In Ruins (26 page)

I try to let Tuck's word comfort me, but I'm just so fucking scared. Billy's just a kid.

Tuck runs his hand up and down my back, soothing me, before he takes my hand and leads me into the fated waiting room. In it, huddled together, are Chris and Gina Lahey, Kyle's parents. I blink at them in confusion. Did the hospital call them when they couldn't reach me? Or was Kyle the other minor in the car? All the doctor was able to tell me is that another minor was driving and was also injured.

Gina slowly stands and pulls me into a hug. Her movements are delayed, her eyes a little dazed, and it seems like more than just fear for her son. Like she's been sedated.

“I'm so sorry, Carleigh. So sorry,” she apologizes over and over, tears washing more mascara down the charcoal trails on her cheeks.

“They wouldn't give us any updates on Billy,” Chris—who is either calmer or just in better control of his emotions—explains.

“He's in surgery.” My voice sounds like it's coming from someone else, the words still so foreign that it's easier to deny they belong to me at all.

“Is he going to be okay?” Gina asks.

My lip trembles as I open my mouth to speak, but a sharp exhale replaces my voice, which I seem to have lost in my tightening throat.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Tucker answers for me. “They're doing a laparotomy to deduce the extent of the internal injuries, and, you know, close them up.”

My gaze swings to his. He obviously caught more details than I was able to, and I'm eternally grateful for it.

“Kyle?” The one word is all I can manage.

Gina's eyes rush with more tears, and even Chris's voice is choked by fear. “He tore his spleen in the accident. They're probably going to have to take it out.”

“Oh God,” I gasp.

“He can live without his spleen,” Tucker assures me.

I nod at him. Yes, we watched that episode of
Grey's Anatomy
together.

“Why don't you sit down, sweetie,” Gina offers, but I shake my head. I need to stay on my feet.

“What happened?” I ask them. Because I don't understand. Billy was supposed to be staying at Sadie's. I saw him get in the car with her brother myself. So why was he out, in the middle of the night, drunk, with a thirteen-year-old behind the wheel—and one he told me just hours earlier he wasn't even currently speaking to?

“Billy got into a fight with Sadie. He texted Kyle and asked him to come get him. Told him to bring a forty-ounce. It sounded like they've done this before, Carleigh. Stolen my car and driven around at night. Drinking at Memorial Park. I had no idea. I swear I had no idea!” Gina dissolves into sobs.

My heart races in shock and shame. How could I not know my brother was acting out so badly? I knew he was having a hard time. But
this
?

“What do you mean it sounded like they've done this before?” Tucker demands.

Chris digs into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out what must be Kyle's cell phone.

I shake my head. “They didn't give me Billy's phone.” They didn't give me anything of Billy's. My pulse skips erratically in panic and my chest constricts painfully as my brain refuses to conclude what it might mean that Kyle's phone survived the accident and Billy's may not have.

But Gina is shaking her head. “He left it at home.”

I suck in a gulp of air as the relief settles over me—a temporary reprieve. “Why would he do that?”

“He knows we have an app that tracks it. We've caught him sneaking out before. He must have left it in his room so if we checked, it would show he was there,” Chris explains.

“Billy texted him just after one in the morning saying he got into a big fight with Sadie. He said he left her house and was walking north on Lincoln, and for Kyle to pick him up. According to the chat it was the first text he's sent him in weeks. Unless Kyle's been deleting them.”

“No. They got into a stupid fight. They weren't talking,” I tell them.

Gina rakes her artfully manicured fingers through her disheveled chestnut hair. “I didn't know that. How didn't I know my own son wasn't speaking to his best friend? What kind of mother am I?” Her voice grows progressively more hysterical with each word, and Chris pulls her into his chest and murmurs soft reassurances.

I have to look away. Because I am equally at fault.
What kind of a sister am I?
Tucker wraps his hand around the nape of my neck, resuming his soothing ministrations of earlier before tugging me into his side.

“I swear to God, as soon as he's all healed up, I'm going to kick his ass,” Tucker promises.

Yeah. Me too
.

A doctor I don't recognize enters the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Lahey,” he says.

I hold my breath.

“Kyle is out of surgery. We were able to do a subtotal splenectomy. Meaning we removed only part of his spleen.”

“He's going to be okay?” Gina asks, her voice pleading.

“Barring any complications, yes.”

There is a collective exhale of relief.

“Can we see him?”

The doctor calls a nurse over and directs her where to take the Laheys. Gina turns back at the last second to ask me to keep them updated on Billy. I nod numbly.

I'm relieved Kyle is okay. Truly I am. But I'm also envious. I hate that I am still in limbo. I just want the doctor to come back and tell me that Billy is going to be fine. To have a nurse take me to go see him. So I can hug him and scold him and apologize to him. Is that so much to ask?

