“There’s a lot we need to talk about, but maybe we should wait until we’re not in a house full of people.” His words rumbled in his chest, the vibration feeling sexy under her hand.
Was “having a lot to talk about” good or bad? Not knowing what he meant was making her stomach twist.
“Okay.” She laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled in. The first hint of sleepiness tried to steal over her. As she began to drift off, she had a vivid recollection of Ambrose and Konstantin applauding. “Oh fuck. I can’t believe you made me scream like that!” She buried her face in his neck.
“What? What? I can’t hear you,” he said loudly, then grinned. “There’s some sort of weird ringing in my ears.”
She laughed and smacked him.
He quickly reminded her why smacking a Dominant was a bad idea.
Chapter 18
The obnoxious preprogrammed ringtone dragged him out of a deep, almost drugged sleep. Lost, he tried to follow the noise, then realized it was the only thing glowing in the dark room. He stubbed his toe on something but managed to grab the phone and hit ANSWER before it went to voice mail.
“Hello.”
“Banner?” Meadow? Was he late for school? He blinked, trying to get his bearings. Her voice was weird, as if she’d been crying. Meadow didn’t cry.
Shit. Mom?
“It’s me. What’s the matter?”
The other end went silent and terror leached through him. Then his brain took a step back, watching things unfold dispassionately. He remembered the gurney. His father’s waxy skin. Abruptly, he sat down on the floor and realized he was in a room with carpeting. Not home. Where the fuck was he?
“Meadow?”
“It’s . . . it’s . . .”
Mom. Hell, how were they going to go on without her? They were too young to be orphans. Such a weird word, “orphans.” It conjured images of lockets and mangy dogs. She’d overdosed. They’d known it was coming.
Meadow was talking now, the words coming out jumbled. “You have to come now! They pumped his stomach. He’s unconscious. It was the whole fucking bottle, I think. I just picked it up for Mom yesterday. If Dylan hadn’t called the house phone . . . Oh god. Mom is here with me, but they’re not sure if he’s going to be okay. Banner, you have to come and fix this!”
It was Rook? Rook? He was on his feet and searching for a door or something. It was so dark. Something banged into him at waist height. A light turned on.
He looked around the room and saw Kate sitting up in bed, her hand on the bedside lamp.
“What’s wrong?”
Maybe that’s what she said. The words were coming from a long way off. She took something out of his hand. The phone. She was talking to Meadow.
Kate hung up and put the phone on the bed. She dressed, threw his pants at him, then ran down the hall and came back with his shirt.
If he died . . . If Rook was dead by the time they got to the hospital . . .
There were things he had to say. Did the kid know how much he loved him? Pressure and buzzing started in his head.
Did Rook know how much of his life revolved around him and how, if he died, Banner’s world would be unbearably lonely? There were other people, but Rook was the only one who could be his Rook. There was no other solemn, artistic soul who got him the way his brother got him. No one else who he understood so well.
Kate shook him. He’d been standing in the middle of the room, naked, not doing anything. It only took a second to get dressed. Kate pocketed his phone, then led him down the hall, asking where his car keys were. She found them in the jar by the door.
This was his fault. What had he missed? Rook had seemed happy at the art show. He’d smiled. Teased him. Lent him Dad’s watch.
The watch.
Late alarm bells went off in his head. He’d been happy that Rook seemed happy, but it was all wrong. That wasn’t the way Rook had been lately. And the watch—how had he missed that? Rook clung to the few memories he had of Dad. He never would have lent that watch so easily. He’d given it to him already knowing. At the art gallery he’d already had a plan.
Ambrose came down, bits of lint and bed fuzz stuck in his short hair, then Konstanin right afterward. Kate spoke to them. Urgency pierced through his fog. He grabbed the keys from Kate’s hand and ran to his car. He fumbled. The car door wouldn’t open.
Konstantin reached him first. He took the keys and opened the car doors, then shoved Banner into the backseat with Kate. Everyone was talking, but all he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it, but there were no messages.
