Page 89

CHAPTER

SIXTY-FOUR

REMI

My head is pounding, and I’m sore all over.

That’s the first thing I notice. Everything hurts.

My eyelids feel heavy, and I’m not ready to get up yet so I turn on my side. But blinding pain lights through me and I hiss, staying on my back. My eyes fly open, white, sterile light harsh around me.

This is not my dorm room.

I lift my hand over my eyes to shield them from the fluorescent light of wherever I’m at, my pulse pounding heavy and hard in my chest. Where the fuck am I?

What happened last night?

And for one moment, I think about the razor blades in my room.

I’ve been staying away from them, dumped into the trash.

But maybe I relapsed. Because the grief hits me again like a train wreck.

Cortland telling me to leave his porch. The past three weeks, partying every chance I get to try and enjoy my college experience.

To distract myself. Keep my head above… feeling numb.

As I dart my eyes around the white room, taking in the closed door, open blinds, and the machines around me, everything slowly comes back into my brain as I panic.

My heartbeat is erratic, and I scramble upright, glancing down at my wrist.

A bandaid, and a spot of blood beneath it.

What the fuck?

I remember the guy’s hand on me in the room with Lyza and the Ouija board. Going into the bathroom and…

Chase.

Oh my God.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, and feel something rough against my face. Pulling my hand away, I see a cut. Cleaned up, but diagonal across my palm all the same.

The baseball bat.

The glass.

Cortland swinging that?—

“Remi?”

I snap my head up, dropping my hand as the door to my room opens. I’m in the hospital.

“Van,” I say, my voice rough as he comes in with two iced coffees in hand, nudging the door closed behind him.

He looks disheveled, circles under his eyes like he didn’t get any sleep last night. He’s in fitted joggers and a white sweatshirt, and he crosses the room to set down our drinks on the tray beside my bed. I notice my phone there, facedown.

Van plops down into the little chair a few feet from the bed and he runs his hands over his shaved head.

“Van, why am I here?” I ask, the words reluctant to come out.

He rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together as he looks up at me with tired blue eyes.

“You got stabbed.”

My stomach drops. That pain in my side… My hand drifts there now, over my hospital gown— I’m wearing a fucking hospital gown.

I drop my hand, clenching it into a fist on my thigh, scared to see the damage. To know.

“By Chase McGowan.”

The breath leaves my lungs.

“You saved Cortland Adler’s life by taking a knife to your ribs.”

Damn.

Van closes his eyes, his knuckles blanching as he tightens his fists, bowing his head over them for a second before he looks up at me again.

“I was a little late to the bathroom party,” he says, no humor in his words.

“But I’m told Chase had a knife, and you leapt over Cortland to stop him from getting hurt. ”

The blood drains from my face. I feel dizzy again and lean back against the white bed.

“You were also drunk, had marijuana in your system, and because of that , and the stabbing , and…” Van looks away, the light streaming in from the windows illuminating his blue eyes. “And your fight with Cortland… you fainted.”

Everything is fuzzy in my head, but I’m slowly remembering.

“They gave you fluids,” he nods toward the IV stand beside my bed. I glance again at the bandaid on my wrist as he turns to look at me, his brow furrowed. “Sloane is on the way. I just called her.”

My body tenses, thinking of Sloane seeing me like this after all the help she’s been to me the past three weeks.

But it’s not Sloane I’m thinking about.

It’s Cortland.

And I know Van can see it in my gaze because he sighs and shakes his head. “You wanna know where he is?” he asks quietly.

I hold my breath, waiting. I don’t need to say it. He knows that’s what I want to know.

“He’s—”

“Here.”

I look up to find Cortland standing in the doorway, and adrenaline flushes through me, making me sit up taller, my nails curling into my palms.

I think about last night. That baseball bat. How he didn’t for one second believe Chase’s lies. But I’m thinking about the porch steps, too. How he pushed me away. Turned his back on me.

With that thought, and Cortland closing the door softly behind him, my gaze narrows.

