Georgie
Coughing racks me until my entire body trembles with the effort. I fear dislodging the IV catheter. Though I’m hooked up to oxygen, it still hurts to breathe, and, sometimes, I lose my breath. I’ve been in the hospital two days already, long enough to skip out on Sloane’s invitation.
That much I know. Other than my time with Sloane in my dressing room, I remember the bare minimum of the events that have transpired since I dove into the pool. If Mom called me or visited, I would ask her to fill in the blanks.
The coughing finally settles down, but my hair is plastered to my face. Though it’s freezing in the room, I’m sweating buckets. Frustrated, I shove the nozzles for the oxygen back into my nose and draw in sharp breaths.
My door opens and I turn my head, hoping to see Mom. I still manage a smile when my big brother walks in, stylish in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and red silk tie. His hazel eyes brighten when they focus on me, but my smile falters when Crowell and his girlfriend follow Josh in.
I avert my eyes, cursing the tears suddenly stinging behind the lids.
“What trouble have you gotten into now, kitten?” Josh asks with a sigh.
“Nothing,” I mutter, reminding myself to play this cool. I can’t make Crowell feel guilty for choosing a girl his own age. Nor can I risk his life by Josh discovering what we’ve been up to. “I have pneumonia.”
I haven’t managed to look their way yet. The lovely view of a small section of sky is just sooo very interesting.
“You remember Lana, don’t you, George?”
Crowell can be such an ass. I’m trying to be mature about this, but he really doesn’t have to shove the presence of his girlfriend in my face. Pursing my lips, I nod. I can’t stand that she’s seeing me when I feel like a limp noodle and smell of sweat and medicine.
“How’d you get pneumonia?” Josh walks around my spacious room, the best that money can acquire, sniffing my water cup, lifting the lid on the pitcher and grimacing, studying the various machines hooked to me. “Who have you been hanging around?”
Lana walks into my range of vision and eyes me with distaste. I return the favor. As she opens her mouth to speak, Crowell throws an arm around her and pulls her against him, kissing her head. She smiles at me, the triumphant gleam in her eyes bitching her up. Swearing she’s wearing contact lenses to complete her fakery, I bare my teeth at her.
Abnormally blue eyes—Shamrock green the day we met—narrow at me.
“Mom’s having your room fumigated,” Josh says, still walking around touching everything he can.
“What are you? Two?” I snarl. “Stop touching shit. For someone supposedly concerned about how I caught this, you’re certainly brave.”
Josh gives me his megawatt smile. “PMS’ing, Georgiana?”
“You’re disgusting.”
He plops into the nearest chair. “No, I’m your big brother. I have every right to know if my life is in danger when your time of the month rolls around.”
I don’t respond. Why take out my fucked up mood on Josh? It’ll only cause us to argue.
The door opens again. This time I don’t even delude myself and pretend my mom will come. She really has no time for me anymore and misery squeezes my insides, saddening me. If I drop off the face of the earth—fly from a high rise building—who would miss me or care that I’m gone?
“Holy fuck,” Crowell growls as Lana squeals.
Annoyed, I look up and choke. “Sloane?”
He stands there, baseball cap turned backward, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes, but I’d know him anywhere.
“Oh my,” Lana coos. “Crowell and I were at your concert Saturday. You’re…you’re amazing.”
Another knife to my chest. Crowell took Lana to the concert he’d invited me to. I glower at him and he flushes. I hope his head explodes and his dick never gets hard again.
Suddenly, the room is silent and everyone’s attention is on me.
“Who’s he?” Josh asks sharply.
“Sloane Mason,” Lana gushes. “Only the biggest rock star in the world.”
Josh isn’t impressed, but the ringing of his cell phone saves us from a smart ass comment. He excuses himself and Sloane takes the space he’d occupied. He doesn’t sit, though, instead standing at the side of my bed and staring at me.
“I had to see about my number one fan. What happened?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Swallowing gallons of water usually has dire repercussions.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crowell pipes up, his brows drawn together. “George?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I reply as casual as I can. He skirts around Lana and rushes to my other side.
“George,” he whispers. “Don’t shut me out. We’re friends. Always.”