Page 39 of Meet Me at the Metro (Gildenhill #1)

39

BLAME

E L L I E

T he world around me spun so fiercely that I couldn’t tell what was up and down anymore. All I knew was the shrill ringing in my ears and the crushing ache that coursed through my body as my back met the floor.

Feet trample against me, stepping on my hands and crushing my legs so harshly I find myself hollering for help—begging for relief.

“You’re crushing her! Move, dammit!”

Connor breaks through the enclosure of scrambling bodies around me and offers his arm for me to grab. I clutch it tightly, groaning with pain as he yanks my sore body off the floor.

His gaze inspects me briskly. “Are you alright?”

“Where’s Theo?”

It’s all I can bring myself to say. It’s all I can bring myself to care about. That gun. I saw it. It was pointed right at him.

Oh my God, it was pointed right at him before its horrifying crack split through the air.

“Where the hell is Theo?” I blurt again.

“Somebody fucking help!”

Connor’s eyes fly toward the sound of Theo’s voice the second mine do. My gaze restlessly searches for him through the moving maze of bodies running for escape around us, but all I see is pandemonium— absolute pandemonium .

Connor and I stay close as we push through the frenzied crowds, only finding respite from the hysteria when we reach a clearing ahead. Theo’s at the center of it, his trembling hands covered in blood as he cradles the limp body in his arms.

It’s Harvey’s.

Oh God, it’s Harvey.

Theo’s wracked with tremors when we reach him, every limb on his body shuddering as we drop to our knees beside him. “He’s shot,” his voice quivers. “ H–h–h–he’s s–s–shot .”

Harvey’s grown pale in his arms, eyes fluttering tiredly as a clammy sweat breaks across his skin.

“You’re alright,” I say, though there’s nothing but worry ruling my every thought. I pat at his cool cheeks, fighting to keep him conscious. “Stay awake for us, alright? Stay awake. Stay with us.”

“I’m getting help,” Connor assures. His eyes are glazed with fear as he draws his phone to his ear. “W-were getting help, Harvey.”

A high-pitched scream fills the air behind us, and when I glance back, Evie’s running toward us.

“Oh my, God! What happened?!” Her hands immediately go to cover Theo’s and help apply more pressure to Harvey’s bleeding wound. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“He got shot. He r-ran in front of me. I-I couldn’t stop him. It all happened so fast.”

Evie chokes on a cry. “Who the hell was it?”

“I don’t know,” Theo mutters. “I don’t fucking know. He ran. He—”

“They’re coming,” Connor interjects, shaking his jacket off his arms. He bundles the thick fabric into a ball. “H-here. Keep applying pressure.”

Harvey’s eyes grow heavier with every passing second, so I continue fighting to keep him awake. “Look at me, Harv. Right at me. Just keep your eyes on me, okay? Stay awake.”

My heart sinks when he asks, “ I-is it bad?”

He sounds so weak. I don’t let my eyes linger on the mass of fabric quickly turning crimson against his upper chest. I keep them locked on Harvey’s.

“Y-you’re going to be alright.”

“What a way to,” he sucks in a faint, strained breath, “ring in the New Year.”

“Save your energy, alright? S-stay with us.”

“I—I’m tired.”

“I know, Harv. Just a little longer. They’re coming. Help is coming.”

We work in tandem to keep him stable, though the minutes drag as we wait for an ambulance to arrive. I’m unaware of how much time has passed before the police and paramedics finally appear at our side because it seems as though the world fell into a ceaseless vortex the second the gun went off. We readily move back to give the green uniformed medics space to do their work, though the four of us linger close by with watchful eyes as they lift Harvey onto a stretcher and begin bandaging his bleeding wounds with swift precision.

Evie hurries after them as they begin wheeling him to the ambulance, which is waiting outside. She volunteers to ride with him to the hospital while the remaining three of us stay back to answer the police’s questions.

Through it all, my mind is a whirlwind—a jumbled mess battling to piece the scrambled events of the night together to make sense. As they force me to recall my account, all I can remember is the image of that gun—its silvered barrel pointed directly at Theo—the raw desperation I felt to get him to run, and the deafening sound the firearm made only seconds later.

