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Lionel gasped in surprise, pulling away a fraction before diving back with a renewed embrace. “Oh, shit. That's horrible.”

“Yeah. I'm hoping to hear from him.” I twisted to free my arms and return the hug. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“Let me guess,” Lionel murmured quietly in my ear. “Did you assume the worst and let your mind spiral without calling me to talk you off the edge?”

In spite of the heaviness, I laughed, although the sound was more breath than actual laughter. My insecurities and penchant for catastrophizing had been an issue for us during our short-lived attempt at dating. Nevertheless, he was one of the fewpeople in the world who understood without judgment and always wanted to help me work through it.

“Yeah. I am working on it. I was a little upset that he had to leave so quickly last night, even though I knew it was something serious. Now I feel—”

“Guilty and shitty. Stop. It's a natural response to feel disappointed, especially since this is still new. You're both dealing with things. Don't add even more strife to it by beating yourself up.” Lionel brushed a hand over the back of my head. “I'll stay with you until you hear from him. And I know you will. The way he looked at you last night? Pssh… I was jealous for two seconds until I remembered I don't like jocks.”

That time, I really did laugh. It was a cathartic, overwrought, much needed expression of the emotional turmoil I was drowning in, and far preferable to the tears that had threatened as I sat with my endless worries.

“He's not a jock—”

“Literally shut your mouth. He's a quintessential jock with an extra side of muscles. I will hear no arguments. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.”

“Okay,” I ceded, sinking back in my chair with a breathless sigh. “Fair. Even his abs have abs. I'll give you muscle jock.”

“I'm always right.” Lionel slung an arm over my shoulders and nestled in close. Perhaps it was a strange dynamic, but for once, I wasn't just indulging his constant need for physical touch—I needed the comfort just as much. He must have sensed it, because we stayed like that, even as our other friends arrived and learned of the horrific gossip. Thank God for my friends. Not a single one of them mentioned campaigning or Brixton or even the ominous lack of news from Will. The lighthearted conversation and unspoken support was a godsend I'd never be able to adequately thank them for. By the time our afternoon wound down, I felt much less unsettled. True to his word, Lionelfollowed me out to my car and tailgated me the entire way to my house. It felt good to laugh when my thoughts were so heavy. I suspected that was his goal.

Chapter Twelve

William

Running on no sleepand shitty hospital coffee left me disoriented, a condition made worse by the crash from the adrenaline high that had gotten me here. The monotonous beep and whir of machines and monitors droned in the background. The starched and sterilized odor ubiquitous to hospital air burned my sinuses. Time didn't matter anymore. Anyone with experience in the hospital knew full well the way time stretched and morphed—time between nurse visits, time between the rarefied doctor appearances, time spent waiting and waiting for nothing and everything.

My phone vibrated again in my pocket. I'd long since turned the volume off and honestly considered turning the whole thing off entirely. It's not that I didn't appreciate the support and concern. I simply didn't have the bandwidth to deal with the conversations. I could barely navigate my own complex emotions. The idea of retelling the story to countless well-intentioned callers was too much.

I was scared. I was sad. I was angry. Not at Dad, per se, but at this disease eating away at his brain and causing all these avoidable issues. The fact that he’d crashed my uncle’s car less than a mile from where Mom had lost control of her own vehicle ten years earlier during a snowstorm was some sick joke the universe wanted to make me the punchline of.

The light from the window shifted insidiously as time trudged by, sliding slick and slow over the clinical features of the room, shadows morphing and lengthening and growing into an entity of their own as the balance between natural and artificial illumination tipped. The only thing that remained unchanged was Dad’s still form in the hospital bed. His frailty was the centerpiece anchor of the morbid vignette. He was too young to look this old and my heart squeezed in my chest to the point of breathlessness.

A knock at the door interrupted my silent vigil as I spun in place to determine the source of the sound. My isolation and solitude amid the heaviness of my introspection evaporated with a gasp as my best friend stepped into the dim light of the room. I hadn't realized how terribly alone I felt until Josh appeared.

“How's he doing, Will?” Josh’s quiet voice echoed too loud over the constant buzz of machinery, chasing away my dark thoughts and churning worries.

“It's a wait and see game. The doctors are optimistic he’ll wake up, but we don't know what we’ll be dealing with when he does.” My eyes skated back toward my Dad, taking in the heavy swath of bandages around his head and the cuts and scrapes along his slack features.

“I'm so sorry. We’ll take it one day at a time.” Josh’s hand slid over my shoulder before giving it a squeeze. “Here, you need to eat.”

A McDonald's bag landed in my lap with a crinkle and a thud. I didn't think I could stomach food, but the aroma of fries andgreasy burger overruled my concerns and inspired a growl in my gut that would have been hilarious if the mood weren't so somber.

“Where’s Raine and the baby?” I pried the bag open and peered at the contents before grabbing a pinch of fries.

“Raine’s on duty tonight. I left the baby with her parents so I could come up. You honestly didn't think we wouldn't come up and save you from yourself, did you?” Josh tapped my temple with a sad smile. “Always the helper, never the helped.”

A soft breath of a chuckle escaped my lips as I sank back in the uncomfortable folding chair with my bagged breakfast-lunch-dinner clutched to my chest. “Yeah, yeah. You caught me.”

The food disappeared in a robotic fashion. I neither tasted nor enjoyed it, but at least I'd eaten something. The combination of fast food and acidic hospital coffee did absolutely nothing to settle the churning in my stomach. Heavy silence burdened the room until the crinkling of the empty paper bag as I crushed it between my hands filled the air.

“So what are we dealing with?” Josh jerked his chin toward my Dad and avoided eye contact, standing solid beside me with his hand still on my shoulder.

“Concussion. Idiot didn't have his seat belt on. The car spun out on a corner and his head clocked the pillar.” I shot the bag into the garbage can and rubbed my palms down my face. “They are gonna jack his license, naturally. We have to see what the effects on his memory are when he comes to. Because of the dementia…”

“Yeah. I imagine there's going to be some complications with that.” Josh squeezed my shoulder again with a soft exhalation. “Any word on the assisted living?”

I shrugged one shoulder and lifted my hand to cover Josh’s. “We were already on a wait list. I suspect, once he wakes, thatthey won’t release him until a spot opens up. It's gotten too dangerous now.”

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