Page 134 of Encounter

I’m going to die. No, wait. No, I don’t want this!I’m never going to see Chast. I’m never going to play piano again.

“Galen!” The blows against the door became louder and more urgent. “Galen, open the door!” Dad’s voice echoed through my mind. The idea of never seeing him again pushed more tears into my eyes, no matter how much I hated him. No matter how hopeless our relationship was, I nearly made it so there was no possibility of ever fixing it.

I don’t want to—

The door cracked open, and Dad fell in, crashing on his elbows. He looked around in panic and the moment our eyes met, I burst out into tears, eaten alive by shame and regret.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, snot and saliva running down my trembling lips. “I-I’m sorry.”

He had an expression I hadn’t seen before. His hands wrapped around my arms, squeezing them tightly. “No, no, I... Dear god, Ga— Hold on. H-Hold on, Son!” He reached into his back pocket to take his phone out while I leaned against him, desperately crying out into his shoulder. I wanted to cling onto his warm body, to never let go.

“Shhh, hold on, it’s— It’s going to be alright!”

Closing my eyes, I bit down on my lips and shook my head lightly. He was wrong.

Nothing was ever going to be alright, and it was all my fault.

Leaning against thewall, I hung my head down, eyes fixated on the pattern of the hospital floor. I studied the thousands of small squares, meticulously making sure all of them were even. It felt like they weren’t. Like there was something off.

I strained my eyes for so long, they began to hurt, and my vision started to blur.

It was all I allowed myself to focus on. That and the bright light of the long hall and the beeping of the machines, mixing with the quiet chatter, managed to distract me from wondering what was happening behind the door only a few steps away from me.

My phone continuously vibrated with messages. I had missed meetings. Johnson was going to be furious. I hoped Anaya took care of most of it. It was going to be mayhem.

“Mr. De Clare.”

The doctor made me jump. Smiling in that infuriatingly pitying way, she stood on the corner with a clipboard in hand, tapping her fingers on it.

I straightened my back and brushed over my blazer, trying to ignore the drops of blood on it. “Yes. How... How is he?” I had to clear my throat as I spoke.

“Galen said I’m allowed to discuss his medical details with you,” she noted, glancing at her papers. “The good news is that we stitched the wounds, and they’re looking quite good. The cuts weren’t too deep. We see that quite often here. I’m confident they’ll heal nicely. There was some nerve damage, on the left hand particularly, but we can’t say in confidence if any of it is permanent yet, so try not to worry about that right now. We’ll see how it improves throughout the healing process.”

Nerve damage?My throat closed up, barely allowing me to push through a swallow. “Would... Will that affect his ability to play piano?”

The music is all he cares about. I can’t let it be taken away from him.

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