Page 22 of Finding Delaware

Did Huck tell him what happened—what I did to him?

The hospital comes into view, and shame wars with disgust in my bones. Disgust at myself for losing control like I did last night. For turning intohim. Between what happened with Tatiana, the fucking video of Huck stroking his goddamn cock—which had done things to me I’d rather not think about—and his mention of what happened between us years ago, I’d just...snapped. Fucking lost it.

But there’s no excuse.

We get to the emergency room, and Aaron checks Huck in. After a few tense minutes of waiting, a nurse finally pulls us back. Huck hasn’t said a word, which only sets me further on edge. I try to catch his eye but only notice the bruised cut on his brow, and the self-hatred ravaging my mind grows.

The door opens, revealing a doctor with a deep voice and a curved nose.

He asks what brings us in today, typical doctor questions, but what Huck’s dad says has my brain screeching to a halt.

“He says he broke it because he slipped down the stairs this morning.”

No, no, no, fuck that.

A memory assaults me, of a night when I was fourteen and I sat in a similar room with a similar doctor, telling them that I broke my hand in three places because of a dirt bike accident while the reason for the injuries stood there looking like the most concerned father in the world.

I’m not him. I amnot him.

“I did it,” I blurt out, cutting off the doctor as he discusses Huck needing x-rays, “I broke his arm.”

Everyone’s attention snaps to me, including Huck’s. His dark eyes meet mine, a crease forming between his brows. The swollen, puffy skin beneath his lids has my jaw clenching.

Without taking my gaze off Huck, I explain what happened. “We fought last night, and I was a little too rough. It was an accident. I...I didn’t mean it.”

I really didn’t. Not to break him, at least. God, I’m gonna puke.

Aaron removes his glasses and exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You smell like a distillery, Taylor,” he mutters, and my pulse races.

Will he kick me out? Send me back to my dad’s, away from his precious golden boy and fancy house? Deep down, I know I deserve it. But the thought of living back in that trailer...not that it matters, because Dad still controls me even when I’m not immediately under his thumb. But at least for a moment, the constant beatings have lessened.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I could spend all my time at Christian’s like I did before. If he’d let me, that is. After decking me, he’d said we were solid last night, but I still saw the hurtin his eyes. What if he finally decided he was over my shit and dropped me? Who would I have, then?

Shit, shit, shit.

“It was my fault.” Huck’s raspy voice brings me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I raise my eyes to find him watching me with an unreadable expression. “I started the fight. Taylor just retaliated.”

I know that’s a half-truth because I was the one who wouldn’t give him back his phone in the first place. I pushed him too far. But he pushed me first.

Aaron glances between us, rubbing the scruff on his chin.

“I’m sorry, Huck,” I choke, pushing every ounce of sincerity into my words because, fuck, this shouldn’t have happened. I should have been in control.

Huck nods, dropping his gaze finally, and the doctor takes him away for the X-rays.

Aaron and I wait alone in the room, tense silence weighing heavily between us, and when they come back, the doctor confirms a hairline fracture in his forearm. He’ll have to wear a splint for the next two weeks, but after that, he can continue swimming as long as the X-rays are good. No football for at least six weeks, which isn’t so bad since the season is almost over. After that, they’ll perform more X-rays to ensure the fracture has healed.

What kills me, though, is the fear in Huck’s voice when he asks if this will fuck up his chances at a football scholarship, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. The doctor tells him that if he doesn’t push himself and everything heals properly, he’ll return to playing in no time, so there’s that. An hour later, we’re leaving, and Huck has afresh splint with a painkiller prescription. Aaron speaks quietly once we’re in the car, me again in the backseat.

“I’m very disappointed in both of you.”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Huck says, and I mumble my apologies.

He looks at his son, “I told you before the wedding to fix whatever grief you two had with each other, Huckslee, remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

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