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“No. I just found him.”
“Is he okay?”
I couldn’t answer.
Mason grabbed my shirt. “Alvin. I need to fucking know.” His fingers twisted into the fabric. “Is he okay? Please tell me something!”
“They’re taking him to the hospital.”
“That’s not what I asked!” His voice broke. “Is he okay?”
I looked towards the stretcher, while Trevor disappeared into the helicopter surrounded by medical equipment and people moving too quickly. “I don’t know, Mase.”
Mason shook his head. “No.”
“Mason—”
“No.” His grip tightened. “Tell me he’s okay.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Mason.”
“Tell me. Please… Alvin, he’s my… he’s my Darius.” His face crumpled, and suddenly he wasn’t sarcastic or stubborn or fifteen going on thirty. He was just a terrified kid standing barefoot in wet grass looking at the boy he loved being loaded in a medical tin can. “Please. I fucking love him.”
I swallowed hard. “Mason—”
“Promise me.”
I froze. He stared at me.
“Promise me he’s going to be okay.”
My chest hurt. Because I wanted to. God, I wanted to lie. I wanted to give him something solid to hold on to. Something better than the sound of helicopter blades and medical words neither of us understood. But Trevor deserved more than a lie. And Mason did too.
I covered his hand with mine. “I hope so.”
He shook his head. “That’s not a promise.”
“No, it’s not.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks. I pulled him against me. He fought it for half a second before collapsing against my chest.
“I hope so,” I said again.
He shook beneath my arms. “You stay with him. Be there for him and tell him I’m fucking coming.”
“I will.”
“You don’t leave him for a second.”
“I won’t.”
“You fucking stay with him, Alvin.”
“I will.”
