Page 55 of My Brother's Bad Best Friend

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Scripps Memorial lookslike any other hospital, confusing and too small and cobbled together at different times. Brand new, glass-and-metal wings jut out against older, brick sections. I know not to let looks fucking deceive, since Scripps is the fucking premiere hospital for the rich and the famous.

I bet there are more nose jobs happening here right now than anywhere else in the state, or maybe in the whole country combined. This is where the wealthy people of La Jolla go to get their shit fixed up, their faces cut and tucked and squeezed, their hearts sliced and stented and restarted. This is where the rich go to keep up their image, and to pretend like they’ll live forever.

Lizzie isn’t talking much and I’m not pushing her. After we park in the garage and head inside, it’s relatively easy to find where Royal’s staying. Her mom texts the room number, and after I ask a surprisingly jolly old nurse sitting at an information desk, it’s another five minutes of walking before we finally find the spot. We only get yelled at by a couple nurses, which I consider a damn victory.

Lizzie pauses outside of Royal’s door and looks back at me. “I haven’t seen him since I left,” she says.

I nod, but don’t respond. Her face is tight. I reach out and take her hand again, trying to imbue her with as much strength as I can muster.

“I don’t want to go in.”

“I’m right behind you.”

She takes a breath and lets it out. “My mom’s pregnant.”

I blink, surprised. “Isn’t she like…?” I trail off, afraid to say it.

“Yeah, she’s way too old.” Lizzie sighs, shaking her head. “It’s some IVF nightmare. I told her it’s not fair to the baby, she’ll be too old when it’s grown. I told her it’s a mistake. And Royal…” She trails off.

“That’s what set him off?”

She nods once, glancing away. “Told me not to talk to my mom that way. Told me I’m ungrateful, I’m a bitch, all that.”

“And he hit you?”

“After I told him to go fuck himself.” She grins a little bit.

I laugh and squeeze her hand again. “Good for you, little rose.”

“Yeah, well, got me punched. My mom freaked and started slapping him and I left, but it didn’t change anything. She’s still pregnant and he’s still…”

“Breathing,” I finish for her.

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry. That’s fucked up on so many levels I can barely follow it all.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my life. Poor, damaged Lizzie.”

“You’re not damaged,” I say to her seriously. “We’re going in there, facing that dickhead, and then going home. Okay?”

She nods once, face pulling together into a determined expression. “Okay.” She hesitates a second. “And that baby my mom has? I’m going to make sure it has a good life, and Royal never hurts it.”

“I know you will.” I grin at her as she turns and knocks on the door before pushing it open.

Royal’s lying in bed, looking tired but otherwise alive, his face a little red and ruddy, his thick shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Lizzie’s mom is on the chair next to Royal’s bed and looks up with an exhausted smile as we step into the room, but her smile falters when she notices me.

“Honey,” she says, coming up to Lizzie. “I’m so happy you’re here. Right, Royal?”

“Lizzie,” he grunts. “And who did you drag along with you?”

“Mom, Royal, you remember Jonas, right?”

“Hello, Mrs. Andrews,” I say. “Royal, I’m glad you’re still above ground.”

He grunts and chuckles, a pained expression. “No, you’re not. How’s that useless bastard of a stepson doing?”

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