Page 192 of Falling Offsides

So, I do the only thing that makes sense. Grabbing Auguste’s hand, I tug him back and nod to the doorway of Mom’s room. Then I slip past Dad and Martin and rush inside, closing the door behind me quietly.

She’s awake. Head bandaged, face mottled in bruises. It takes me a moment to gather myself. She looks lucky to be alive and the constant beep of the machines around her are a godawful reminder of it each second I linger in the doorway.

Maybe Martin’s right. I shouldn’t be here. Distressing her. Reminding her of why she’s in the state she’s in.

Because of me. Because maybe I was harsh and unsympathetic… unaffectionate.

Her one open eye flashes to me when my phone trills in my pocket and I freeze.

It’s awful. The sight of her. The knowledge that my words and actions?—

“Hi,” she mumbles past her cut up lips.

All I can do is whisper back a choked, “Hi, mom.”

Then I stand there, staring like we’re strangers.

She blinks, hissing with her attempt to twist her body towards me. “Courtney…”

Nausea burns my stomach and my throat tightens as I rush to her side. And there’s only one thing I can say. “I’m so sorry.”

Her brow furrows. “What? Why?”

“I never meant to upset you. I didn’t want you to get hurt…”

“Courtney,” she interrupts, her voice thin and broken. “Not your fault.”

“But I yelled at you and you were crying… and I thought it was because of what I said. I thought?—”

“We fought,” she says, wincing as she shifts, her cool hand resting over mine when I grab the safety railing of her bed. “Me and Martin. Ineeded air. Space. I was speeding. Not thinking. Then he called. We fought. Again. I lost control of the car.”

Oh.

Oh my god.

Her fingers curl under my hand. “No seatbelt. No seatbelt.”

Before I can ask what she means, the door bursts open. Martin storms inside, angry and crazy.

“What the hell are you doing in here? I said?—”

“You said it was my fault,” I bark at him under my breath. I hate him. So much that I can’t see straight as I march over to where he’s standing with his entitled scowl and I shove him so hard he stumbles backwards. “You said I did it. I hurt her.”

“You di?—”

“Liar!” I shove him again and this time he grips my wrists. “It was you she was running from. You she was yelling at…”

With one firm yank, he drags me out of the room. Stupid move because the instant we’re out in the hallway, Auguste is on him and Dad is right there too. Verna also.

“Go on,” he spits at Auguste. “Live up to the statistics.”

“Piece of shit,” Dad pushes Auguste out of the way, stepping between him and Martin.

But he’s just… stupid. Stupid and arrogant. Ignorant.

“I should’ve known you’d end up with someone like him,” he sneers at me. “Trash finds trash.”

Trash finds trash.

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