Page 85

CHAPTER 85

KING

THIS NEEDS TO STOP

Drenched in sweat, with a throbbing headache behind my eyes, I woke up to see my best friends at the foot of my bed, staring down at me.

"Morning, Frankenstein." Adam said.

Ryan grimaced. "You look like something shit you out."

It took all my energy to push up from bed but I did, head lolling forward. "Hey."

"Punched the fuck out of Elijah Contractor." Adam whistled. "I’m jealous, dude. Seething with jealousy. Frothy with it."

"Don’t say frothy, I’m going to vomit."

"Stitches aren’t supposed to look like that," Ryan interjected. "We’re taking you to the hospital."

"I can’t let Coach find out?—"

"King, your forehead looks like a landing strip of pubes," Adam pointed out. "Ryan’s right, we’re taking you in."

"Ryan? Adam?" my mom’s voice echoed down the hallway. "Did you wake him—what happened to you?! KING! WHAT HAPPENED?!"

It fell on Ryan to explain while the two of them helped me out of bed and we left for the car, my mom and sister following after us. Jasmine didn’t even have her shoes on, but she squeezed her way through until she could climb into the car first.

"I’m going to the doctor this time," she told me stubbornly.

"Where’s the truck?" my mom asked, flabbergasted. She looked even more stunned when I told her where it broke down. "I need to get my purse, I’ll be right back!"

She hurried away and I closed my eyes. "Is Willow okay?"

"Uh, she slapped the fuck out of Elijah," Adam retorted.

"Don’t curse in front of— what? "

"We called June on our way over here," Ryan explained.

Adam squeezed in for the middle seat between my sister and my mom, like the arrangement made sense. "Open palm, full smack to the face, right where he lost a tooth. Bet it hurt like your nuts in a garbage disposal?—"

"Jasmine’s in the car . "

"Sorry. What’s the kid equivalent?" Adam paused. "Like a…pie to the face?"

The nurses weren’t shocked to see us rolling into the hospital, but they were shocked to see who needed to be admitted. Each of them stared like they’d never seen someone stitch their own forehead before.

All five of us piled into the same room and Adam sat on one of the kid’s chairs when Jasmine refused to give up the adult one. He cleared his throat. "King…I’m sorry."

I glanced over in surprise, holding my head.

"You’ve saved my ass more times than I deserve," he admitted. "You’re right. I was taking out my shit on you—sorry, Jasmine. Court’s getting to me and I’m worried Piper’s going to figure out she can do better. That’s my own shit—sorry, Jasmine—to deal with. It’s not fair to you. I owe you. But it’s deeper than that, you know? You’re one of my best friends and I should’ve stepped off your nuts—sorry, Jasmine. That’s it."

"You can’t yell at Willow like that again."

He breathed through his nose. "Shit, I did, didn’t I?"

I nodded.

"I’ll say sorry to her too. I lost my shit—sorry, Jasmine—at the pharmacy, shouldn’t have done that."

"I’m sorry too," I said. "I should’ve told you. Actually, if I’m talking about what would’ve been nice to have, I should’ve come clean to Coach when Willow came to campus. Then you would’ve known then. It’s been weird not having you guys in on this."

Ryan cleared his throat. "I’m not sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong." We turned to look at him and he continued. "But I can be there when you talk to Coach. Try to read off the list or something."

"When did we get so sentimental?" Adam muttered.

"I think the girls did it to us," I said.

"Yeah, well. If you want me there, I’ll be there too. Moral support and all that bullshit—sorry, Jasmine."

As long as we were talking about hard conversations though, my eyes wandered to my mom, texting on her phone, her lips pressed together. It was hard to ignore the cigarette smell in the car. It was hard to ignore any of it.

"Guys? Can you take Jasmine to go get a smoothie?"

"Which one of us?" Adam said before he glanced over at my mom. "Oh, got it. Come on, Jasmine."

"I don’t want a smoothie."

"We’ll get you an espresso."

I stopped them. "No coffee for the seven-year-old."

"What? What do kids drink?"

Ryan rolled his eyes and pulled open the door. "You’re going to be a great dad."

The door closed behind them, and my mom sat on one of the available chairs, a pained expression on her face. "Oh, look at you. Those stitches are breaking my heart, King?—"

"Mom? This needs to stop."

"I hope so. I thought we were past the stitches?—"

"No. The smoking. Please. It needs to stop."

She froze. Her eyes flickered to mine. "It’s not like I smoke all the time, it’s only on occasion?—"

"I’m your son. I’m your kid," I said, my voice low. "Every time you call, I have a heart attack because I’m scared it’s the last time I’m going to hear from you."

She pulled her jacket tighter around her.

"All of my friends are too close to this and none of them want to bring it up. But now that I’m explaining it to Willow, it’s different. You and I are too comfortable with this routine. It’s not healthy."

"I’m thirty-five, King. I didn’t think life would be like this."

"I know." I raked my hand through my hair, stopping when the pain from the stitches forced me to. "I can always take you to the hospital, you know that, but I can’t lose you too. I want you to go to the group sessions and talk to people about this. I need you to want to change with me."

Her eyes shone and she hurried to brush away at the tears, staring at the wall.

"I don’t want Jasmine to grow up like this."

"I’m—I’m sorry?—"

"You don’t have to be sorry," I assured her. "I just want you to be here. With me. That’s it."

She pushed up from the chair and tried to hug me, but the angle was awkward so I stood up too. Squeezed her tight.

This cycle had to stop. Nothing was changing, nothing was evolving. I couldn’t kid myself and think everything would fix overnight but if she was willing to put in the work and start at square one, that was all I wanted.

A sharp pain tore at my forehead and I blanched, lurching forward with the hug before I pulled back before I sent my mom to the ground.

Shit, shit, shit.

I popped the stitches with a fucking hug.

"These really are shitty stitches," I croaked.

"Oh my god!" My mom stumbled back and yanked open the door. "Nurse! Nurse! "