Page 165 of A Little Complicated

“What happened?” Archer begs. “Ophelia, what happened? I didn’t—”

I shake my head, unable to form words. Unable to form a coherent thought in general. I need him to be okay. I need him to wake up and say everything is all right. I need—

Paramedics storm through the front door with a stretcher, and everything fades away as I watch them load him into the back of the ambulance, taking my heart with him.

50

OPHELIA

The steadybeep-beepfrom the machine Maverick’s hooked up to is the most confusing sound in the world. It’s reassuring, sure, but every millisecond of silence between beeps causes my own heart rate to spike, and I catch myself holding my breath more than once.

The paramedics rushed Maverick to the hospital. His heart had stopped, but they were able to bring him back. He’s weak. So weak. His lips are still a soft shade of purple, but there’s more pink than blue now.

That has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Progress, maybe? I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince as I watch his heavy lids open.

I rode with Archer and their little sister to the hospital. His parents were in the ambulance with Mav. Now, here we are, surrounding his hospital bed. Well, everyone except Uncle Henry. He’s busy yelling at the nursing staff, demanding someone tell him what’s going on. They told him they were still waiting for the test results and for the specialist to arrive.

It only pissed him off more.

Maverick’s awake. It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. When his eyes meet mine, they’re full of apology as he licks his parched lips and rolls his head to his mom beside him.

I know why he’s avoiding me. It’s because he’s scared. Scared I’ll blow his cover. Scared I’ll tell his family about his diagnosis. Scared I’ll break and blurt out the truth to every single person in this hospital room without giving a shit about what he wants. He’s right. I don’t. Not anymore. Not after a scare like today's. Instead, he’d prefer to sweep it under the rug, making everyone in the room question their own sanity after witnessing a healthy college athlete have a heart attack during brunch.

I want to be mad at him. I want to be understanding. But what I want most? Is for him to be okay, and I have no idea if it’s even possible anymore.

Maverick’s hair is matted with blood and sweat. He needed fourteen stitches in his chin. The angry slash only added to my fear. There was so much blood. I look down at my hands, expecting them to still be stained with red despite Archer helping me scrub them before we drove to the hospital.

I blink back a fresh wave of tears and scan the crowded hospital room when my phone buzzes with a text.

Uncle Mack

You wanna tell me why you started doing chest compressions as soon as Mav went down?

I wipe my sweaty palms against my jean shorts and tuck my phone back into my pocket, ignoring him.

He knows something’s up.

I think the rest of the family does, too, even if they’re afraid to admit it. To face the truth.

Aunt Mia has refused to leave Maverick’s side. She’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, pushing his hair away from his face and running her palm along his cheek, careful not to touch the stitches on his chin.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Maverick grumbles.

“You’re not fine.”

“Mom—”

“It doesn’t matter how old you are, Maverick. I’m your mother. I’m allowed to worry about you, and after this…”

“Mom,” Maverick repeats. “Can you please just…”

She stops fussing with his wavy hair and twists her hands in her lap. “I’m glad Ophelia started compressions right away,” Aunt Mia adds, tearing her focus from her baby boy to me. “How did you know to do that?”

My lips smash together, and I hold my breath, knowing if I open my mouth, I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll tell all of them the truth. I haven’t been able to stop crying since the drive. My face is blotchy and red, and I can’t keep the hiccups at bay for the life of me. And it isn’t because he’s hurt or because he passed out. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely because he had a heart attack. But it’s also because they don’t know. How can they not know? I need him to say something. I need him to tell them this isn’t a fluke. To tell them something is seriously wrong, and he needs their support. Because I can’t do this. I can’t keep this secret. Not from them. Not when it’s clear they care about him the way they do. They need to know.

Tell them.

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