Chapter 12

Easton

I arrive at the hospital a little after eight, but Seb’s not in his room. “In testing,” is the hurried response one nurse throws at me. His twin is slumped over the end of the bed, drooling onto his arm. I lever the two-hundred-pound kid onto the mattress and try texting Hartley again.

Classes going ok? We still talking about the gender equity in Feminist Theory? My fave class, u know.

She must think that’s a bad joke.

How abt calc? Anything new and exciting?

I read over my texts. Man, these are dumb as hell. I shove the phone in my pocket and go lie down on the uncomfortable sofa. I don’t know how much Dad donated to get this wing of the hospital built, but I don’t think any of it was spent on this furniture. The sofa’s as hard as granite.

I rifle through my backpack and pull out the Sports Illustrated I brought from home. We’re supposed to be reading to Seb these days. Apparently while you’re in a coma, sometimes you can still be aware of your surroundings. Comas sound like one of those night terrors where you’re half asleep but feel awake, and someone is standing at the end of your bed but you can’t move. I play music for Seb, tell him some shitty jokes, read some memes off the Internet, and quote The Godfather to him.

After a while, I push to my feet and find something to eat. Halfway through my club sandwich, my phone pings. It almost flies across the room in my haste to pull it out of my pocket. But it’s not Hartley. Instead, it’s a video from Pash, and features two of our friends having a hair-pulling contest in the middle of the lunchroom.

He captions it with: Where’s the mud pit when you really need one?

I zoom in and out, trying to locate Hartley, but I don’t see her. I text Pash the fist-bump emoji and ask where Hart is.

Me: Where’s Hart?

Pash: Dunno.

Me: Take a pic of the lunchroom. Send to me.

Pash: I’m not there anymore. It’s 5th period now.

I get a picture of his feet and the tile floor. Pash has no classes with Hartley, so this isn’t helpful. I send him thanks anyway and tuck my phone back into my jeans. I’ll go see her tonight when Ella comes to sit with Sawyer.

When I return to the recovery wing, I check in at the nurses’ station.

“Is Seb back yet?” I lean over the counter and scan to see if his chart is lying out—not that I’d be able to understand it.

The nurse on duty spreads her arms over the confidential records. “We finished testing twenty minutes ago.”

“Any update?” I ask hopefully.

“I’m sorry, but there is no change.”

That fucking sucks. I make my way down to Seb’s room, but before I go in, I take a couple calming breaths. Seeing Seb lying motionless in his hospital bed is fucking awful. Each time I go in I’m torn between wanting to shake him until his eyes pop open or throw shit around the room until the sick feeling in my gut dissolves. But Sawyer’s upset enough for the entire family. He doesn’t need to see me losing my cool. I’m here to bring a little levity to the situation, otherwise we’re all going to drown.

I crack my jaw, paste on a grin, and push the door open.

“We missed a fire school day. Pash texted me a video of Margot Dunlop and Dian Foster getting into it over Treehouse. He’s been doing both of them at the same time and neither of them knew it.”

Sawyer doesn’t look up from the hospital bed where Seb is now lying. I toss my backpack in the corner and drop into one of the empty chairs.

“Go shower and then eat,” I tell my brother. “You look like you’re two steps away from trading places with Seb.”

Sawyer still doesn’t move. I push out of the chair and walk over to him. He doesn’t acknowledge me. I snap my fingers in front of his face a couple of times until he blinks.

“What?” he asks sourly.

“You smell like ass.”

“So?”

“So go use the shower. Seb’s probably in his coma because every time he wakes up it smells like a garbage can and he figures he’d rather be in his perfect dream world where everything is sunshine and fucking roses.”

“Fuck you.” Sawyer folds his arms across his chest and digs his butt into the chair.

“I’m not into incest, kid.”

“Oh, and I am?” Sawyer explodes. “Is that what you’re saying? That this is some kind of punishment because of that?” He points a shaky finger at the bed.

I back up with my hands up in the air. What in the hell is he ranting about? “No. It was a joke.”

Sawyer and Seb have been dating the same girl for over a year now. There’s always been a lot of commentary on it because, well, it’s weird and different and, probably, in some eyes, wrong. I could care less.

“Did someone say anything?” I look around for a target. What my brothers do with their dicks is no one’s business.

Sawyer’s hand falls to his lap. He leans forward, scrubbing his face with the heels of his palms. The kid looks exhausted. There are huge bags under his eyes. His skin has taken on a pale, ashy complexion. Even the muscles in his biceps look smaller than a week ago. I wasn’t kidding when I said that he looked like he needed to be in a hospital bed.

“I went to confession,” he mumbles into his hands.