“Thank you. It means a lot to be able to see her.” I offer a genuine smile, hoping to mask the emotion clouding my vision. If I can do anything to bring Allie back, I need to try.
“Of course.” Mrs. Pixley steps out of the way, so we can enter the room. “I was just going downstairs for coffee, so I’ll let you two spend some time with her. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” we say, our replies overlapping.
I enter the room, holding my breath as Joey shuts the door behind us. No longer able to hold back the tears, they flow freely down my cheeks. Seeing Allie in person is more heartbreaking than I was prepared for, even after seeing her on Brendan’s computer screen.
Allie looks small in the bed despite her height. She was already thin and willowy, but being in a coma has stolen weight from her bones, sharpened her cheeks and made the hollows of her eyes look too big for her face. A ventilating tube is attached to her throat. The familiar beeping is accompanied by the hiss of the oxygen being supplied to her.
I don’t realize Joey is holding me up until I attempt to move toward her, and my knees buckle. His arm tightens around my waist.
“Why don’t you sit?” He guides me to the chair stationed by her bed. He removes the book from the seat and lowers me onto it. “Are you sure this is a good idea? You’ve had a rough day already.”
His caring is warranted because I’m not alright. I am filled with guilt and blame, ire and sadness. But my discomfort means nothing, not while she’s in this bed, fighting for her life.
“I want to be here,” I repeat insistently without taking my eyes off Allie, swiping at the tears rolling down my cheeks. What can I possibly say to the girl who tried to save me? “I want to make this better.”
I press my head against the bed rail and silently sob, my knuckles gripping the plastic ’til they turn white. Images from that night invade my thoughts. The malice in Vic’s eyes the moment before he shoved her down the stairs. The smirk that painted his face. Allie’s fierce cries when she tried to fend him off. The fear darkening her face as she tipped back into the void.
I can’t believe he’s partying in Europe while she can’t even breathe on her own. It’s not right that he’s allowed to return to his life, flaunting his freedom, while we suffer.
I grind out through clenched teeth, “I swear to you, he’ll get what he deserves.”
The monitor beeps frantically.
I lean back in the chair. “Allie?” An alarm sounds loudly, mimicked by a chiming in the hall. I search for Joey. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he responds, his brow creased with worry.
A heavyset nurse in pink scrubs pushes through the door. She moves to Allie on the other side of the bed without giving us a glance. I stand, not sure what to do, but wanting to get out of the way. Another nurse follows.
The first nurse tells the second, “Page Dr. Gregor.” She has a stethoscope pressed to Allie’s chest.
I step back, panic swelling. I’m back in the stairwell with the security guards swarming, ushering everyone out. I can only silently plead for them to help her, now the same as then.
“You two need to leave the room,” another voice demands, a team of people now invading the space.
I stare at Allie’s pale, expressionless face as Joey takes my trembling hand and gently pulls me into the hall. He wraps an arm around me.
“She’ll be okay,” he murmurs into my hair. His voice shakes despite his assurance. “She’ll be okay.”
“What happened?” Mrs. Pixley asks, rushing to us, oblivious to the coffee sloshing from her paper cup.
“I don’t know,” Joey offers weakly. “An alarm went off. A bunch of people are in there now.”
All the color drains from Mrs. Pixley’s face. Joey takes her cup and sets it on the nurses’ station counter as she fumbles for her phone and dials.
“Get here. Right now.” She returns it to her pocket and runs a hand through her hair, sending her neat bob into disarray. “They didn’t say anything?”
Joey shakes his head.
She paces in front of the window to Allie’s room. The curtains are drawn so we can’t see in. She pauses. “You don’t need to stay. It’s probably best if you don’t.”
“Are you sure?” Joey asks, squeezing me tightly.
“Mark should be here in a minute. You shouldn’t be here … if …” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence for its meaning to be clear.
“I’m so sorry,” I try to say, but the words remain tangled in the back of my throat.
I lean on Joey as he leads us to the elevator. When we’re inside, my strength returns, and I move away to stand on my own. The fear morphs into the fury that’s always at the ready to take over. I pace the confined space.
“Where is he?” I demand. “Where the fuck is Vic?” I scream, slamming my hand against the wall. The impact makes a loud, hollow reverberation.
Joey flinches. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly. “I haven’t heard from him since Berlin.”
We’re silent until we’re inside Joey’s Jeep parked in a lot down the street from the hospital.
“What’s Brendan’s number?” I pull out the phone Brendan programmed—without his number in the Contacts.
“Brendan? I don’t have it.”
“Then what’s Parker’s?” I demand impatiently.
“What are you—” He stops himself and rattles it off as I press the numbers.
Parker picks up after a couple of rings. “Hello?”
“I don’t know why the fuck you haven’t turned in the video yet, but it’s time. Or else I’m going to the police and telling them everything I know.” I should’ve reported the truth from the very beginning even if they didn’t believe me. And that’s on me. Not sure how I’ll live with that if Allie doesn’t.
Parker’s silent.
I tilt the phone in my hand to make sure we’re still connected. “You heard me, right?”
“Yes, Lana, I heard you,” Parker says, his voice flat. “How do you know about the video?”
“It doesn’t matter how I know. The fact that you’re sitting on it makes me sick. All to protect your fucking club.”
“It’s not about the club.”
“Then what?!” I yell. “Allie may be dying right now. And you’re holding the one piece of evidence that could give her family answers and set things right. Who the fuck are you protecting?! Please don’t tell me Vic, or I’ll—”
“Brendan.” That one word silences me. I wait for him to explain, but he doesn’t. “I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can we meet up? Are you still at the hospital? I can be there—”
“I’m with Joey. We just left. I’m on my way to my house. Meet us there. I’ll text you the address.”
“I know where you live. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I slam my hand on the dashboard and scream in frustration.
“What just happened?” Joey asks when I drop my head back against the seat.
“Parker’s meeting us at my house.”