Page 135 of Holding On

"But it's so soon after—"

"I know," I say, stopping her before she mentions the accident. I'm trying not to think about it. I won't get through this party if I do. But my mind keeps going there. The bottles of liquor. The red cups. The music. The sounds of girls laughing. To anyone else, it's just your average house party, but to me, it's so much more than that. It's like I'm reliving that night. There are fewer people and the location is different, but other than that, it's the same.

"Let's get out of here," Becca says, taking my hand.

"I can't. It's my house. I don't trust Jackson to take care of it."

"We'll just go for an hour. They can't do much damage in an hour."

"You don't know Jackson. He could trash this place in ten minutes, especially now that he's drunk." I shake my head. "Everyone out there is drunk. They're all going to deny it and try to drive home. And then..."

"I'll drive them." She stands in front of me, her eyes on mine. "I'll drive them all home. You won't have to worry."

"You can't. There's sixteen people out there. It'll take you all night to get everyone home."

She smiles. "I have a mom van, remember? I can load all the kids in the van and drive them all home."

"You'd really do that?"

"Sure. Why not? I'll even pack them some snacks to keep them quiet."

I laugh. "How is it you always find a way to make me laugh when I'm feeling like shit?"

"I don't like seeing you upset." She reaches up and kisses me. "C'mon." She walks past me and heads to the bedroom.

"I thought you didn't want to do it until everyone left."

"We're not doing it," she says as we go in my room. "We're just getting away from all the people. Seeing you out there, I could tell you needed a break."

"I do, but the bed? Things are gonna happen." I smile at her as I set my crutches down and lie beside her, facing her.

"Maybe. Maybe not." She adjusts the pillow under the side of her head. "So...how bad is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The party. I know it reminds you of that night. So how bad is it?"

How does she know this shit? How does she know what I'm thinking? How I'm feeling?

"I'd rather not talk about it."

She nods. "You're just like Mike."

"What?" I look at her. "What's your brother have to do with it?"

"He can't talk about what happened."

"What happened? What are you talking about?"

"His leg. How he lost it."

"He lost his leg? What the hell? How do I not know this?"

"Because I don't like talking about it. I don't like people defining him by that. Treating him differently. Feeling sorry for him."

"Wait." I try to remember back. "I met your brother at brunch that day and I didn't even notice. How could I not have noticed?"

"He walks really well with the prosthetic. And he was wearing pants that day."

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