Page 109 of Deliverance

Besides, we had something during our last brainstorming session.

“Thanks for stopping by, man.” I begin to stand up as Avery rises from his chair, ready to leave. My ribs scream in protest. Being out of commission sucks. No matter how many times, I end up in this situation, it’s always a miserable experience.

“Don’t get up,” Avery says. “I’ll see myself out.”

Once he’s gone, I reach for my laptop and get back to scanning the Guggenheim’s website. My heart begins to stampede in my chest at the thought of Drew. I still can’t believe she came to see me in the hospital. My guess is, Hazel had something to do with it since I confided in her about my intentions. She’s also the one who disclosed the piece of info I plan on using to my advantage—Drew’s never been to the Guggenheim.

I pull up my calendar and check a couple of dates, then shoot a few texts to Ian.

“When are you going to New York?” My mother’s voice is edged with worry, judgment, and curiosity all at once.

I glance behind me to where she’s standing by the French door.

“In a couple of weeks.”

“What for?”

“Does it matter?” I snap.

“Of course it does.” She steps closer but doesn’t sit down. “The doctor said it may take up to six weeks for your injuries to heal completely.”

“It’s not a fracture, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

She takes a long, shuddered breath, and her mask of composure starts to fall away. “Why do you do this?”

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy and paramount.

“Do what, Ma?” I ask in a clipped tone, wishing for this conversation to just go away, but I know it won’t. I know my mother’s been braving herself to ask the things she’s asking about at this very moment for years. It’s in her eyes. The endless terror.

“Provoke death.”

I swallow. My stomach turns. Around us, the wind continues to whistle as the ocean rage-dances against the white sandy shore.

“Why do you taunt it, Zander?” My mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. She turns her head to the side and inhales sharply.

The pills make my head swim, and I’m too fucking dizzy to comprehend the meaning behind her words. So I just sit there and stare at her as if she’s grown a third arm.

“Every single time I get a call from the hospital, I’m terrified it’ll be my last.”

My mother is an overly emotional woman who cried during my first headlining gig, despite the fact that half the songs on that setlist were about sex. And for that reason alone, I have Justice and Ian listed as my emergency contacts, but they never fail to rope in my parents.

“Ma, come on.” I shake my head. “Stop talking like that.”

“No.” She nearly stomps. “I’m tired of watching you punish yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. No amount of bruises and broken bones will bring that boy back, and you need to make peace with it. Make peace and let go.”

She doesn’t wait for my answer. She walks off, leaving me one-on-one with the ramifications of her words.

For a while, I simply stare at the waves. The dumb organ in my chest keeps beating against my cracked ribs and it hurts to breathe. It also hurts to think. It hurts everywhere.

I blink past the blur in my eyes and grab my phone from the table. Part of me doesn’t expect Drew to pick up. She’s been swamped at the studio these past couple of weeks and I’ve been doing my best not to bother her too often with my calls, but we’ve been talking and it’s probably the only good thing that’s happened to me since the accident.

As always, she greets me with unsophisticated, “Hey, you.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I say.

There’s a thud in the background. “No, I’m just working on this piece…” Drew never finishes her sentence. It’s how I know she’s in that strange headspace she’s always in when she’s—as she says—in the zone.

“I can call back later if you’re busy.”

---