Van’s jaw is clenched as he straightens in his chair, his gaze fixed on me, like he’s refusing to acknowledge Cortland at all.

“I’m here,” he says softly.

I don’t know what to say. So many questions on the tip of my tongue, I can’t ask a single one.

Cortland takes a step into the room.

What he’s wearing looks vaguely familiar. Dark pants, a black sweater over a collared white shirt. His hair is a mess, lines beneath his eyes. Like he hasn’t slept.

“He’s been here all night,” Van says through gritted teeth. “I can’t fucking get rid of him.”

Cortland’s gray eyes narrow as he looks to Van, but only for a second before his gaze is back on me, and he’s sliding his hands into his pockets.

“You saved my life,” Cortland says quietly.

Van rolls his eyes, turning to stare resolutely out the window, but he doesn’t get up. Like he doesn’t want me to be alone. Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to be alone with Cortland.

Cort takes a step toward me.

I realize I’m holding my breath, my hands fisting in the thin white sheet of the hospital bed.

He steps closer, until he’s at the foot of the bed, his lip ring between his teeth as he averts his eyes for a second, before they’re back on me.

“You know I don’t deserve you, right, Remi?”

Van snorts. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

We both ignore him.

“You know I don’t deserve for you to talk to me, or be friends with me, or…” He shakes his head, swallowing as he does, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Or love me.”

Van keeps staring out the window.

My heart beats too fast in my chest.

It’s a little hard to breathe as Cort stares at me.

“You know that I’ll spend the rest of my life being sorry for everything.” Those words are a whisper. “That night. All the ones after.”

He comes to the head of the bed, blocking my view of Van.

He doesn’t touch me though, his hands still in his pockets.

“But you saved my life, and not just last night.” He shrugs, a small smile pulling on the corners of his lips.

“Seeing you in the halls at West... That was always the highlight of my day. Every day.”

I hear Van make a strangled sound in the back of his throat, but I’m hanging onto Cortland’s every word.

“I’m not sure what the fuck happened between us that night,” he keeps talking, never looking away from me.

“I’m not sure how we went from having fun to…

” He bites his lip again. “To not…” He grabs my hand then, and his touch is electric, making my blood heat even in this hospital bed.

He runs his thumb over my wounds, but his eyes stay on mine.

“But I fucked up, Remi. And I’m sorry for it.

I’ll spend the rest of my life being sorry for it, and I know we don’t make sense, and no one understands what the fuck we’ve got here…

” He brings my hand to his mouth, flipping my palm and pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “But we do, baby.” He places my hand on his chest, and I can feel his heart beating so fast. “We do.”

“That night, on your porch, why?”

He squeezes my fingers, interlacing his own with mine against his chest. “I was a coward,” he admits. He brings my fingers to his lips. “I was a coward, and Chase and his dad threatened you, and I wanted to keep you safe. So I stayed away, but I stalked you, and that’s why I was there last night.”

I want to laugh, and Van groans behind Cortland’s back.

“I was a fucking coward, but I’m not anymore?—”

“Cortland Adler.” An angry voice rings out in the room, and his words stop.

I freeze, my eyes darting from Cortland to the man in the doorway.

I don’t know him, but the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he knows me.

“What are you doing with this little slut?” the man drawls, his Southern accent heavy. He takes a step into the room, and I hear chair legs scrape against the floor.

I think Van is standing, too.

Cortland doesn’t drop my hand. He has it pressed against his heart again as he turns to face the man.

I feel trapped, seeing the guy’s eyes on me. He’s big, with a round belly and meaty hands, curled into fists at his side. He’s wearing a golf shirt that stretches over his frame, and his beady blue eyes are on Cortland’s now.

“After what you did to my son last night, your ass is lucky I haven’t pressed charges against you and her. ”

Cortland kisses my hand again, but his eyes stay on the man.

Who must be Chase’s dad.

I never saw him on the news. Now, as he keeps talking, I know why. Chase’s lawyer probably advised him to shut the hell up and keep quiet, because he’s not exactly the most eloquent man.

