Page 157 of Closer

Everything tilts and slows. Her name rips from my throat, and I’m running to her lifeless body on the street.

The hard concrete bites into my knees as I get down beside her. Her eyes are closed, a trickle of blood at her temple. Is she?

Her eyelids flutter open, and she blinks up at me, dazed and disoriented. “I’m sorry.”

I sag in relief, clutching her hand to my chest, tears burning my eyes. She’s alive. “Call an ambulance!”

Passersby have formed a loose circle, their voices a dull roar in my ears.

If only I’d gotten to her sooner. If only I had seen through the lies years ago.

This is all my fault.

Stay with me, princess. Please, stay with me.

The ambulance arrives in a blaze of lights and noise, the paramedics ushering bystanders aside, including me. They ask questions I can’t seem to answer, my throat closing up as they lift Lil onto a stretcher and load her into the back of the ambulance. The doors slam shut, the sirens kicking up to a bone-jarring shriek as it drives away from the curb.

This is it. I’m helpless again. My hands stained with blood. Again.

“Get in the car.” My father clasps my shoulder.

After what seems like an eternity, we arrive at the hospital. I burst through the doors of the emergency room, only to be stopped by a nurse. “I’m sorry, only family members are allowed—”

“She’s my—” Girlfriend seems too trivial a term for what Lil is to me.

The nurse purses her lips. “I understand this is upsetting, but unless you’re her legal next of kin, we can’t let you in or release any information, or allow you to see her.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “Please.”

“Sir, there’s nothing I can do.” The nurse gives me a kind smile. “I’m sorry. As soon as her family arrives, I’m sure they’ll update you on her condition.”

“I’ll call your mother,” my father says. “She’s probably already on her way.”

“What?”

“Your mother is listed as Lil’s emergency contact.”

“Why?”

“Marc and she decided that when Lil moved here. In case something happens.”

I gape at him, stunned. “How fucking deep does this run with you, Mom, and the Edmunds?”

“Deeper than you need to know.” He walks past me, his phone at his ear.

Defeated, I sink into one of the chairs lining the waiting area, head in my hands. All I can do now is wait.

And pray.

It takes only 20 minutes for my mother to arrive. “How is she?”

“I don’t know.” Shame twists my gut. I should know—I should be in there with her. Instead of here. “They won’t tell me anything.”

“I’ll talk to the nurse. Her brothers are on their way.” She walks up to the reception.

My father clears his throat. “I’m going to get some coffee. You want anything?”

I shake my head, and he gives my shoulder a brief squeeze before walking away.

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