Never Gonna Tell (26 page)

My foot slides off the gas and the car stops inches before the row dead ends into a concrete pillar. I hit something, hard. Nicky is no longer in front of me, but there’s blood splattered across the hood of the car.

I whip around in a wild search. Several feet behind me, Nicky is an unmoving lump on the ground, his body mangled and bloodied.
Oh my god, that wasn’t a speed bump. I ran Nicky over with the car
. I can’t peel my eyes away from his mangled body, the image searing into my skull. He’s not moving, and judging by the awkward position of his head and the amount of blood spilling out underneath him, I don’t think he will be ever again. The human in me wants to get out and check on him, but my practical side begs me to keep running and don’t stop until I find help. For me, not him.

That’s the side I listen to.

With all the commotion, I lost track of Galloway and Soldevilla—and now they’re rounding a corner and heading toward me. I move the deployed airbag out of my way and step on the gas again. In my renewed panic, I forget momentarily that this is a stick shift. The car jumps and stalls.

I press down on the clutch and turn the key but there’s no time to try again. The two men are only feet from me. I fumble with the door lock, but the men just run right past me. My eyes follow their path. They stop where Nicky is lying in the road, Soldevilla putting pressure on a wound near Nicky’s stomach while Galloway checks for a pulse.

I start the car again—this time remembering the clutch. It’s not until I’ve wound down three levels of the parking garage that I allow myself to breathe. Two men wearing doctor’s coats with stethoscopes around their necks come out of an elevator as I near the bottom. I stop the car and jump out, flying into their arms.

“Please, please help me.” My voice is shaking, and I can barely get the words out. I cling to the man in front of me, only now noticing that I’m getting blood all over his white coat. I have no idea where the blood is coming from. “You’ve got to help me. Please!”

“Holy shit. Call for help!” The man eases me onto the ground, but I refuse to loosen my grip on him. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

I bury my face into him as sobs rack my body, everything finally catching up to me.

“What’s your name, darlin’? Where are you hurt?”

I can’t bring myself to answer him. The image of the gun pointed between my eyes and Nicky’s contorted body plays on repeat in my head. I try to take a breath, but my chest is too tight. I can’t get any air.

“She’s hyperventilating. Her pulse is through the roof.” He cups my face with his hands, pulling it up to his own, but my vision is too blurred from tears to really see him. “I need you to breathe now for me. Can you do that? Nice, slow breaths.”

I can’t do that. I shake my head and bury my face once again, trying desperately to erase the picture looping in my mind. I fight for a breath, becoming lightheaded.
I’m going to pass out
, I think.

“Where’s she bleeding from?”

“She’s got a cut above her eye, but most of this seems to be from her chest. That airbag is deployed, so she may have broken a rib.” Someone pokes my side, and I scream out in pain.

“Hang in there. We’re going to take care of you.”

Strong arms lift me up, and I’m carried away. It’s the last thing I remember before everything fades.

“YOU PROMISE I get to go home today? To my own bed? No more IV? No more nurses coming in at three in the morning and waking me up to ask me if I’m having trouble sleeping?” I wrap the cord to my headphones around my iPod, shoving them into my bag.

Charlie chuckles, grabbing the bag from me as Dad takes my hand and carefully helps me into the wheelchair. After re-injuring my collapsed lung, any movement involving my diaphragm is insanely painful. Thank God for good pain meds. “Yes. You get to go home, but only on the condition that you continue on bed rest for at least a week.”

I don’t even hesitate to agree. “Done. I’m not planning on leaving my bed again. Ever. It’s nothing but Netflix marathons and endless pizza for the next week. Maybe two.”

Dad pouts. “Hey! I was going to make you some homemade soup. I found this great new recipe to try.”

“NO!” Charlie and I exclaim at the same time.

Dad rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. I see how it is. But can I at least take some to Marco?”

My chest tightens hearing his name. Ever since he was found, it’s been touch and go with him. He was only moved out of the intensive care unit last night and is finally out of serious condition, now listed at “stable.”

“Can we stop by his room before we leave?” I ask.

Dad rubs my shoulder. “Of course. I’d already planned on it. Mom’s at the nurses’ station signing the last of your discharge papers. I’ll drop you off and go tell your mom what’s happening.”

Charlie holds the door as Daddy wheels me out. Marco was moved to the room next to mine last night. Apparently when the nurses allow you to get kidnapped from the ER, they’re pretty afraid of a lawsuit and will meet almost any request. Once my parents and Charlie left last night, I snuck into Marco’s room and carefully curled up with him in the bed all night. The nurses weren’t thrilled, but never said a word.

Mom is still threatening to sue, but I told her not to bother. As long as Soldevilla and Galloway are behind bars—which they are and will be for a very, very long time—I don’t need anything else.

The door to Marco’s room is shut, and I knock lightly before Dad opens it in case he’s sleeping.

“I’ll give you guys some time alone,” Dad says, stopping the wheelchair at the door. “C’mon, Charlie. Let’s go order a pizza to pick up on the way home.”

I smile. “Thanks.” I push open the door and enter slowly, but it’s not necessary. Marco’s awake, his eyes lighting up as he sees me.

“Hey. So you’re finally getting out of here, huh?” Marco pushes a button, raising his bed into a sitting position. His bruises have almost faded, but he still has a yellowish tint to his skin. He coughs and winces slightly, still very sore. The doctors ended up having to remove his spleen and a portion of his liver, and he lost almost two pints of blood, requiring a transfusion. He’ll need to be monitored for a while, but doctors expect him to eventually make a full recovery.

