And I couldn’t even go back for his funeral.
That night before bed when I said my prayers—the way Aunt Beti always told us to do—I told God I wouldn’t speak to Him again after that day. That I would always be angry at Him for taking my Papa away.
But I wasn’t just angry at God. I’d polished that tiara and cried as I thought about Papa’s words to me—his promises that we’d all live together in America and be a family again.
Lies.
And here I was in the present, watching my future threatened yet again. As always, a helpless observer of my own life.
I couldn’t breathe. And I couldn’t cry. I could only sit and stare, tracing the scattered threads of thought as they slipped through my mind.
William was not coming to, despite Mia’s best efforts. In the distance, I picked up the faint sound of a siren. Paramedics.
The blood was pooling around William’s head now. Mia applied pressure to the wound and appeared to be giving instructions to Adam.
Alex nudged my arm. “They’ll let you ride with him to the hospital, I’m sure.”
My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Adam was on his feet calling to Jordan, who hopped the fence and was beside them in seconds.
By this time, the ambulance was already pulling into the parking lot, red lights ablaze.
“Wow, they got here fast,” Alex said. “There must be a fire station nearby. The closest hospital is in Bakersfield, about thirty minutes away. I just checked it on my phone. We can follow them over.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t answer her.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the prone figure lying on the ground. After conferring with Adam, Jordan took off running toward the paramedics while Mia and Adam stayed with William.
“Jenna, are you okay?” Alex asked, her voice squeaking.
I shook my head, my hands clamping tighter around the seat beneath me. The paramedics wheeled in a stretcher and surrounded the figure lying in the dust. Everyone crowded the railing, gawking as they worked on William. Soon, they were strapping his head and neck to a board and putting him on the stretcher.
“He’s coming to…I think he’s conscious!” Alex said. She stood up on tiptoes to look over the rest of the crowd. I buried my face in my hands, unable to look.
I could hear Mia at the railing, calling up to her mom, informing her that she and Adam were going to ride in the ambulance to the hospital. I looked up as Adam threw his keys to Jordan. Then they were gone, following the stretcher to the parking lot and the waiting ambulance.
The bleachers around us started to empty, everyone talking excitedly about what had happened. As far as I knew, there were more events scheduled, but they had either been canceled or postponed to deal with William’s emergency. I even heard someone mention an impromptu clan council meeting, probably to address Doug’s asshole move. Maybe I should attend…or maybe I’d grab my stuff to—
“Jenna!” Alex said loudly. I stood up, brushed off my skirt and started for my tent. She called out again, but instead of turning to face her, I kept walking in the opposite direction of the parking lot.
A breeze blew and my cheeks were cold and wet. I marveled at that. Was I really crying? Tears trickled out of my eyes, but it didn’t feel like I was crying. I just felt freezing cold. Numb.
Alex’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, attempting to redirect me toward the parking lot. “William will want to see you. Come on, we can follow them.”
I shook my head, my unsteady legs pulling me back on my intended path. “Can you wait for me? I’m going to pack my bag and I’d like to go home.”
She frowned at me. “Uh, did you two have a fight or something?”
I shook, from my scalp to my toenails. But I remained silent, unable to talk about this with her…or anyone, for that matter. This pure, icy terror pulsing through my veins was muting everything. It was all I could think about, all I could feel.
This powerful sense of loss. This pain. This panic.
Brock can’t be dead. He’s not even eighteen years old! This isn’t fair. It’s not!
I remembered the day they put him into that cold, hard ground at the cemetery. I’d fallen to my knees at his graveside and wept, wishing they could put me in there, too. It had been my fault. My fault. I hadn’t driven him home from the party. Josh had—and Josh had had too much to drink.
And now here was William, injured and possibly permanently impaired because of me. He would never have been fighting the second duel if it hadn’t been for me…
What if he had a concussion, or worse, a brain injury? What if he was hemorrhaging? What if…
But William won the fight. It’s not fair. It’s not!