His baby brother hadn’t even sent him a text to say good-bye.
***
The smell of the hospital made Banner dizzy. The yellow walls and orange chairs were probably supposed to be cheery, but it felt like the seventh circle of hell.
Meadow sat in the waiting room, her face pale and drawn. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her out of the house in a T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. When she saw Banner she leapt to her feet, glaring.
“Did you know he was going to do this?” The accusation in her tone caught him off guard, and he just stared at her.
“If he’d known, he would have been there himself and warned the rest of you.” Ambrose patted her and she began to cry huge, gasping sobs. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t blame this on him.”
Banner went to his sister and pulled her into his arms. Some people would have been angry about the accusation, but Meadow was Meadow. She was quirky and not good with people, even on the best of days. They hadn’t been close for years, but the terrified way she hung on to him was reminiscent of when they were kids and had hid on the couch from imaginary floor sharks.
The room went quiet. He was glad no one bothered them with platitudes. No one knew if everything would be alright.
A woman coaxed a teenage boy into the waiting room. Dylan. The boy cried inconsolably. His entire frame trembled, and his teeth chattered. His mother was white with anxiety.
“How is he?” she asked as soon as she saw Banner.
He wished he knew what to tell her. They’d seen each other a lot over the past couple of years when they dropped the boys off at each other’s houses.
“We’re not sure. They let our mom in, but she’s been in there a long time.” Meadow sobbed and turned her face away from Banner’s shirt, but he didn’t let her go.
“Dylan, I have to thank you for calling the house.” Banner nodded to the boy. He wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t let go of his sister. “Meadow said if you hadn’t called, it would have been too late. How did you know?”
Dylan wiped his face on his sleeve. He almost didn’t look like himself, he was so puffy and red.
“We were texting.” His voice cracked, and he drew a shuddering breath. “He didn’t seem right, and he said some weird things, you know? Then he said good night, and I went to bed. But then I got all creeped out and texted him to see if he was okay. He wouldn’t answer. He never turns off his fucking phone.” A deep, desperate sob escaped him. “Never. I kept trying to get him to answer me, and I thought maybe he was just really sound asleep, but then I got scared.”
“What kind of things was he saying?” Meadow asked.
Dylan looked at his mother.
“I already know, Dylan. It’s okay.” She brushed his long brown hair out of his eyes. “You didn’t seem to want to talk about it, but we’ve known since you were little. Why do you think sleepovers are in the living room?”
He stared at her as if she’d grown an extra head. “You knew? But I’ve always been so careful. Oh God. You knew, and this was all for nothing!”
“Was it the idiots at school?” It had to be. Nothing else in Rook’s life had seemed that bad.
Dylan nodded. “They’ve been threatening . . .” He trailed off, eyeing Kate, Ambrose, Konstantin, Meadow.
“To do what? Hurt him?” Meadow pressed. She tensed in Banner’s arms and looked as if she were ready to march over to the school and wait for the bullies on the front step. With a bat.
“No,” Banner disagreed, wondering how much Meadow knew.
“To out him?” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for fuck sakes! To who? Who doesn’t know?”
“Mom? I don’t know. Other kids at school?” Banner shook his head in confusion.
Meadow pulled on her hair in exasperation. “Fuck! Mom knows. She’s the one who told me, like, five years ago. Like it was supposed to be a big surprise?”
“No, no.” Dylan shook his head. “They were threatening to tell my parents. One of them has a picture of us . . .”
“A picture?” Dylan’s mother went paler. “Of what, exactly?”
“Us kissing.” Dylan pulled away from his mother and sat in one of the orange plastic chairs. “The kid said he was going to text it to Dad. Last night Rook kept saying he was ruining my life.”
Dylan’s mother, who’d been dabbing at her eyes on and off, started to cry. “This is our fault, then. If we weren’t so worried about messing up the conversation, we wouldn’t have procrastinated. This never crossed our minds.”
The adults in the room reassured her, but she didn’t look convinced.