Page 3 of Over the Edge

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make that call. I’m going to go get someone who can provide medical advice and then they can tell me whether or not I should leave you.”

There’s probably a button he could push, but I don’t like fighting, I don’t like blowing up, and this is a good enough excuse to walk away before I say something I’ll regret. It’s always hard with Garrett, though. There’s this urge to push and get some reaction out of him.

I find a nurse then wait in the hall for the verdict. I’m not particularly fond of hospitals, though I doubt many people are. A hospital was where my family started to fray. Drew collapsed on stage during Fool’s Gambit’s last performance. It’s weird seeing someone who you’ve always looked up to, someone strong and full of life, look so distant and small.

He was fine, but also not fine. Concussed. But that didn’t do any lasting damage. After that day he stopped playing music. Stopped talking to our parents. Barely talked to me until our parents were getting on my case for the smallest things. He said it over and over again.

“I’m fine.”

Depression and anxiety are a bitch, but we only started talking about that recently. He’s doing better now that he’s going to therapy and taking medication. He’s happier than ever, living with his girlfriend Lacey and running his bar in Atlanta.

Still, I’m not the biggest fan of hospitals.

I collect his belongings and I’m given a bundle of wrinkled clothes, slightly bent glasses, wallet, watch, and keys. The doctor is leaving just as I get back and she holds the door open for me as I enter the room.

“I thought you might want to walk out of here in something that covers your ass,” I say, then drop his belongings on the bed. It’s a nice ass. I’ve looked a few times. You know, to see what all the fuss is about. The world won’t suffer if he showed it off a bit.

“Thanks.”

I leave the room again and a few minutes later he steps out in a rumpled designer suit. His glasses sit at an odd angle on his nose.

I fold my arms over my chest, still determined to stand my ground. “Care to explain why I’m here?”

“Wes isn’t reliable,” he says flatly.

“So you just skipped over any other viable options. Got it.”

“I knew you’d show up,” he explains simply. It’s not like I can refute that, since I’m already here. I would show up for anyone, though. He’s not special.

“How convenient for you. Because from what I remember, you didn’t show up for me seven months ago.”

“I sent movers.”

“I remember,” I snap, my voice rising. “It was so fun to open my door at eight in the morning expecting you and finding three huge strangers instead. Makes a girl feel really safe in a new city.”

Up until now, I’ve lived in Nashville or its surrounding suburbs my entire life. I was a bit anxious about the process until Garrett agreed to help. It wasn’t like I expected Garrett to become my best friend. But it hurt when he didn’t show up and explained it away with an excuse about work. It made me feel small, the same way I do now. I’m just a convenient person to have around, not someone he cares about. Got it.

“I guess I should have told you they were coming.” He shrugs, his voice bordering on disinterested, but something flickers across his face.

“You guess?”

“Um, are you ready for the discharge paperwork?” a nurse asks hesitantly, her eyes flicking between us. She’s not the only one looking at us. When I glance around the room a few other staff members start to hurry along.

“Thank you.” He takes the pen and clipboard then shoots me a sharp glance. “I’m ready for this to be over with.”

Likewise.

2

Garrett

“It’s a system error,” I say, impatiently eying the guard at the front desk. “It was working yesterday and now…” I tap my credential badge to get through the gate the same way I have for the last seven years I’ve worked at Holt and Walker. The light blinks red and the security system emits a low, angry beep for the third time this morning. “This keeps happening.”

I just want to get to work and move on with my day. I’m fucking tired after only getting a few hours of sleep, but that doesn’t change the fact that the copyright case I was working on yesterday before my unfortunate incident is still waiting for me in my office. Taking time off would likely only trigger another one of the stress-induced migraines that caused me to faint last night. Well, that and a mix of exhaustion and dehydration, according to what the doctor told me yesterday.

“Let me check, again,” the guard says as he taps away at the computer.

“Don’t bother,” says a familiar whiskey-smooth voice from behind me. “Nothing’s broken.”

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