Then, everything that occurred after came flooding back to me. Theo’s harrowing cry for help, finding Harvey’s hurt and limp body in his arms, and the utter fragility in my injured friend’s voice when he spoke.

I want to scrub the recollections from my mind. I want to wash myself clean of every tainted, ugly memory of this night that will undoubtedly stain me for the rest of my life .

I want Harvey to be okay— I need him to be okay .

I also want to know what kind of wretched person would do this to him—what kind of person would try to do that to Theo?

That gun was pointed right at him before Harvey intersected it.

“I already told you I didn’t see his face,” Theo explains to a cop beside me. “He had a hood on. I don’t remember anything other than that. It all happened too fast, and he ran. I only really saw the back of him.”

A person flashes through my head, but I shove the possibility back into the innermost depths of my mind. I can’t accept it.

I can’t accept that it was him— that it was—

I vomit onto the taped-off pavement outside of Bangerz Uptown .

The flashing blue and white lights of the police cars swarming the club and the prospect I just considered are too nauseating to cope with. There’s a pounding in my head that won’t seem to go away, and I can’t tell if it’s from the rough fall I took after the gun went off or the product of all the worry stewing at the forefront of my mind—worries about Harvey and—

I throw up again.

And again.

Fingers lace into my hair the fourth time I begin to wretch, gathering it away from my face as a soft, steady hand caresses my back.

“What the fuck are you all staring at?” Theo snarls. “Get her some water.”

I don’t dare rise from my crouched, heaved-over position until I’m positive my stomach has settled, and as I do, Theo’s still there, offering out a bottle of water for me to take. His hands are thankfully washed clean now, but as my fingertips graze his, all I can remember is how much blood was on them before.

His eyes look fatigued—no, haunted —as they assess me, but he displays his remaining strength, focusing on tending to me instead of crumbling like I know we’re both capable of doing right now.

“Drink, Nora, and breathe. Alright?”

I tip back the water, swallowing what my body will allow as Connor leaves the horde of officers gathered by the club’s entrance and begins walking toward the two of us. He allows me a few moments to regain my breath and steady my erratic heartbeat before he informs, “They said we’re free to go now.”

“They’re finally done harassing us?” Theo grumbles, tossing an annoyed glance over his shoulder.

“They took him to St. Thomas Hospital . I’ll grab us a taxi, and we can head that way.”

Tears blur my vision as I ask, “Has anyone heard anything from Evie?”

Connor nods. “She texted me and said they took him back for emergency surgery.”

Emergency surgery?

God, I feel like I’m going to be sick again.

Theo’s face abruptly pales, and he curses under his breath, “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck .”

“He’ll pull through this,” Connor tells him softly.

“I can’t lose anyone else,” Theo mumbles, gripping the roots of his hair as he paces the street. There’s a crazed look in his eyes that tells me his shock is setting in. “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him. I can’t—”

“He’s going to be alright, okay?” I take Theo’s wringing hands in mine, anchoring him still to stop his restless pacing. “He’ll be alright.”

“I’m cursed, Nora. I lose every person I love, and it hurts so much. It hurts so fucking much.”

“We haven’t lost him.”

“But if we do,” he murmurs, the whites of his eyes turning red. “I can’t take it. I can’t fucking take it. I can’t—”

“We haven’t lost him yet,” I reiterate, more firmly this time. I’m holding my composure together by a thread, not letting myself contemplate the most frightening outcome. “We have to have hope, okay? If not for ourselves, then for Harvey.”

I bore my gaze into Theo’s, offering every shred of hope I have left and praying it’s enough to keep him sane—from slipping into the uncertainty darkening his mind. It was as though he and I were taking turns holding each other together.

“For Harvey,” he sniffles .

I repeat the mantra to myself—over and over and over—as Connor, Theo, and I climb into the taxi and make our way toward the hospital.

The bright lights in the hospital’s waiting room starkly contrast with the gloomy unease emanating from Evie, Connor, Theo, and me as we wait for an update on Harvey’s condition. Every second that passes is another thundering heartbeat, another moment spent in dreadful anticipation.

I couldn’t sit still; none of us could over the long hours of waiting. We were all stuck in a continuous cycle of pacing the painfully quiet floors or restlessly tapping our feet, praying that one of the nurses or hospital staff who occasionally passed would have an answer for us.