Tucker pulls me to a chair and urges me to sit with him. We don't speak. We just sit, his arm curled around my shoulders, keeping me in one piece.

An hour passes. Then another. No one updates us. Tucker offers to get me coffee, but I refuse to release his hand. Eventually I get a text from my mother telling me she's landed and is on her way to the hospital. She asks about Billy, and I text her back what I know.

It's the moment I stop staring at the door that Dr. Solamed suddenly appears. I jump up so fast I nearly topple over, and Tucker's strong hands dart out to brace me. But even he can't steady my racing pulse as I realize I can't get a read on the doctor's expression, and I hold my breath as my stomach rolls with dread.

Present Day

I open my mouth to ask how Billy is, but Dr. Solamed is already talking.

“He's out of surgery. The blunt trauma from the accident caused two bleeding sites, which we were able to locate and repair. We also gave him a blood transfusion.”

My mouth gapes open. “So…he's…”

“He's okay then, right?” Tucker translates for me.

She nods. “He's being transferred to a private recovery room. He'll be out for a while still, and then he'll need to stay here for at least a few more days for observation, but barring any complications, William is going to be fine.”

It's a physical unburdening. I can feel the weight of my terror lift from my shoulders, feel it ease from my joints and muscles.

Billy's okay
.

I fling myself at Tucker and he catches me in a bear hug and presses his lips to my forehead.

“I told you, Princess,” he whispers. “A fighter. Just like his sister.”

“Can we see him?” I ask the doctor.

“As soon as he's done being transferred I'll have someone show you to his room.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” I tell her.

She smiles warmly. “Carleigh, do you by any chance know your blood type? Billy's already had a transfusion, but it would be great to get some more, just in case.”

“Um, AB positive,” I tell her.

“Oh, okay. William is AB negative,” she says. “What about your fiancé?”

My fiancé.

“O negative,” Tucker says.

Dr. Solamed grins widely. “Ah, a universal donor. Please consider donating; we could always use more O neg.”

Tucker nods. “Whatever I can do to help.”

“Fantastic. A nurse will be by in a minute to take you, if that's all right?”

Tucker nods and the doctor leaves.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I know it's weird. The fiancé thing. But it was the only way—”

“I know,” I interrupt him. “You said that already. I get it. It doesn't bother me, Tuck.” Not that he called himself my fiancé, anyway. What bothers me is knowing that whisper of happiness I get from hearing it will never be real.

“It does bother you, Carl,” he challenges.

I frown at him.

“Maybe not that specifically, but you made your thoughts pretty clear at Cap's earlier. And we need to discuss it.”

Huh?
“Tuck—”

“Not now. I know not now. You need to focus on Billy. But we need to talk, Princess. Don't think you get to say that shit to me and walk away. I get a chance to respond. Just,
fuck
, not right now.” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration.

But I don't get why. Why do we need to discuss this more? And why won't he stop fucking calling me
Princess
?

A nurse knocks softly on the doorjamb and asks if now is a good time to take “the universal donor” to give blood.

“Is that all I am to you people? A bag of blood?” Tucker teases, and the twenty-something nurse smiles and bats her eyelashes. I don't miss her blush, either.

I roll my eyes.
A bag of blood, and a piece of meat, apparently.

“You good if I go do this now, Carl?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. My mother will be here any minute,” I assure him.

He squeezes my shoulder, and then leaves with the blushy nurse.

Then I'm alone, pacing back and forth, waiting for someone to come tell me I can see my brother.

“Carleigh!” my mother cries, and I turn and run to her. She wraps me in a hug and I'm surprised to find her face red and tear-streaked. “Have you heard anything?”

“He's okay!” And then I'm crying, too, and we hold each other in comfort and narrowly avoided tragedy, and vaguely I think that I can't remember the last time my mother sincerely embraced me, or offered me any kind of affection outside of her trademark air kisses. But her emotion right now is genuine, and I glimpse a piece of Nicole Stanger I never knew existed.

My mom and I make small talk to ease the tension as we're led to Billy's hospital room. She talks about her awful flight, and even though she focuses on the “unbearable” experience of flying coach, the strain in her eyes tells me her fear for her son was the real reason for her discomfort. She apologizes for me having to wait out the news alone, and I tell her that I wasn't alone. That Tucker is here. Her only response is a vague sound of fleeting interest and a passing mention that she wasn't aware Tucker and I were even speaking.

The nurse outside Billy's hospital room warns us that he isn't expected to wake for a couple of hours still, and gestures for us to go on in.

I startle when I see him. He looks so pale, so young. A youthful face attached to a body that's too big for a child, too small for a man.

