Page 85 of Too Late

I never saw them take Asa out of the bedroom last night because I was too worried about Luke to care what happened to him. But I could hear him. The whole time I was pressing my hands against Luke’s chest, waiting on the paramedics to arrive, Asa was behind me yelling, “Let himdie, Sloan! He doesn’t love you! I love you!Ido!”

I never turned around to acknowledge him or his words. I continued to try to help Luke while they pulled Asa out of the bedroom. The last thing I heard him say was, “It’smyfuckingcake! Let me take my fucking coconutcake!”

I don’t know what’s going to happen next with Asa. I’m certain there will be some sort of trial, but I honestly don’t want to testify. I’m afraid if I testify, he’ll get off easier than he should. Because I would have to be honest. I’d have to tell them about all the things I’ve witnessed in his behavior, specifically the drastic changes in recent weeks. It’s obvious to everyone who knows him that he’s developing symptoms of schizophrenia—the same hereditary illness his father had. But if that’s the case, he’ll more than likely be sentenced to a high-security mental health facility than a prison.

And even though I do want him to get help for whatever is going on with him, I also want him to pay. I want him to pay for every single thing he’s ever done and I want him to pay forever.In a prison.Where he’ll rot with men who are probably twice as evil as he could ever dream of being.

Some might call that bitter. I just call it karma.

I grip the arms of my chair and whisper to no one, “I’m done thinking about you, Asa Jackson.”

And I am. He’s taken up way too much of my life already and now I just want to focus on the future. On Stephen.On Luke.

There are tubes and wires and IVs hooked up to him, but I’m somehow still able to find an area on his bed where I can fit if I curl up just right. I crawl onto the bed with him and I wrap my arm over him, lay my head on his shoulder, and close my eyes.

Several minutes later, Ryan’s voice pulls me out of my slumber.

“Coffee.”

I open my eyes and he’s sitting on the chair by the bed, holding a coffee out to me. It’s probably the fifth cup I’ve had since Luke came out of surgery, but I’m pretty sure I’m good for about a million more if it takes that long.

Ryan sits back in his chair and takes a sip of his coffee, then grips it with both hands and leans forward.

“Did he ever tell you how we met?” Ryan asks.

I shake my head.

I can see a nostalgic smile begin to play on Ryan’s lips. “We were assigned a job together a while back. He broke cover the second night we were there,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “I was so angry at him, but I knew why he did it. I can’t go into all the details, but if he hadn’t outed himself when he did, a kid would have lost his life. Luke couldn’t have lived with himself if that had happened. I knew in that moment that he had the worst kind of heart for this job. But as pissed as I was at him, I respected the hell out of him for what he did. He cared more about the life of a kid he didn’t even know than he did about his own career. And that’s not a flaw, Sloan. That’s a character trait. Pretty sure they call it compassion,” he says with a wink.

Ryan’s story makes me smile for the first time in forever. “That’s the sexiest thing about him,” I whisper. “His compassion.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know … he’s got a great ass.”

I laugh. I wouldn’t really know—Luke was sitting down when I had my only chance to see it.

I put my coffee on the bedside table and then lean in and give Luke a peck on the mouth. I’ve made sure to kiss him every chance I get, just in case I don’t get many more chances.

When I pull my lips from his and start to rest my head on his pillow, I hear a quiet noise come from his throat. Ryan leaps out of his chair at the same moment I lift my head back up.

“Did he just make a noise?” Ryan asks, his voice full of disbelief.

“I think so,” I whisper.

Ryan waves his arm toward Luke. “Kiss him again! I think it woke him up!”

I do. I kiss him lightly on the lips again and there’s no mistaking the noise Luke makes this time. He’s definitely waking up.

We both stare at him for a moment while his eyelids flutter open and then shut, several times. “Luke? Can you hear me?” Ryan asks.

Luke finally forces his eyes open, but he doesn’t look directly at Ryan. Instead, his eyes move painfully around the room until he’s looking at me, curled up at his side. He stares for a moment, and then with a weak voice he whispers, “Kaleidoscope belt buckles see leprechauns when the fog drops it like it’s hot.”

Tears immediately form in my eyes and I have to choke back my cry.

“Oh, God,” Ryan says. “He’s not making any sense. This isn’t good. I’ll go get the doctor.” He runs out of the room before I can tell him that Luke is perfectly fine.

I lift my hand to Luke’s face and touch his lips. I whisper, “Depressed baguettes linger on the playground eating bowls of cereal until the slugs wilt.” My voice cracks with my relief—with my happiness—with my gratefulness. My lips meet his, and even though I know this isn’t good for him and he’s probably in a lot of pain, I hug him wherever I can and kiss him in all the places I can reach on his face and neck. I wrap myself around him, careful to keep my arms and hands away from his injuries. I lie quietly with him while the tears roll down my cheeks.

“Sloan,” he says, his voice gravelly. “I can’t remember what happened after I fucked everything up. Did you end up saving me?”

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