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Pauly’s family rushes into the waiting room. His sisters cry and hold on to Deacon and Victoria as Deacon tells Pauly’s parents what he knows—which isn’t much.

After a while, a doctor tells us that Pauly is in critical condition, and they are rushing him into surgery to try to stop his internal bleeding.

It’s almost unreal to be here like this.

Our house has been luckier than most. We don’t spend much time in hospitals or at funerals, for that matter, which is a rare thing. When one of your own comes so close to death, it’s immensely painful.

Christine, the captain’s wife, shows up with trays of subs. “I thought you guys might be hungry,” she says.

“Thank you so much,” I say. The sight of food causes my stomach to clench.

We eat in silence.

Hours pass, and we all remain to wait as a family. Terrified.

Eventually, the surgeon emerges from the double doors. “Surgery went well. We stopped the bleeding. He has a concussion and a lot of bruising, which will both heal with time. His legs are broken in quite a few places. We’re hoping to go in tomorrow to set the breaks, as long as he’s stable. He’ll have a long road to recovery, but I’m optimistic that he’ll be just fine.”

The waiting room explodes in celebration.

Deacon covers his face with his hands as his body is wracked with sobs. I circle my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “He’s gonna be just fine, brother. You saved him.”

“Thank you.” His voice quivers. “For following me in.” Tears roll down his ash-covered cheeks as he looks from me to Tiny. “I couldn’t have done it without you both. I’ll never be able to repay you for risking your lives for us.”

Tiny playfully ruffles his large hand through Deacon’s head. “No repayment necessary, brother. I’d do it again, any day.”

I blow out a breath. “Well, let’s hope that’s not necessary.”

CHAPTER13

LEXI

Ihold my hand to my mouth and run into the bathroom as vomit rises. Kicking open the stall door, I fall to my knees just as an explosion of coffee-flavored puke spews into the bowl.

“Oh, my God,” I groan, ripping off some toilet paper and wiping my mouth. “My morning coffee will never taste the same.” I eye the brown liquid catastrophe in the toilet bowl. Covering my face so as not to smell it, I flush the toilet.

Pulling out a handful of toilet paper, I exit the stall. Standing in front of the sink, I stare into the mirror, wiping away my running mascara and then my mouth before I toss the paper into the garbage. Turning on the faucet, I cup my hand beneath the running water and rinse the lingering vomit taste from my mouth.

“Fuck.” I kick the wall, and tears spring to my eyes. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Angry tears fall down my cheeks.

Grasping the ceramic sink, I glower at my sad reflection.Loser, party of one.

What am I going to do now?

In my self-imposed journey,Find Yourself 101, I figured my first order of business was to discover my passion and find a meaningful career. Seems simple enough…only I have no interests. I’m going to be twenty-four next month, and I’ve made it through my entire existence without developing any hobbies or skills.

How is that even possible?

I have no clue but rest assured, it is. I am living proof.

I started thinking about the barbecue I went to at Deacon’s house up north. It was so fun, and the people there were great. They seemed…happy. Save for the occasional Jerry Springer preview between Pauly and Victoria, they all seemed well-adjusted. What do they all have in common? A meaningful and fulfilling job.

So maybe that’s the key to happiness? Finding a career that fulfills me, one that helps people, like a firefighter—except I don’t have the strength for that. So nursing? Nope couldn’t pass the pre-requisite courses, let alone get into a nursing program.

A few weeks back, I went to one of the local community colleges and scanned through their course offerings.

EMT.

I could do that, I thought. The classwork isn’t as time-consuming or intense as nursing, but when all was said and done, I’d still be helping people. I’d feel fulfilled and happy.

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