“You are a real piece of fucking work, kid,” he snarls as Cortland’s lips stay on the back of my hand while he holds Mr. McGowan’s gaze. “This little bitch tried to throw your ass in jail and you’re here at her bedside keepin’ a goddamn vigil.”

I shift my gaze from Cortland, to Van, who I can see now, back to Mr. McGowan.

It seems Mr. McGowan sees Van for the first time, and his eyes narrow further, his big cheeks turning red. He opens his mouth to speak, but Van beats him to it.

“Remi is my cousin, and if you keep talking about her, I’ll make sure it’s you who needs a motherfucking bed next.”

Silence rings out as Mr. McGowan sizes up Van. He decides to keep his mouth shut and looks to Cortland again, still holding my hand, his soft lips still on my skin.

I bite my lip, my stomach fluttering as I hold my breath.

“Got nothing to say? You beat my boy bloody over a piece of used ass,” he snarls, and Cortland’s grip on my hand tightens and Van clears his throat. “Since y’all all had turns with her, I’m not so sure what the goddamn appeal is anymore.”

“Did you not hear a fucking word I said?” Van snarls.

Mr. McGowan takes a heaving breath, but he doesn’t answer my cousin.

I grind my teeth together, pressure building behind my eyes, but I’m not sad. I’m pissed. I want to say something. I want to do something. But I don’t know what. A man like this you can’t reason with.

It’s no wonder Chase is such a shit.

“My wife is gettin’ eat up by cancer and now I have to tell her my boy is in the hospital because of you.” He steps closer, and my eyes widen, hearing about Chase’s mom.

Cortland says nothing.

Mr. McGowan steps closer.

“You always were a spoiled little shit,” he continues. “Your mom is a cunt and your dad is a pussy, and I heard your brother tried to kill himself, too. But just like you, I guess he doesn’t have any fucking balls.”

I tighten my fingers around Cortland’s hand, his lips still pressed to the back of it.

I glance at Van, and find he’s staring at Cortland, an incredulous expression on his face. His biceps are flexed beneath his shirt, and Cortland just keeps staring at Mr. McGowan.

He steps closer.

He’s at the foot of my bed now, and he reaches a hand to my feet, beneath the sheets, a snarl on his lips.

But before he can touch me, Cortland drops my hand.

He slams Chase’s dad against the wall, away from me, his fingers wound tight in the man’s shirt. Mr. McGowan’s head bounces off the wall, then Cortland shoves his forearm against his throat, cutting off whatever bullshit he was about to spew next.

“You don’t fucking touch her,” he says, his voice low, but we can all hear him. “You don’t fucking touch her.”

I see his broad shoulders, his muscles flexed beneath his sweater. I sit up a little straighter, and I can see Mr. McGowan’s face turning red beneath Cortland’s forearm.

He’s opening his mouth, gaping, but nothing comes out.

He has his hands on Cortland’s side, but if he’s trying to push him off, I can’t tell.

“Your wife,” Cortland says in that same low tone, “she’s on oxygen, huh?”

I glance at Van, and our eyes meet for a second. He arches a brow before we turn back to them.

Mr. McGowan shakes his head, lines wrinkling in his forehead as he frowns at Cortland, his mouth still opening and closing but no sound comes out.

Cortland laughs, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

He forces his forearm tighter against Mr. McGowan’s throat.

His mouth closes, and his face turns a dangerous shade of purple.

“You might wanna get home, then,” Cortland whispers, leaning down close to him.

I feel nervous with his words, and I don’t even know why.

“It’s a weird thing, Greg,” Cortland continues, slamming his palm over Greg’s face, twisting his head to the side, his arm still lodged against his throat. “But these fires keep breaking out around here.”

I see Greg’s fingers digging into Cortland’s sweater, and he’s trying to twist his head back around, panicking now, but Cortland doesn’t seem to break a sweat, holding him there.

“Be a goddamn shame if your wife went up in fucking flames.”