It felt like days before someone came by that actually did.

We all rise from our seats the second the doctor, dressed in deep navy scrubs, approaches us.

“Mr. Webb’s family?”

“Yes,” Evie blurts, hurrying his way. “Yes, we’re his family. How is he doing? Is he okay? Is he — ”

“He’s doing alright,” he nods, and I feel like I can finally breathe right again. “He’s in PACU now. We’ve had some difficulty getting his respirations stable, so we’re going to keep monitoring him closely. Ensure that his body is getting the oxygenation it needs.”

“But he’ll be okay?” Theo asks. “When can we see him?”

“As of right now, we’ve got him stabilized . We removed the bullet. It was deep, and he’s lost a lot of blood, but we’ve given him a unit of packed red blood cells, so hopefully, that will compensate for what he’s lost. We’ll keep a close eye on his labs and vitals to see if they improve and go from there. We’ve started him on some oxygen—”

“Oxygen?!” Evie deeply respires. “What’s wrong with his oxygen? Is he not breathing? Why does he need oxygen? ”

“He’s breathing. He just needs a little help doing so right now. Sometimes, the anesthesia from surgery can impede the patient’s breathing. Blood loss can contribute to it, too. There are a lot of factors involved.”

“How long until we can see him?” Theo impatiently asks again. “How long until he’s better?”

“Once he’s stable and we get him situated in the ICU, he’ll be permitted visitors.”

“The ICU?! I thought you said you had him stabilized!”

“ Stabilized , yes, but in the condition that Harvey came to us in, it’s difficult to say if things will stay that way. Things can regress very quickly in cases like this.”

Evie’s head drops to the floor. “ Oh my God .”

“He’s going to have a very long road to recovery, but that doesn’t mean recovery isn’t possible. It just means that it’ll take a lot more work. It could be weeks until he’s back to his baseline.”

I wanted to feel relieved—ultimately, I did feel relieved knowing that Harvey was alive and still fighting—but hearing the doctor speak of his current condition only erased a speck of my worry.

“What can you do?” I mutter. “To help him get better again?”

“Fluids, immunostimulants, rest, and lots of antibiotics to prevent infection and treat any that might already be present. I’ll ensure that his nurses keep you updated and do my best to do the same. I’ll have them come and grab you guys when he’s allowed visitors, and we’ll go from there, alright?”

We all nod, each seemingly at a loss for words after the news we were just presented with. It’s like our unconscious minds are quietly trying to piece together all that our conscious ones heard—like we’re fighting to accept it all.

The doctor turns on his heel and heads for the direction he came from, but Theo’s voice stops him.

“Please, keep him alive.”

There’s so much hurt lingering in his voice that it’s difficult to cope with. It’s proof of all the heartbreak he’s already been through at the expense of someone he loved deeply. It’s evidence that he’s capable of reliving it all again.

“I assure you, we’re doing everything possible to do just that.”

As the doctor leaves, Evie breaks from the semi-circle the four of us have formed and goes back to restlessly pacing the rows of beige seats lining the bleak space.

“So now we have to wait even longer? We wait hours just for them to come and tell us that we have to wait longer. I’m going to go crazy. I swear I am. I want to see him, dammit. I need to see him!”

“Hey , you’ll see him, alright?” Connor says softly, approaching her gently and offering out a steady hand. “Want to waste some time and find some coffee with me?”

What he’s really offering her is a distraction, and her relief is clear as day. It’s written in the softening of her creased brow, and the subtle change in her hardened features displays a thousand thank yous.

“Sure. Okay.”

Evie’s fingers are shaky as Connor’s hand closes around hers, but they seem to grow still as he starts leading them down the hallway.

Theo and I find a seat against the vinyl-covered chairs of the waiting room as they disappear. My eyes settle on the TV hanging high against the white-washed walls, quietly playing the news.

When a “breaking news” segment starts broadcasting on the screen, I start to wish I’d gone with them. The newscaster begins presenting the harrowing events that occurred at Bangerz Uptown, and it takes everything in me not to look away.

The crime scene is empty now as they show video footage outside and inside the club, but I’ll never forget how it looked with all those people scrambling inside. I’ll never be able to rid myself of the image of Harvey in Theo’s arms or the dread I felt when I saw his wound closer.