My mother settles in a chair at his bedside, but I find myself unable to sit. I stare at her as she holds his hand, and tells his unconscious form that he's going to be okay. It just feels so inauthentic. Even if her emotions seem real now, I can't help but resent her arbitrary parenting. As if she can pick and choose when to actually be a mother. Sure, she flew home as soon as she learned he'd been hurt, but the fact that I was surprised when she did—that speaks volumes. And the reality is, if she wasn't so goddamn absent most of the time, Billy wouldn't be acting out like this in the first place.

We could have lost him.

I
could have lost him.

I swipe angrily at the tears that well in my eyes, banishing them in frustration.

“Kyle's okay, too, though they took out half his spleen,” I murmur, and my mother looks over at me. “He was driving the car. They were both drinking.”

Her eyebrows pinch together as best they can through the Botox freezing her facial muscles. “Why would the Laheys let him drive? He doesn't have his license.”

I gape at her.
Is she serious?
“Of course he doesn't have his license! He's fucking thirteen!”

“Carleigh—” she admonishes my expletive, but I ignore her.

“And what do you mean
let him drive
? The same way
you
‘let' Billy drink. They didn't
know
! He snuck out of the house and stole the damn car!”

My mother swallows anxiously. “Boys acting out,” she says uncertainly.

I shake my head. “This is more than that and you know it. Billy needs to talk to someone. He needs a
parent
.”

My mother sighs. “I know you're upset about Billy, but that doesn't give you the right to say hurtful things.”

Oh, that's rich coming from her. “Right. I forgot you're the only one allowed to criticize. But at least your opinions are about things that
matter
. I mean, who cares how your lifestyle is affecting your kids, as long as I wear the right clothes, right, Mom?” My sarcasm is harsh, but I'm sick of biting my tongue. I can't be Billy's mother, especially now that I'm not even living at home.

My mother rolls her eyes, as if I'm just some hormonal teenager acting out. “
Now
Billy was drinking because of my
lifestyle
?” she says dismissively. “Is he the first teen to ever try alcohol?”

“Are you for real?” I snap. “Billy didn't just
try
alcohol. He's
been
drinking! Remember Halloween?” My God, if denial were an Olympic sport, this woman would hold every world record.

She sighs. “Okay, Carleigh. I hear you. He's obviously going through a phase. I'll talk to him about his behavior.”

I glare at her. “What about your behavior?”

She frowns—or she would if she could move her forehead—but instead of the righteous indignation I expect, she seems anxious. But she hides it quickly and expertly. “And what behavior would that be, exactly?”

I rub my palm down my face. “How about spending more time abroad than at home? Billy needs a mother.”

My mother glares at me. “There's nothing wrong with raising independent children. My parents traveled all the time, and I turned out just fine.”

Debatable
. “I think the operative word, Mom, is
raising
.”

Her eyes narrow. “You know what, Carleigh? You may be an adult, but you're only eighteen. Despite what you seem to think, you don't know everything. My life hasn't exactly been all cupcakes and caviar, you know. For all intents and purposes, I am a single mother, and in spite of your attitude, I'd say you turned out pretty damn well.”

No thanks to you
. But it's the first compliment she's paid me in recent memory that wasn't entirely backhanded, and as I take in her pursed lips and squared shoulders, I realize I'm not being fair. For all of Nicole Stanger's faults, she did teach me pride and resilience, and if I'm going to blame her for her shortcomings, then surely I can acknowledge her strengths. But she doesn't give me the chance.

“You know, I love your father, but it isn't exactly the life I always dreamed of—being on constant guard to keep up appearances, to protect our family's reputation. Do you think I enjoy being separated from my husband? Barely seeing him every couple of months? It's hardly ideal.”

I stare at her, incredulous. “
You're
the one who's so obsessed with
reputation
! Maybe if we just told people the truth, we wouldn't have to be on constant guard! Maybe if Billy didn't have to lie to even his best friends, he wouldn't be under so much goddamned stress!”

“For such a know-it-all you really are delusional, Carleigh. What do you think your childhood would have been like if all of your friends knew where your father was? Do you think they would have been compassionate and understanding?”

“Maybe.” But it's only part true. Because my closest friends wouldn't judge me for my father's choices, but not all “friends” in high school necessarily do the word justice.

My mom scoffs. “They would have judged us all for it, not just your dad. They would have read the articles, and believed all of the terrible things they said, even the exaggerations, and they'd have reserved their sympathy for the people who lost their investments, Carleigh. Not us, I assure you.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Because I know that in many ways she's right.

But she can't resist taking things a step too far. “Look what happened with Tucker. And
he
was supposed to love you.”