Page 176 of A Little Complicated

In.

Out.

A few seconds later, the doctor gives a soft nod and motions to the doorway leading to my best friend, along with his little sister and grieving parents. Maverick’s grip is like a vice as he grabs my hand. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t follow them. He simply stands there, listening to his mother’s sobs echoing from inside. My heart squeezes even tighter, and salty tears glide down my cheeks, dripping off my chin onto my LAU T-shirt.

This can’t be happening.

Please don’t let this be happening.

I just saw him. Hours ago. We talked. We laughed. We hugged. This isn’t possible. It can’t be. He was fine. He was smiling and happy and talking about his job. It just… He can’t be gone.

I keep my feet planted where they are, unable to move. Unable to step inside the room. To see the reality of the situation and how impossible it feels to accept it.

I can’t lose both of them. I can’t.

We received Maverick’s diagnosis such a short time ago, and now this? I don’t know how much more I can take.

“Come on,” Maverick murmurs, though I’m not sure who he’s talking to.

He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand even tighter. Like I’m the only reason he’s holding it together when I know for a fact he’s mine. My legs feel useless. Heavy. But I force myself to follow Maverick as he finally finds the courage to face the scene we know is waiting for us. But even the knowledge, the phone call, and the doctor’s warning aren’t enough to prepare me for what’s inside the room.

Maverick’s pursuit ceases instantly as he enters the room, and I almost run into him. Peeking around his body, I take in the scene in front of me, all the while wishing I hadn’t. The main lights are off, and the lights from the machines keeping Archer’s body alive cast shadows along the white walls and the two silhouettes surrounding the hospital bed. Aunt Mia’s on her knees, clutching Archer’s hand as she cries. Uncle Henry’s beside her. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his chin touching his chest and his shoulders heaving. A soft squeak sounds from the opposite corner of the room. Rory’s on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and burying her head against them. She looks so broken. So sad. My heart cracks even more. I’d offer to comfort her, but I know Rory better than that. She has one comfort blanket. One. It’s been this way since she was a baby. The only person capable of consoling her is Jaxon Thorne.

He’s already parked outside. Whether she sent him a text or he knew she’d need him and came without an invitation, I’m not sure. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if Aunt Mia or Uncle Henry called and asked him to come so he could comfort their daughter, but at least she’s one person I don’t have to worry about. The rest of us? Well…I’m pretty sure we’re fucked.

I avoid the lifeless body connected to the machines with every fiber of my being, focusing on Maverick’s parents, no matter how much the scene unfolding kills me. They’re two of the strongest people I know, and their world is being ravaged. My throat closes as I try to keep my grief, my pain, my heartbreak in check, but it’s impossible.

I don’t want to look at the bed. I don’t want to look at Archer. I don’t want to look at anything, really. I want to go home. I want to erase today altogether and start from scratch. If I close my eyes, I can still see him smiling. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners. The way his mouth lifts like he has a secret. The way his husky laugh is warm and inviting. I can still see him walking into his bedroom to pack. I just saw him. He was fine.

How?

How is this even possible?

Wiping the wetness from my cheeks with my free hand, I take a deep breath, hold onto Maverick’s grasp, and force myself to search for what’s left of my best friend. Cuts and bruises marr his arms and the side of his face. There’s a bloody wound on his left temple too. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls slowly. But the steady beeping from the heart monitor plays a sick game with my sanity. I can almost believe he’s sleeping, and if I walk toward him, he’ll wake up. He’ll be fine. But the charade is broken as I step closer to the bed, following Maverick’s lead. Goosebumps prick along my arms, and a sob claws its way up my throat.

He looks so lifeless. So…gone. Like his soul has already left his body, leaving a shell of the boy I grew up with. The boy I call my best friend. The boy I love more than he ever really knew or understood.

My knight.

The same steady beeping from his heart monitor mingles with our sorrow, reaching a feverish pitch, and leaves me raw and aching. Instead of bringing hope—hope he might be okay, that he might wake up—all it does is add salt to the wound, and I can’t do anything to change it. He’s brain-dead. It’s only a matter of time until the beeping stops, and he’s gone forever.

It isn’t fair.

It isn’t. Fucking. Fair!

I want to scream. To rip my hair out and hit the walls until my fists bleed. I want to do something—anything—to take this pain away. Mine. Maverick’s. Rory’s. Mia’s. Henry’s.

Why?

Why does it have to be this way?

It isn’t fair.

It isn’t. Fucking. Fair!

Quiet footsteps sound like stomping as Jaxon appears in the doorway. Without a word, he walks to Rory, and she scrambles to her feet, clinging to him.

“Hey, Squeaks,” he murmurs.

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