It’s several minutes of coverage later that the reporter begins delving into who the police deem as the main suspect in the shooting, and the image of the person that appears on the screen has my blood running ice cold.

“ After reviewing the nightclub’s security footage, London Police have started an active investigation to locate 22-year-old American, Johnathan Warner, who they have deemed a significant suspect in tonight’s shooting that has led to one hospitalized in critical condition. Warner is believed to have fled the scene before authorities arrived, but the search will continue until he is found. Those who know of his whereabouts are encouraged to come forward and…”

It was him.

Oh my God, it was really him.

It was John.

It was fucking John.

I don’t hear Theo saying my name as I rise from my chair. I can see it being spoken against his lips, but I can’t hear anything past the ringing in my ears. My feet are starting to move, though I don’t know where they plan on heading. I only know the waves of emotions suddenly crashing over me— smothering me .

I feel dizzy. I feel scared. I feel sick, so sick to my stomach. I feel breathless. I feel disgusted. I feel trapped. I feel betrayed. I feel helpless. I feel responsible. I feel—I feel—

So fucking guilty.

It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.

I can’t bear that truth, can’t seem to swallow down the impossible lump in my throat. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

I can’t fucking breathe.

“Nora, wait. Where are you going?”

The floor isn’t moving fast enough, or my feet aren’t, I’m not sure. All I know is that I can’t stay confined in the haunting quiet of this damn hospital any minute longer. I need air because I’m suffocating. I’m drowning . I need to get the hell out of here. I need to find my way out. I need to—

“Nora, stop. Please.”

I can hardly see past the blurry tears pooling in my eyes, but I let the flares of the bright city lights ahead guide me as I hurry toward a door leading outside.

I welcome the biting pain of the freezing night air as I stumble onto a hushed alley neighboring the multi-story hospital. Theo’s arms are encasing me like a warm cocoon the second a cry begins to rip from my throat, holding me steady as my body is wracked with tremors and my weeping manifests madly into wails.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong, huh?” Theo’s hands smooth my hair away from my wet cheeks and snotty nose. “ Talk to me. ”

Here he was, taking his turn at keeping me together.

“It’s my fault,” I sob. “It’s all my fault. This would have never happened if not for me. I’ve brought so much trouble into your lives, and I am so sorry, Theo! I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls me tighter against his chest. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do! I have everything to be sorry for! John would have never even been there tonight if not for me. Harvey wouldn’t have gotten shot! He wouldn’t be fighting for his life if I hadn’t ever come into the picture! He wouldn’t have ever gotten hurt! It’s my fault!”

“It’s not, baby,” he soothes, wiping at the tears beneath my eyes. “I promise you, it’s not.”

“It is,” I whimper, feeling every remnant of my strength crumbling. “ It is. ”

“I know you may have convinced yourself that, but it’s not. You can’t blame yourself.”

Theo draws my chin up to look at him, and even with all the forgiveness promised in his eyes as they peer into mine, I still can’t find that same grace for myself.

“How can I not?” I snivel, feeling the claws of blame and guilt tighten around me.

“Because you wouldn’t have the same inclination if it were anyone but yourself.”

Those words strike a chord in me, and I find the capacity in me to consider them.

“I used to blame myself a lot for what happened to my dad, Nora. I used to consider everything I could have done differently and wonder if any of it would be enough for him to still be here. Blaming myself became the easiest way to cope with it all. I would convince myself he might have lived if I had gotten to him sooner. Some days, I still find a way to blame myself for his death somehow. ”

I shake my head and force my tears away. “That’s not fair of you to do to yourself. That’s just cruel.”

“I know,” he whispers, giving me a wan smile. “So stop doing the same thing, darling. Stop being cruel to yourself.”

“I don’t know how to handle the guilt, Theo. I don’t know how to ignore it.”

He holds me for a moment, quietly considering my words. Then, voice shaking, he asks, “Can I tell you something?”

I glance up and attempt to decipher all the emotions swirling in his pained eyes. “You can tell me anything.”

My heart pounds with anticipation, my emotions still heavily weighing over me. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what he says next—when he finally summons enough courage to confess, “I want to tell you about my dad.”