Page 102 of Deliverance

Little does my friend know about the things that have been tak—beatenout of me.

I’m still mulling over everything when my phone buzzes on the table, Hazel’s name flashing at me from the screen.

After a moment of hesitation, I answer.

“Hey, Drew.” Her voice sounds thin with a beat of anxiety. “I’m not sure you heard, but I thought it would be…” she stutters as if she’s lost track of what she was going to say, but something tells me it has nothing to do with her head trauma. As a matter of fact, this is the first time I’m hearing uncertainty in her tone. “Zander was in a car accident.”

All the air rushes out of my lungs.

I press the phone to my ear so hard it hurts. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Just a few bruises and a concussion. The doctors are keeping him for another night to run some extra tests, but I thought…you should know.”

“Sure.” I inhale sharply, my head pounding. “Did he say something? Is that why you’re calling me?”

“Look.” Hazel pauses. “It’s none of my business really…whatever is going on between you two. But yes, he did ask about you. I figured… Are you guys seeing each other?”

I’m still not sure how exactly to describe what Zander and I have, but Hazel’s assumption isn’t wrong. Technically, we’re an item. An evolving one, but an item nonetheless.

Because my heart wouldn’t ache the way it does for Zander right now if I didn’t care about him.

“Do you know which hospital he’s at?” I ask.

She gives me the info and wraps up the call before her kids destroy her studio.

“What’s wrong?” Santiago’s brow furrows.

I toss the phone on the table and palm my cheeks. “Can you give me a ride?”

“Yeah. Where to?”

“The hospital?”

“What’s going on?”

“Zander was in a car accident. All I know is that he’s okay, but he’s bruised up.” My arms fall to my sides. “So I guess I’m going to follow your advice and seize the opportunity.”

“Atta girl.” Santiago snaps his fingers at me. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

On the way to the hospital, I brace myself to check social media, which I’ve been conveniently ignoring since the night of the show. The last post on Zander’s Instagram is from a few days ago. It’s an overhead shot of him in a recording booth in front of his drum kit.

I stare at the photo long enough for Santiago to notice and make a ludicrous comment that doesn’t register. There’s a strange tightness beneath my breastbone, tightness I can only attribute to worry.

Worry for another person is something I haven’t felt in a while. Not since my father died and my mother spiraled into depression. It took her years to get back on her feet and even now, whenever I think about those first lonely months after the funeral, horror starts clawing at my gut.

“Anything?” Santiago asks as we battle the afternoon traffic. He’s a temperamental driver and doesn’t shy away from expressing his annoyance every two minutes.

“Press release on his official Facebook page,” I tell him as I quickly skim over the text and note the initials below the post.

I.M.

The long string of comments and reactions reminds me yet again that Zander Shaw isn’t just some rich guy who drives a sports car and plays drums. He plays drums for a major band, which probably means paparazzi and fans.

My suspicions are confirmed when Santiago pulls up to the hospital drop-off zone. A small group of people of various ages in The Deviant T-shirts and hoodies are crowding the main entrance. Several photographers are leaning against the wall, their cameras slung over their shoulders, ready to go.

“You sure you don’t want me to wait?” Santiago asks as I flip down the visor to check my face in the small mirror. I didn’t plan on going anywhere today and didn’t think of bringing a change of clothes, but I did have an extra pair of clean jeans that I wore instead of the dirty ones.

“No. I honestly don’t know how long it’ll take.” I’m not optimistic about this at all. I probably won’t be allowed anywhere near Zander since the place is starting to look like a zoo. “I’ll Uber home.”

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