like he’s steering me away from a dangerous situation. I guess with him and Helen together, he could perceive it that way.
The automatic doors slide open and we’re ambushed.
Camera flashes explode in my face. People shout over each other. It’s so loud and so invasive that my already painful headache begins to throb again.
“Mr. Aldrich! Do you have a statement about the accident?”
“Sawyer! How does it feel to be one of only two survivors?”
“Can you tell us what happened on that ride?”
“Is it true Wonder World had previous safety violations?”
I squint my eyes from the light to look over at Sawyer. She’s almost fully hunched over now, like she’s trying to block herself from being physically hit. Helen tries to pull her back inside, but the reporters surge forward, blocking our path.
“Please,” Helen says. “My daughter is in no state to answer questions.”
“Did you see the other victims fall?”
“What were you feeling at the time?”
“Were you and Knox sitting together when it happened?”
Sawyer’s breathing changes. I hear it over the chaos—short, sharp gasps that I recognize from yesterday. In truth, I’d know every noise she makes, from a lifetime together.
This one tells me she’s spiraling.
“Get back!” I move without thinking, stepping in front of her and forcing the nearest reporter to stumble backward. “She’s not answering your questions.”
“Knox Aldrich, just one statement about your brother?—”
“I said get the fuck back.”
My father appears at my side, finally acting like his normal self, that corporate mask he wears on tight. He’s no stranger to the press and what lengths they’ll go for a story. “My family has no comment at this time. We ask that you respect our privacy during this tragedy.”
Behind me, Sawyer’s breathing is getting worse. It’s too fast, too shallow. Helen is trying to talk to her, but who the hell knows if she can even hear her over the noise.
“Move,” I tell the woman with the microphone shoved in my face.
She doesn’t budge fast enough.
