Page 140 of Three Not-So-Little Words
She looks at me. “You’re okay? Look at you. You’re in the fucking hospital. I don’t think that’s okay. Is this woman going to be held responsible?”
“I don’t know. She was young and just not paying attention. I’m alive, and I think that’s what matters.”
“But you may not have been.” She starts to pace. “You could have died.”
“But I didn’t. Baby, come here.”
It’s like she doesn’t even hear me. “How is it that people can just drive while texting or drive while drinking, and they can literally take people’s lives? How fair is that? I’m sure she won’t have any type of consequences. They never do.”
I’m guessing now she is referring to Aaron. Maybe the drunk driver didn’t have any type of punishment when he was killed.
“Ronnie, I know this whole thing must be scary–”
She cuts me off. “No, you have no idea.”
“Actually, I do. I’ve gotten that unimaginable phone call before, too. Remember?”
That stops her for a second. “This isn’t right. None of this is right.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s all wrong. I shouldn’t be here.”
“Ronnie, just listen–”
“No. I let myself like you. I let myself get sucked into this whole thing, and it happened all over again.”
“Nothing happened, beautiful. I’m right here.”
She lets out a single sob. “But what about when you’re not? What about if something happens, and you leave me all alone? This is why I don’t do relationships. This is why I don’t let anyone get close.”
“And you really think that’s a good way to live your life?” I ask.
“It’s the only way I know. It’s been working for me for fifteen years, and I’ve been doing just fine. I just–” She looks at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Drew. I just can’t.”
fifty-five
Just Breathe
Ronnie
Istorm out of Drew’s hospital room and find Dylan in the hallway. I’m trying to catch my breath, but I’m gasping for air, and my lungs still need more.
I clutch my hand to my heart and brace myself against the wall. It’s no use, though. I’m going down.
Dylan catches me before I hit the floor. “Ronnie, what’s wrong?”
But I can’t talk. I can’t seem to do anything except continue to gasp for air.
“Ronnie, look at me,” he encourages.
When I finally do, he says, “Okay, I need you to breathe. You’re hyperventilating. I need you to take long slow breaths.” He puts my hand on his chest. “Breathe with me.”
I try to focus on his breathing.
In and out. In and out. Slow and steady.
When I have calmed down a little, he asks, “What’s wrong? Colton’s grandma was just here and said that Drew is going to be fine.”
