Spinning Out(The Blackhawk Boy #1)(29)

"I know you think you want answers," he says, his gaze steady on the men  on the other side of the window, "but before you dig too deep, make  sure you're really ready for them. Answers to these kinds of questions  rarely bring us the peace we seek."

"And what do you know about it?"

He gives me a sad smile. "How are you holding up? I overheard Coach  talking to Mrs. Barrett today. She told him the news about Brogan. I  just wondered how you were taking it."

"News?" The only thing that's been consistent in my life since the  accident has been Brogan. When it comes to him, nothing changes. No  matter how hard I pray. "About what?"

"His kidneys. Since they decided not to do dialysis. Don't you . . ." He  flinches. "Shit. You didn't know. Why haven't they told you?"

"What about his kidneys?" I ask, but he just shakes his head and doesn't  have to say more. Suddenly, I'm in the dark again, the sleet biting  into my skin as I climb from the car and rush to the boys. I'm in the  dark feeling for a pulse. I'm in the dark punching numbers into my  phone, watching with detached fascination as blood smears across the  screen.

"Mia? Mia?" I open my eyes, and I'm on the floor, the cool tile pressing  into my back. Sebastian leans over me, his hand on my face. "Look at  me. Breathe. Okay?"

"What happened?" Arrow's voice. "Jesus, is she okay?"

Arrow crouches down next to me and brushes the hair from my face.  Sebastian shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't know they hadn't told  her."

"Shit," Arrow whispers.

"I'm fine." I smack away Arrow's hands and sit up. And I am. I'm . . . just fine.





Eight hours later, I still want to punch Sebastian Crowe in his smug  face. I want to kick him in the balls and tell him to never touch Mia  again. But I can't. She deserves to be happy. Whether that's with  Sebastian or someone else, I'm not going to stand in the way.

"Mrs. Barrett?"

I sit up in bed when I hear her voice on the other side of the wall.

"Yeah. It's Mia. Sorry I'm calling so late." Her voice is broken. She  sounds upset. "I was calling to see how Brogan's doing . . . Yeah. I'm  coming tomorrow. I-"

I close my eyes and mentally fill in the gaps of the conversation. Is  Mrs. Barrett talking about the squirrel they watched running across the  backyard today? Or has she, in her grief, resorted to her old cold  attitude toward Mia?

"Can you just tell me?" Mia asks. "Is he dying?" A pause. "Isn't there  anything they can-" A broken sob. "But can't they just . . .? I know."                       
       
           



       

I don't need the other side of the conversation to know what's being  said, or to know that Mrs. Barrett is breaking Mia's heart all over  again. They decided not to do the dialysis. This is good for Brogan. I  know this, but . . . shit. Poor Mia.

"Why didn't you tell me? Yes, I understand. It's just . . . Okay. Yeah.  I'll be there tomorrow." She sniffles a few times, and I hear her soft  tread as she paces the floors. "You too."

After that, there's nothing but silence for a long time. No footsteps.  No miracle-man book being thrown against the wall for giving her false  hope. Just her silent grief on that side of the wall. Mine on this side.

And when I think I've heard the last of her tonight, when I think she's  fallen asleep: "Damn you, Brogan." Then the sobs begin. They come from  her, but they might as well be coming from me, might as well be torn  from my chest. Each one is a piece of my heart sawed off with the dull  blade of regret.

How many times has she come to me and saved me from the nightmares?

I don't have to think about it. I don't knock. I go into her room, and I  don't stop myself, because she needs someone right now. Maybe she needs  someone better than me, but I'm the only one here.

She's sitting on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her gaze centered on the floor at my feet.

When she lifts her head, the tears welling in her eyes stream down to join the ones already wetting her cheeks. "He's dying."

"He's already dead, Mia."

Her face crumples at this, her shoulders shake, and no longer do I hear  her heart-wrenching sobs. She's folded in on herself, wrapped the pain  up, and her cries are silent and so powerful they rock her whole body.

I climb into bed behind her, wrap my arms around her, and pull her back against my chest and let her cry.

"I needed him . . ." She's struggling to talk around her tears. "I needed him to wake up."

"We all wanted that."

"No, but I needed . . ." She draws in a ragged breath. "Arrow, I needed to apologize."

Fuck. "You don't need him to wake up to hear your apology. You don't  even need him to be in the same room." She doesn't owe him an apology,  but there's no point in saying that. It won't make her believe it.  "You're going tomorrow?" She nods, and I press a kiss to her hair.  "Apologize then. Maybe your book's right. Maybe he can hear you. Maybe  he's just trapped and he can hear you, and you're gonna go and you're  gonna tell him what you need to tell him. Then you're going to let him  go." The words hurt. They're emotional suicide. "The Brogan we knew, the  Brogan we love, does not deserve to be trapped in a body he can't use."

"I'm selfish. Wanting him to wake up, wanting him to hang on, wanting  his parents to give him dialysis treatments. I know. It's so selfish."

"No." I stroke her hair with my good hand and use the other arm to hold  her close. "You're just dealing. We all do the best we can. We just deal  however we know how."

I hold her for a long time, talking nonsense about saying goodbye and  letting him go, and the next thing I know, I'm not talking about Brogan  anymore. "I'm sorry for how I acted on New Year's Eve," I say. I should  have said it a long time ago. I should have said it that night. "What  you said took me by surprise. But it never changed the way I felt about  you. I came to you that night because I knew Brogan was screwing around  on you, and I thought you deserved better." I draw in a long, ragged  breath. "God, was I pissed at him. He was my best friend my whole life,  and I'd never wanted to hurt him until that night. But he was right. He  said my ego couldn't handle being second choice. He knew me better than I  knew myself."

"I don't understand. What did him cheating on me have to do with you?"

I lay us on the bed, rolling so we're on our sides, our bodies pressed  together, our faces inches apart. "That was when you were mine. In the  one night between his betrayal and his apology, you were mine, but only  because you couldn't be his." The memory hooks its claws into my aching  heart and tugs.

"It wasn't like that at all," she says.

I swallow hard. "I never hid my feelings, Mia. You knew that very first  day that I didn't want to step aside for Brogan. It's true even now." My  voice drops to a whisper. "You're in my arms, but you're still his. And  I can't blame you for that. I don't."                       
       
           



       

She tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. "I loved him, Arrow."

I roll to my back and squeeze my eyes shut against the pain those words  bring. Even now I'm jealous of him, jealous of what he had from her. And  I hate myself for that. "I know."

"He was easy to love. So kind and funny and generous."

"I know," I say again, still not looking at her.

"I've been selfish from the beginning. I wanted to love Brogan. He was  my safe place, and I wanted to be in love with someone like that."

"He loved you, Mia. He fucked up a lot-I'm not denying that-but he loved you."

She's quieter now. Her body has stilled, and the tears and sobs seem to  have broken, but I know there's more grief to come. We've only reached  the calm center of the storm. Not the end of it. "And I thought that if I  could focus on that, if I could nurture that easy love, I might be able  to drown out the hurt."

Slowly, I open my eyes and turn to her, blinking. "He shouldn't have hurt you to begin with. He shouldn't have-"

She shakes her head and studies me, dark eyes intent. "That's not the  hurt I'm talking about. I'm talking about the ache that burned in my  chest every time I looked at you and knew we couldn't be together. I'm  talking about the terrible self-loathing I'd feel when I'd catch myself  comparing Brogan to you. He was good and kind and more than I deserved,  but he was never you. You could never be second choice, Arrow. Because I  never allowed myself to consider you a choice at all."