“Jade,” I hear Colton’s panicked tone call through the Emergency Room. My head whips toward him and I race into his open arms. “Shhhh, baby,” he soothes. “Don’t cry. He's going to be alright.”
I squish my face into his chest and wipe my eyes across his shirt, watching as it comes back wet. I didn’t even know I was still crying.
I ran out the door of Nic’s apartment with him racing after me. The tears streamed down my face and haven't stopped, even now. Perhaps they never will. I didn’t realize it was possible to cry this much, but then, I’ve never quite felt pain like this.
Dominic Garcia killed my father.
He murdered the man who used to kiss my knees when I fell off my bike.
He murdered the man who used to yell at me for taking too long in the shower.
He murdered the man who held me when my heart broke for the very first time.
Yes, my father wasn't a great man. He was a stone-cold killer for the West Side Wolves, but he was still the man who raised and loved me. He was my daddy. He was the first man I ever loved. Did he deserve to die? Probably. But did he deserve to die by Nic’s hand? No. Not in a million fucking years.
How could Nic do that to me? He knew how much I loved my father. He knew how I looked up to him and saw him as the one man who was always going to be there for me through thick and thin. Nic stole that happiness from me. He stole my father’s life and then had the nerve to stand over me as I sobbed into his chest, rubbing his palm up and down my back and promising me that he was going to make it right.
Dominic Garcia is a liar and a murderer and from now on, I am done.
The question is; do the boys know about this? They already proved that they’re capable of lying to me without hesitation, but did they lie about this too? Did they also make empty promises about finding my father’s killers and ending his life or do they not know?
No, I refuse to believe it. They wouldn’t do that to me.
“Hey,” Colton says, taking my shoulders and pulling me back to see my face, looking relieved that I’m even allowing him to touch me after the last time he saw me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
I wipe my eyes again, feeling like an absolute wreck. I shake my head and as I meet his eyes, everything inside of me crumbles. How am I supposed to tell him that Nic is the reason his father is dead?
I just … I can’t. At least not right this very minute. I’m here for Milo and after I've made sure that he’s alright, then Colton and I can talk. We have a lot to discuss. I've made the mistake of being loyal to Nic once before when I didn’t tell Colton about the part that Nic played in the DeCarlos attack—but that loyalty is gone. I won't be holding back this time. I need to right these wrongs.
I take hold of his hand and lace my fingers through his. “Just … no. I’m not but we can talk about it later,” I say over the lump in my throat. “How’s Milo? What happened to him?”
Colton watches me for a long moment, trying to figure out if he’s going to push the topic when finally giving in and trusting my judgment. “We don’t really know yet,” he murmurs, making me realize that we’re standing in a room full of our friends and Milo’s family. “Spencer went by his place and found him out back. He was beaten and barely breathing.”
“By who?” I demand, searching his eyes for some kind of answers.
“I don’t know,” he says, anger flashing in his hazel eyes, telling me just how much he’s come to care for Milo over the last few months. “He’s still in surgery. He had a few broken bones that needed to be set and a collapsed lung. We’re hoping that once he comes out of this, he’ll be able to tell us who did it and if it was random or a planned attack.”
“Planned attack?” I question. “Who would do that to him? Milo is—” I cut myself off, knowing exactly what kind of person would attack Milo. He was targeted because he’s gay, because he has the strength to love who he wants to love.
Colton meets my eyes, understanding exactly what it is that I've just worked out, and nods, silently telling me that whoever did this will have hell coming his way. “Come on,” he tells me, pulling on my hand and leading me toward a row of chairs.
Colton drops down between Charlie and Spencer and he pulls me into his lap. I curl into him and meet Spencer’s eyes. He looks completely broken and I find myself reaching out to him. “How long has he been in surgery?”
Spencer shakes his head and lights up the screen on his phone, looking at the time. “I … I don’t know,” he says, appearing too lost to try and work it out.
“Two hours,” Charlie murmurs from Colton’s other side. “At least, just coming up to it. Google tells me it could take anywhere up to six hours but add all his other injuries and he could be in there for a while.”
I let out a heavy sigh, more than prepared to sit here for as long as it takes.
The room falls into silence, everyone caught inside their own thoughts. Colton doesn’t move an inch, always keeping me in his arms as I silently cry while begging for my friend to be alright.
The only reason Milo was so scared to come out to the world was because of this very reason. He was terrified of what it would mean for him, terrified of the horrendous people who would want to hurt him, terrified of the rejection he’d get from his family and friends.
It’s a feeling no one would ever understand unless you’ve walked a mile in his shoes. I can’t even imagine the fear of being who you are, fearing falling in love with someone, and being judged because that person has the same body parts as you.
Don't we live in the twenty-first century? Why is homophobia still a thing? How can people still be so cruel?
The minutes turn into hours and then finally an exhausted doctor comes striding through the doors. “Rinaldi,” he calls, glancing around the massive room.
We all sit up straighter, watching with wide eyes as Milo’s parents rise from their chairs and go to meet with the doctor. Their conversation is hushed for privacy but I can read the relief all over Milo’s mother's face.
The doctor squeezes her shoulder and with a warm smile, walks away. I watch as Milo’s parents turn to each other and fold themselves into one another’s arms, their relief the loudest silence in the room.
They soon pull away from each other and make their way over to our small group. We all stand, waiting to hear exactly what they have to say.
Milo’s father gives us all a strained smile. “Milo is doing okay,” he finally says, glancing around to each of us. “The doctor says that he had some extensive injuries and needs to remain in the ICU for a few hours for observation. His surgery went well and they’re expecting a full recovery, however it will be a long road. He is just coming off the anesthesia so he’ll be sleeping for another few hours.”
Milo’s mother takes over. “We’re going to go and sit with him while he wakes. You’re all welcome to stay and wait or you can go home and come back later.”
“We’ll stay,” Spencer announces. “Can you let him know that we’re here once he wakes?”
Mrs. Rinaldi reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Of course, sweet boy,” she says. “I know he’s really going to appreciate that you all stayed, so thank you for that.”