Page 175 of A Little Complicated

“Hey, Dad.”

Pause.

“Uh, yeah.” He sniffs and wipes at his face, his navy eyes turning glassy as he clears his throat again. “Yeah, we’ll be right there.”

His limp hand falls to his side. The call is still connected, and I can hear sobbing on the other end of the line. The sound embeds itself in my memory, and my body goes rigid as it washes over me.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s very wrong.

“Mav?” I question.

His phone clatters to the floor, and he shakes his head.

“Mav,” I repeat, but he won’t look at me. He won’t look at anyone. Our friends are wide awake, each motionless on the ground. Watching. Waiting. Holding their breaths and preparing for…what? I’m not sure. And I need to find out because not knowing? Well, my imagination has to be worse than any actual scenario. Doesn’t it? Yeah. It’ll be fine. Everything is fine.

“Mav,” I say quietly. My touch is gentle as I cup his cheek, hoping he’ll open his eyes and look at me. “Mav, what is it? What happened?”

“Archer was in an accident. He’s…” Maverick pinches the bridge of his nose, but I don’t miss the glassiness in his bloodshot eyes before he has a chance to wipe them away. “Fuck!” He twists out of my grasp and punches the drywall, leaving a hole in the shape of his fist.

I flinch in surprise, covering my mouth as the fight seeps out of Maverick’s body, and he hangs his head.

There’s something about watching a strong person crumble. Something about seeing the humanity and vulnerability cripple them. The way it makes you feel helpless. Hopeless. Useless. Like your hands are tied, and you’re drowning. You can kick. You can squirm. But nothing. Absolutely nothing keeps you from slipping beneath the surface. From preventing your lungs from filling with water. From watching your world as it’s ripped from you. From everyone you care about. Leaving you with nothing.

Nothing.

“Mav, you’re scaring me,” I whisper.

Staring at the ground, Mav chokes out, “He’s dead, Goose.”

54

OPHELIA

My hands shake as we enter the hospital. I’m not one hundred percent sure why we’re here instead of the morgue, but I’m not about to question Maverick or his dad’s instructions. The low buzz in my ears drowns out every sound in the cold, white, sterile building as Maverick guides me down a well-lit hallway. A doctor steps in front of the door separating us from where Aunt Mia and Uncle Henry told Maverick to meet them. It’s strange. Only registering bits and pieces of the conversation. I think my brain is shutting down in a way to protect itself, and all I hear are little snippets from the doctor’s warning. Brain-dead. Car accident. Broken. No hope. Goodbye.

On the drive here, Maverick filled me in on his conversation with his parents. They already told us he’s brain-dead, his body is bruised and broken, and any hope we could possibly possess should be left at the door because there isn’t any coming back from this. The only reason we’re here is to say goodbye. To make peace with his passing.

It’s bullshit.

No one makes peace with something like this.

I assume the doctor’s repeating the same speech.

It doesn’t fix anything or have any hope of easing the blow I know is on the other side of this wall.

This can’t be real.

I’m not ready to say goodbye.

Please don’t make me say goodbye, Archer.

Maverick says something to the doctor, though I don’t register a single word. I simply stare straight in front of me, reminding myself to breathe.

In.

Out.

---