I wheel up to him and move to the chair next to him before grabbing his hand, entwining our fingers. “And you’ll be right behind me in just a few days.”

He sighs. “Probably at least a week. Maybe more. They’re worried about my kidney functions now.”

I lean into him, careful not to put too much pressure on my ribcage. “Well, I’ll be here every day, so it won’t be too bad.”

He kisses the stitches on my forehead where my head slammed into the dashboard. “It’ll give me something to look forward to every day.”

“Good.” I snuggle into him a bit more, trying to figure out how to bring up a difficult topic. “So your dad’s funeral is being arranged for next Saturday. My mom talked to the hospital staff, and they said you should be healed enough by then to attend, though depending on your test results, you may need to come back here right afterwards.”

Marco swallows hard. I know he’s trying to be strong and not cry, but I don’t want him to bottle everything in. I squeeze his hand. “Your great aunt said we can use the restaurant for the wake after, and she’s helping me get in touch with your Grandpa Sal to inform him of all the arrangements.” I leave off the part where I’m trying to find his mother too, though I haven’t had any luck. When she ran all those years ago she changed her name, but not knowing what it is makes it very difficult to locate her. Which I guess was the point.

“Are they having a funeral for Nicky, too?”

Just hearing the name sends a shiver down my spine. “I don’t think anyone is mourning him, and certainly not losing sleep about not having a funeral.”

He kisses my forehead. “Agreed. The world is a better place now that he’s no longer in it.”

There’s a knock at the door before it squeaks open. Mom and Dad come in, followed by Charlie. The trio stands at the foot of Marco’s bed.

“What about your cousins and stuff?” I shift, looking at my parents. “Are they going to be prosecuted, Mom?”

Mom shoves her hands in her pockets. “We’re investigating now. Chances are everything will be blamed on Nicky, and because he’s not here to defend himself, charges won’t be brought.”

“Even as accessories?” Charlie asks, sitting in the empty seat in the corner of the room.

“Unless someone is willing to come forward as a witness, there’s very little proof of their involvement.”

Marco shifts in his bed. “Trust me, they were involved, but only because they felt like they didn’t have much of a choice. Like me.” He swallows hard, clearing his throat before continuing. “They were indoctrinated into the lifestyle young and saw what happens when you defy Nicky firsthand.”

“Is Hunter going to be okay with that? Without getting justice for his dad?”

“He did. He got the ultimate justice when you killed Nicky.” Marco winces when he realized what he said. “I’m sorry, Reagan. I shouldn’t have…”

A flash of Nicky’s body fills my mind, and though I try to shake it away, bile still rises in my throat, burning. I’ve had nightmares every night since. Horrible, awful nightmares. I promised Mom and Dad that I’d see a therapist about my trauma.

I swallow. “It’s okay. I did kill him and I have to live with that. I took a life.” Tears threaten, and I blink repeatedly, trying to keep them at bay.

This time it’s Marco who squeezes my hand in comfort, whispering in my ear. “You saved your life. That’s what you need to focus on. He would’ve killed you, so don’t you waste a single tear feeling bad for what you did. If I could have, I would have taken him out myself.”

I nod and take a deep breath. “I know. I get that I didn’t have any other choice. It’s just hard…”

The room is quiet for a minute, everyone afraid to say the wrong thing. Mom finally clears her throat. “Let’s get you home, sweetie, and let Marco rest. You can visit with him again tomorrow.”

I sit up, my hand sliding out of his. “Tomorrow,” I promise him.

Marco kisses my temple. “Tomorrow.”

“CHAR? CAN YOU help zip me up?”

“Only if you help me with this stupid tie!” he calls back.

Chuckling, I poke my head in his room and watch him struggling with the black necktie. I fiddle with the silken fabric. “I can never remember. Is it two twists around and then you make a loop? Or loop it through first?”

Charlie rolls his eyes at me. “You’re just as useless. I’ll get your dad to help.”

I turn, sweeping my hair up off my neck so he can help zip up my dress. “Probably for the best.”

“How’s Marco holding up? This has got to be so hard for him.”

I slip a gold hoop earring into my ear. “He’s okay. Not great, but okay. He’s been staying with his aunt since he got discharged. She just keeps crying and stuffing him with food. I don’t want to push him to talk about it if he doesn’t want to, but I’m afraid he’s bottling it all up.”

Charlie nods. “Give him time. He’ll open up when he’s ready. The best thing you can do is be there for him when he is.”

There’s a knock at the front door before Mom calls up to us. “Guys? Kally is here. Are you ready to go?”

“Almost!” I call back, scrounging through my closet to find my shoes. I own exactly one pair of high heels, and have only worn them one other time when I was a bridesmaid at my cousin’s wedding two years ago. I’m dreading putting them on, knowing how bad they pinch my toes, but it’s for Marco. He’s never seen me look so girly, and today is going to be very hard on him so maybe my dolled-up look will put a smile on his face.

I find the shoes and slip them on, ignoring the pain they’re already giving me. I’d rather have a collapsed lung. Whoever made these stupid things needs a swift kick in the butt.

Marco is waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me, looking practically edible in his navy-blue suit. His eyes widen seeing me, his mouth dropping a bit as he sucks in a breath. Charlie chuckles behind me, whispering, “Oh, he’s got it baaad.”