Page 8 of Wicked Deceit
“What the hell does that mean? How can you not remember?” Chase asks in confusion, shaking his head. “Maybe you guys hit your heads too hard?”
I narrow my eyes at him until the blinding pain takes over my brain, and I grunt, “We have concussions, you dick,” I hiss, holding my aching head, and trying to keep the vomit churning in my stomach again down in my gut. I need a fucking bed, ibuprofen, and my fucking girl.
“Oh,” Chase’s face falls and he grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit. Sorry, dude,” he mumbles his apology, looking us over like he just saw us for the first time.
Carter’s assessing eyes take in our bloodied appearance, glancing at us from head to toe. He snarls at us, taking off in the opposite direction. I sigh, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows of the parking lot, wondering what the hell he’s going to do. It isn’t until I hear the growl, shout, and thunk do I fully understand he’s gone to battle against a large tree in the distance. I pray the tree says uncle before Carter beats it to a pulp and knocks it over with his bare hands. I wouldn’t put it past him to bite the damn thing, either.
“That guy really needs to sort out his shit,” Chase says, swiping a hand over his brow. “He’s been a ball of tension since I had to drag his ass out of his apartment. He almost fucking attacked me!” Chase exclaims with wide eyes, holding his hand over his chest. “Psycho,” he mutters under his breath.
“He was at his apartment?” Zepp asks, attempting to straighten his spine, but winces when he’s at full height. He groans, taking a deep breath, and works through the pain obviously working through him.
I snort to myself at the sight of him. You’d never know he was hunched in a darkened corner of the emergency room, shaking like a damn leaf two seconds ago. Now he’s standing here like the same old Zepp, oozing confidence despite the pain roaring through his body. Most likely coming up with a Zepp-like plan. And thank fuck for that. My brain hurts way too goddamn much to put anything useful into this conversation.
“Yeah,” Chase says, waving. “And he sure as shit was NOT happy to see me. I can tell you that.”
“I had no fucking involvement in whatever the fuck happened,” Carter says through clenched teeth, with blood dripping from his knuckles onto the pavement.
I cock my head, staring at his psycho ass standing in front of us all bloodied, and crazy looking. His chest heaves rapidly going in and out as he stares at us with a wildness in his eyes. He’s two seconds away from pouncing and wailing on us until we give him the answers he wants to hear. Even if it’s the wrong damn answers. There’s no fucking way I could get him to Kaycee right now. For one, he’d scare the living shit out of everyone in the hospital looking like a damn serial killer on the loose. And for two, she’s in surgery and we won’t be able to see her for a long time. I know how that shit works. She’ll go to recovery afterward and we won't be able to see her if she’s in ICU.
“What happened? Where’s Kaycee? God, she isn’t dying, is she?” The color drains from Chase’s face when he turns to me, pleading with his eyes for answers.
“Her mom says she’s going to be okay. She’s in surgery right now. They had to put fucking—” I trail off, covering my mouth at the thought of pins and plates and whatever shit they’re putting into her elbow. I shiver at the thought of that shit going inside her body and staying inside of her.
“They had to put pins in her elbow. She broke her arm. Her mom said she had been thrown from the vehicle….” Zepp says, shaking his head. “But something isn’t adding up. I don’t understand what happened and why she’d be thrown from the car. Her mom said something about them finding her on the road after being ejected.” Zepp swallows hard, turning to look away from us.
“Surgery? There’s some fucking doctor opening her the fuck up?” Carter gasps, and I think he's petrified for the first time in his life. Fuck. If I was an asshole—which I totally am—I’d memorialize this moment with a picture.
Every ounce of color drains from Carter’s face and he turns a sickly shade of white, turning him into a ghost. The only sign he’s alive is the blood caked on his knuckles from fucking up the tree a few minutes ago. With a shaky and whole body shakes, he swipes at his face. His dark eyes dance around the parking lot, looking for who knows. His sanity? His fucking thoughts?
“Shit,” Chase says, shaking his head.
“We talked to her mom,” Zepp says, through a deep breath, continuing his pacing. “She said we could come up there when everything was done, and Kace had a room. It’ll be hours, though. We should probably go home and get some rest until then,” he says, looking at me with a grimace, knowing the answer to what he said.
“Fuck that,” I spit, moving too quickly. “We can’t leave! What if she wakes up?” Panic overtakes me, as the images of her waking up alone and scared run through my fucking mind. What if she needs us? What if she’s scared or in pain and we’re not there? Fuck!
“Dude,” Chase says, pointing to the blood on my shirt. “You need to go home and change and shower. If you walk into Kace’s room looking likeThe Walking Deadextras, she’ll throw a fit. Don’t make Sunshine throw a fit after all this.” His voice trails off and he swallows the lump in his throat. Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head.
I growl, looking down at my bloodied clothes. “Fucking fine!” I shout, reluctantly agreeing to this stupid as fuck plan, even though I know it needs to happen. I don’t want to scare her by walking in with all this blood and dirt all over me.
“We’ll go home, grab a shower, change, and get some rest. Then come back after,” Zepp says with a nod, getting out his phone. “I’ll text Mercy and let her know we’re headed home.”
“Beg her to tell us when Kaycee is out,” Chase says, hovering over Zepp’s shoulder, reading every word. “Tell her, man!” He gripes as Zepp swats him away like a pesky fly and sends him a scathing look.
“I told her,” he says with a resigned look, gazing down at the screen.
“Okay, let’s go home,” I say as Chase points us toward his vehicle. “Get some rest and then we can come back and be annoying boyfriends.”
“Fuck that!” Carter hisses, knocking his shoulder into Chase’s, making him stumble back. Chase scowls in his direction as he rights himself, following Carter with his eyes until he stops completely, shaking his head. “I’m fucking staying here tonight until I hear something. I’ll sleep in the fucking waiting room, but I need to be here,” Carter says with an unsure voice, his tough exterior falling away for the first time. He winces when he rubs his knuckles and checks his wounds. “I can’t leave knowing someone has their hands inside her fucking elbow and that she isn’t okay. I’ll be a fucking bear until I know.” Vulnerability leaks from his voice when he turns to look at us and heaves a breath. Every ounce of fight leaves him, and his shoulders slump forward as he waits to hear what we have to say.
“Fucking go man,” I say, waving a hand without care. We make our way toward Chase’s car with slow strides, waiting for Carter to either leave with us or go inside.
Zepp blows out a breath, lingering near the passenger door. He stares down at his phone, typing out another reply, and sighs. “She said it’s on the eighth floor, they’re in the waiting room if you want to go make nice.” Carter straightens, giving us a tight nod and marches into the hospital with determination. I pray for the people inside and hope they don’t cross that asshole before he sees Kaycee.
“He really needs to loosen up,” Chase murmurs from the driver's seat when Zepp and I climb in.
“The only person who will loosen him up is the person lying in a hospital bed right now,” Zepp says, buckling himself in.
“Touché,” Chase says, backs out of the parking space and heads toward the school.
