“It’s just for a few months, bro. I’ll be back at the apartment before you know it,” I say, trying to ease Sasha’s ire.
“Well, I for one am happier than a pig in shit that you’ll be gone,” Derek announces. When I let the guys know, Derek immediately jumped on the chance to take my room. He lives with his parents in a small house just outside Lansing and, though his folks are nice, I don’t blame him for wanting some space.
I’ve known Derek for almost as long as I’ve known Sasha. Derek’s family lived with his grandparents three doors down from my parents for a few years while Derek’s dad struggled to keep a job in the failing IT industry. Apparently my mom went to welcome them—an apple pie in hand and me clinging to her leg—and Derek greeted us in a pink polka-dot dress. By choice. I don’t remember it, but Sasha and I sure as hell have teased him enough about it over the years. I’m kind of surprised he kept in touch with us after they moved to Lansing.
I chuckle. “Have at ’er. Just leave it clean.”
“Are you sure you want to agree to that, Cole?” Sasha chuckles. “You’ve seen what he picks up.”
“Hey now . . .” Derek’s warning tone only spurns Sasha on.
“What was the last one’s name? Tia? Ria?”
“Sia.”
“Sia,” Sasha echoes. “That chick was—”
Hi, my name is Tara. I’m a paramedic. Can you hear me? You were in an accident. We’re going to help you.
Hi, my name is Tara. I’m a paramedic. Can you hear me? You were in an accident. We’re going to help you.
“Hi, my name is Tara. I’m a—”
“What?” The single word scratches my throat. I open my eyes to the dark sky hanging over me, flashes of red and blue light pulsing rhythmically within my peripherals. Wailing sirens assault my ears, both distant and approaching.
So many sirens.
A woman leans over me. She locks eyes with me and speaks in a calm voice. “Hi, I’m Tara. I’m a paramedic. You were in an accident. Everything is going to be okay. Can you tell me your name?”
I pause, struggling to process her words. “Cole.” It hurts to swallow.
Someone else is crouched beside me. I try to turn my head to see who it is, to figure out what’s going on.
But I can’t turn my head.
“Just hold still, Cole,” Tara says as something tightens across my chin. It’s then that I notice the stiff brace wrapped around my neck.
“What happened?”
“You were in a car accident, but don’t worry. We’re going to get you to a hospital real soon.” An ambulance’s ear-piercing wail abruptly cuts off behind me as brakes squeak.
“How bad is it?” Besides the pain in my neck, I can’t feel much of anything else.
“We just need to finish securing your neck as a precaution,” she explains, not answering my question, as the other person tightens a strap over my forehead.
Car.
I was in the car.
Who was I in the . . .
Sasha.
Derek.
“Where are they?” My eyes strain, first to the left and then to the right, but I can’t see anything. “Where are my friends?”
“Everyone is being taken care of, Cole. Do you know what month it is?”
I have finals next week. Yes. I need to get back for finals. “April.”
“Good. Who is the president of our country, Cole?”
“Bush.”
“And how old are you, Cole?”
She keeps using my name. Why does she keep doing that? “Twenty. Twenty-one in December.”
The other paramedic finishes working on the straps. Hands that I didn’t realize were holding my head in place disappear as Tara offers me a sad smile. “Do you remember where you were tonight?”
“A party. At Rich’s house.” I pause. “Where’s Derek? Sasha?”
“There are several paramedics on site. Everyone is being taken care of.” She calls out to someone unseen, “Can we get him out of here?”
A gruff “yes” answers and suddenly I’m moving. Low voices and competing emergency lights surround me from all angles. I search with my eyes—the only part of my head that I can move besides my mouth—to catch a glimpse of something. Anything. But the straps pin me down tight.
“They’ll bring my friends to the same hospital, right?”
“They’ll get the best care possible,” Tara says, climbing into the back. Again, not really answering my question.
Just as the ambulance doors are closing, a voice crackles over a police radio nearby.
All I catch is “D.O.A.” before the locks click shut.
Chapter 2
Brown stains on ceiling tiles.
That’s the first thing I see.
My mother’s face, her hands clasped and pressed against her lips as if in prayer, is the second.
“Cole, honey?” Her gray-blue eyes widen slightly as she sits up straight in her chair, her blond hair hanging loose around her face. I haven’t seen her wear it so casually in public for years.
I blink away the haze in my eyes as I search my surroundings. White walls and light blue curtains. Basic white flannel sheets with thin blue stripes. Machines . . . I’m in a hospital room; that much is obvious. I just don’t remember getting here.
What I do know is that I’m in a fuckload of pain. Did someone kick in my chest? Each draw of breath makes me want to hold the next. A slight turn of my neck sends shock waves of agony through my entire right side. It probably has something to do with this sling that’s holding my arm in place.
“Carter, he’s awake!” my mom calls out as a cool hand embraces mine.
Shoes shuffle against the hospital floor and my dad appears from behind the curtain to stand behind her, his old Stanford Law sweatshirt rumpled and sporting a coffee stain down the front.
The purple bags under their eyes tell me they haven’t slept in a while.
“What happened?” My throat is too dry to handle words. I start coughing, only to wince from the pain in my shoulder. Even wincing hurts.
“Here, Cole. You need some water.” My mom holds a cup to my lips. “Just small sips for now.”
My dad wastes no time, reaching forward to hit the red call button on the bed rail. “The doctors will give you something for the pain.”
Taking a few short breaths, I try again. “What happened?”
They exchange glances, and then my dad’s Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “You were in a car accident.”
“Right.” Now I remember the paramedic. That’s what she kept telling me. You were in an accident. We’re going to help you. The pieces start falling into place. The party, the drive home . . .
“You’re going to be fine, Cole.” My mom squeezes my fingers. “Some bruises and a few broken bones. But you’re going to be fine. Just a few days in here and then we can take you home.” She repeats in a whisper, “You’re going to be fine.” I don’t know if she’s reassuring me or herself anymore, especially with the tears welling in her eyes.
I grit my teeth against the pain as I tip my head to the left, to see the empty bed. “Where’s Sasha? They should have put us together.” I was eleven the last time I was admitted into a hospital. Sasha and I had decided to race our BMX bikes through a neighbor’s pothole-riddled field. We ended up in a room together, both in casts. We’ve never done anything apart, really.
A nurse in colorful scrubs pushes through the door then to round the bed. “How is our patient?” she asks, her focus on the IV stand next to my bed, checking the myriad of bags, detaching and reattaching drips.
“He’s in a lot of pain,” my mom answers for me as a short, balding man with a stethoscope around his neck marches in. He lifts a chart board off the bottom of the bed. “Hi. I’m Dr. Stoult. And you are Cole Reynolds . . . twenty years old . . . motor collision.” He lifts a sheet to scan the reports, familiarizing himself with me. “How are you feeling, Cole?”
“Like shit.”
Normally my mom would reproach me. Now, she just keeps holding my hand like she’s afraid to let go.