“Why would he do that?” I ask, refusing to believe Kingston would disrespect my family’s property by hosting a party there.
“When Kingston finally decides to turn up, I’ll sure as hell be finding out. Rest assured.”
“He wasn’t there?”
Something isn’t adding up. Kingston wouldn’t do this, I know it. And even if I wasn’t steadfast in my faith in him, how could he have done it, without being there? I may be groggy from meds and a head injury, but my common sense still works.
“No, and he’s not answering his phone. Clay was there, though—now there’s a good man. Told me he heard about it from some buddies and got there as quick as he could to break it up. Not only did he move fast to help our family, but he was even trying to look out for Kingston…before I could find out. I can respect that, loyalty to a new friend. But Kingston—”
“Wait, no!”
I shuffle my body, anger flaring through my sore limbs and pounding skull. I look to my mom, widening my eyes at her, begging her to say something. Clay is anything but a good guy, and Kingston—and I—need her to speak up. She knows I can’t argue with or correct my father, but I can’t lie here and listen to another minute of misconceived bullshit either!
“Yeah, Clay’s a great guy,” I say with more sarcasm than I thought I’d have in me at this point. I watch as my mom says nothing, dropping her head so she doesn’t have to look at me.
And then it hits me: She isn’t saying anything because her loyalty lies with her son. To “out” Clay would be to “out” Sebastian, and she won’t do it. Unfortunately—and I know shamefully, for my mom—that leaves Kingston as the sacrificial lamb of a mother’s love.
“What aren’t you saying, Echo?” my dad questions.
Tears prickle my eyes, blurring my vision. I’m in the same boat as my mom. It’s a gross injustice, and Kingston doesn’t deserve all these uninformed assumptions. But Sebastian comes first with me too, so I remain silent.
Plus, until I hear the facts from Kingston myself, wouldn’t I just be assuming too? Although at least my assumptions are based on blind faith in him, rather than completely undeserved faith in Clay.
“Echo?” my father presses.
“Nothing,” I mumble, and thankfully my mom jumps to the rescue.
“I’m trying to reach Kingston, and I’ll keep doing so,” she finally says, picking up on my inner turmoil. She places a hand on my dad’s arm. “Let’s worry about all that tomorrow, though. Your daughter has a broken arm and a pretty bad concussion. I’d say her rest and recovery are the most important things right now.”
My temples are really throbbing now and my vision is getting blurrier by the second, so as much as I hate it, my mother and I have to come to a silent agreement to let the matter drop for now, allowing my father his misconceptions.
“Of course you’re going to be sore all over for a while, but the doctor says you should be able to come home tomorrow,” she explains to me. “They just want to observe you a little longer because of your concussion.”
The nurse comes in, ready to give me something more for pain, but I shake my head. Damn it, that hurt! I have to remember: Move as little as possible, Echo!
I motion to my water with my eyes this time, and thankfully, Sammy-on-the-spot gets the hint and helps me with another drink before I speak again.
“In a minute,” I tell the nurse, before staring back at my dad. There’s still something more he’s not telling me; I can feel it, despite my foggy state.
“We should leave you to sleep. It’s late,” he announces, then turns to my mom. “Give me a minute with Echo, and I’ll meet you and Sammy in the waiting room in a few.”
Mom tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth. “John, I’d rather not leave her alone overnight.”
“Echo is in the best place for her right now. She’ll be fine. We both know you won’t get a wink of sleep if you stay here, and neither will she. You’ll hover and fret all night.” He turns to Sammy, while my mom leans down and gives me a hug.
“Here’s your phone, honey,” Mom whispers, sneaking it under the covers by my right, good arm. “I don’t think you’re supposed to have it, but someone can say something to me if they have a problem. You need anything, you call.” She kisses my cheek. “Let’s go, Sammy.”
Oh, if looks could kill, my dad would be wheeled straight down to the morgue. But he, of course, thinks it’s funny, and chuckles at her.
Once they’re gone, banished to the waiting room, my dad pulls up a chair to my bedside and sighs, running a hand over his face. He looks exhausted.