And instead they were in the back of an ambulance.
Kinley wondered, for a moment, how different her life would be if they had just called an ambulance when Stratford fell. He’d still be dead—she was sure of that—but would she be in juvie? Prison, perhaps? Or would everything have been okay? Would the police have understood it was an accident?
She put her head in her hands, blocking out the scene in front of her. Mattie’s too-pale face. The grim expressions of the EMTs. The sight of the machines, all working to save him.
But she couldn’t block out everything. The endless chirps of the machine wormed their way into her mind, and the strong, coppery scent of blood was everywhere.
Tyler tapped her shoulder. “Kin,” he hissed. “Kinley, look!”
Kinley sat up.
He was awake.
Mattie was awake.
His eyes were glassy and unfocused. He tried to move, but an EMT stilled him. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just stay still. It’s going to be fine.”
Kinley grasped Tyler’s arm, her fingernails digging into his skin. Mattie blinked, and his chin moved slightly.
“He’s trying to say something!” Tyler said.
The taller EMT pulled the breathing mask away. “Stay calm, okay?” she said, her voice low and soothing. “We’re gonna take care of you.” She touched his shoulder gently.
Mattie tried to focus. “Someone’s following us,” he said.
And then his eyes closed, and he started sucking in this giant breaths of air, like he had just crested the surface of the ocean after nearly drowning. His chest rose and fell too rapidly, and Kinley wanted to hide her eyes again but she forced herself to watch.
This was all her fault. And now, she had to deal with the consequences, no matter what they were.
“Calm down,” the male EMT soothed, grabbing Mattie’s hand. “Just relax, okay? Can you count down slowly from ten? Good. That’s it. That’s it.”
The female EMT turned to them, frowning. “What did he say? Something about . . . following?”
“Didn’t catch it,” Tyler said without meeting her eyes. “Sorry.”
“Me neither.” Kinley’s grip tightened further on Tyler’s arm, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Maybe he’ll say it again when he wakes up.”
The EMT stared at them for a second longer. And then she turned away. “Listen a little closer next time,” she muttered.
Before she could say anything else, they pulled into the emergency entrance.
Tyler
Monday, June 29
Tyler watched as Cade closed the door of the hospital room very quietly. They all stood around Mattie’s bed—Tyler and Kinley, who had rode in the ambulance, and Ivy, who had followed closely and cried until they’d let her into the room. “Ivy texted me about what happened,” Cade said, holding up his phone. “Is he okay?”
He would be, they said. The doctor had called it a severe concussion. They were going to monitor him overnight to be sure there was nothing further wrong, but so far, it looked like he was going to be fine.
Tyler was almost a little jealous. Mattie had, for a few minutes, been able to escape into unconsciousness. Had been able to escape the screwed-up shit they’d all done together.
“I called his aunt,” Ivy volunteered. “She was in Brunswig for the day, antique shopping, but she’s going to call his parents and let them know what happened.” Ivy checked her phone. “She’ll be here in a half hour. We should probably all clear out by then.”
For a few moments, no one said anything. They just stood around Mattie’s hospital bed, watching him. He didn’t look fine. A large white bandage was wound around his head, which was misshapen due to the swelling.
“He said something,” Tyler said. “He woke up for a little bit in the ambulance, and he said something.” He swallowed. “He said that someone was following him.”
“What? When?” Cade asked. “When he fell? Did he fall? What happened?”
Tyler shook his head. “I don’t know, man. All I know is that I looked out the window—and he was just lying there. Blood was everywhere.” His hands started shaking at the memory. He shoved them in his pockets.
“Why would someone be following Mattie?” Ivy asked. “What did he ever do?” Her hands gripped the metal rails on the side of the bed.
“I think we all know.” Cade met her eyes, his mouth set and grim.
“What did any of us ever do?” Kinley asked dully.
A knock at the door made them all jump. It opened, just a foot, and a man stuck his head into the room.
A man Tyler knew very well.
Emile Harkins.
His parole officer. He scanned the room, and his eyes landed on his charge. “Tyler,” he said. “I need to speak with you. Now.”
In the time it took Tyler to reach the door, a million different thoughts ran through his head.
Was this about Jer?
Or had Jacob finally ratted him out, like he’d been promising?
Or even worse—was this about Stratford?