Page 62 of Fractured

I wanted to experience life, even in the stilted way I’d become accustomed.

Pieces of his letter floated to the surface of my thoughts.

All I’m asking, to finally get some fucking peace, is to talk to me. Help me piece together what really happened to Eli.

Had that been his cry for help? Was Drake trying to tell me in so many words that he was suicidal and I was his last-ditch effort to move forward?

No. I wouldn’t feel guilty. Not about this, but I was stillsad.

I stood up, knocking Ambrose’s and Atticus’ touch in my haste.

“I’m going to the hospital.” Rushing inside, I grabbed some slip-on shoes from the hall closet and my keys out of the bowl on the counter.

“Lilith. If he’s in the hospital, people are looking after him. You don’t have to do this now. Not at all if that’s what you want.” Ambrose was always the voice of reason. He voiced all the things that I knew in the back of my mind but didn’t want to think about. Because if I did and something bad happened, I would feel horrible about myself.

If Drake, for some ungodly reason, didn’t make it, it would build a little more on the hate I already harbored for myself. And if I could force myself to face my own fears, maybe I could do exactly what Drake thought I would.

Give him some much needed peace, and maybe a little closure for myself.

But there were still so many questions. Since the funeral, I’d stopped looking into the past, afraid of what I’d find. Now, with Drake in the hospital, more lives were at stake than just my own sanity.

I knew I wasn’t responsible for Drake’s actions, but if I could help, even a little bit, shouldn’t I?

“What harm will it do for me to go there?” I turned and faced them both as they stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the doorway.

“For one, he might have family there, and they might not want to see you,” Ambrose stated in that calm, melodic voice of his.

I deflated. This was the story of my life. There was always someone who looked down on me or refused to see me at all, because of the memories I might ignite for them.

My mother was a fucking cunt, and I hate, hate, hated her.

I gripped the keys in my hand so hard, the sharp bite of metal against my palm centered me much the same way Ambrose did. It put my decision into perspective. They hadn’t heard the conversation, so they wouldn’t know.

“That won’t be the case this time—”

“How do you know?” Ambrose asked, taking a step forward.

“Because Mrs. Daniels asked Autumn to give me his room number. If he were in surgery or on the verge of death, she wouldn’t have done that. If she didn’t want to see me there, she wouldn’t have done that.” It didn’t mean I was welcome, only that I wasn’t unwelcome. There was a difference, but I didn’t want to think about how that might affect my mental state later.

“Let her go,” Atticus said softly to Ambrose, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Instead of answering Atticus, he kept his gaze locked to mine. “I’m worried about you.”

“I know, but I want to do this.”

We stood there, waiting for the other to give. When he saw that I wasn’t going to back down, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “We’re coming with you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Ambrose and Atticus both echoed.

“Okay. But I’m driving. I need the mindless activity to help me organize my thoughts.”

Ambrose nodded, and Atticus stepped aside. They followed me out to the car just as the first raindrop landed on the tip of my nose.

Glancing up, the clouds were dark, angry. It would be a bad storm. Were the angels weeping for Drake?

“Are you sure you want to drive?” Atticus asked with his forearms crossed on top of my car.

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