Watch and See Page 16

  Less than a minute later, his response comes through.

  Anton: You’re never horrible company, and I’d gladly let you fall asleep on me. ;) Tomorrow sounds great. Get some rest.

  I set the phone down and open my book backup. I feel my eyelids getting heavy, but I continue to read until I succumb to sleep.

  The ring of my telephone nearly makes me fall off the bed. Blindly, I grab it from the nightstand and see an unknown number on the screen. I think about letting it go to voicemail but decide I should answer it. Mia or Layla may need me...or it could be Anton.

  “Hello?” My voice is raspy and full of sleep. I look at the clock and see that it’s after midnight, so I’ve been asleep for nearly four hours.

  “Harper Evans?” a professional sounding lady on the other end asks.

  “Yes,” I say slowly, my heart pounding from the adrenaline of being awoken.

  “This is Mercy Hospital.”

  My stomach drops, and I can feel the blood rushing to my head as I sit straight up on the side of my bed.

  “Miss Evans, your mother was transported via ambulance, and you are her next of kin. We need you to come to the hospital.”

  I swallow the thickness in my throat. “Is—is she okay?”

  “We’ll be able to tell you more once you’re here.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way,” I tell her, hanging up the phone and immediately looking for my shoes. I know I shouldn’t care. This shouldn’t be affecting me the way it is, but she’s still my mother, and the fear is overtaking me.

  I fumble around with my shoes until I finally decide to leave with the laces untied. Grabbing my bag and my phone, I head for the door. When I’m halfway down the street, I realize that I should’ve left Layla a note, but I don’t go back. I’ll text her when I get there.

  I’m four blocks down the street when I realize I don’t even know where I’m going. Stopping at the corner, I pull my phone out and search for the address of the hospital. When it finally loads, I realize I’m over six miles away.

  What if she’s dead?

  They would’ve told me that, right?

  Maybe they can’t say that over the phone?

  I’m only a block from the nearest bus stop, so I decide to go there. It’s not the fastest mode of transportation, but there aren’t a lot of taxis in this area late at night. When the bus finally arrives, it’s already been thirty minutes since the hospital called. The dread and worry churn in my stomach. I take a seat near the front and count down the stops.

  Once I’m back out on the street, I’m practically running down the sidewalk when my feet stumble and I nearly trip and fall.

  Fucking shoelaces.

  I stop and tie them, then take off jogging toward the large lit up building in front of me. It’s like a beacon of hope, but also fear, because I have no idea what I’m getting ready to walk into. Leaning over and bracing myself on my knees, I take forced deep breaths, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat before I go through the doors.

  When I finally walk inside, the sterile smell of the hospital makes my stomach turn. The last time I was in an emergency room was the night my dad died. I hate hospitals. The closest I’ve been to one is the rehab facility. I hate that place too. I start breathing through my mouth, and it helps. Searching the signs on the wall ahead, I see an arrow for the emergency room and decide to start there.

  “I’m Harper Evans,” I say to the lady in green scrubs sitting behind the desk. “Someone called me and said my mother was here.”

  My voice cracks as I talk, but I push the emotions down. I’m not crying. I don’t want to cry. I don’t even know why I’m here yet. I’ll save the tears for when I do.

  After a few minutes of flipping through charts, she finally looks up at me and says, “Follow me.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” I ask, needing to know what I’m going to see when I get wherever she’s taking me.

  “The doctor will bring you up to speed.”

  I get the feeling she’s alive, and I’m trying to decide if I’m relieved or mad when a white curtain opens, and my mother is lying on the small bed. Her eyes are closed, and there are dark circles under them. Her cheeks look hollow, and her lips are pale, almost blue. I watch her chest closely, waiting to see if it rises. The movement is slight, but I see it.

  “She’s asleep,” the doctor says quietly from behind me. “We’re moving her to a room in a few minutes.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my waist. In my hurry to get here, I forgot a coat. I’m still in the oversized t-shirt and pajama pants I was wearing.

  “She overdosed. We’re still running some tests. She was unresponsive when she got here and has been pretty out of it ever since.”

  “Is...is she…”

  “Her liver function is low and her kidneys are a little lazy, but we’re hoping once the drugs have left her system, things will start working properly again. We’ll know more when the test results are back.”

  I wipe a tear away angrily.

  I hate her for making me feel this way.

  I hate her for making me panic and worry and feel scared.

  I hate her for making me drop everything and run to get to her.

  I hate that I still care.

  I hate that part of me wishes she would’ve died.

  I hate that the other part of me is happy she didn’t.

  Harper

  The second I stepped through the doors of the hospital last night, I was flooded with memories of the night my dad died. I hate it now just as much as I did then. The nurse has been nice, bringing me a blanket and pillow to make me more comfortable in Sadie’s room, but it’s not like I can sleep when someone comes in here every thirty minutes or so to check on her.

  I’ve been here for over five hours now, and I can hear the hallway beginning to wake up with the six-o’clock shift change. So far, Sadie seems the same to me—unresponsive, frail, pitiful—but I’ll have to wait for the doctor to come in during his rounds to give me the official test results from last night.

  As I watch my mother, I feel the anger I had tamped down last night resurface. I’ve tried to focus on just being here—playing the part, being the concerned daughter—but now, in the breaking light of day, I’m finding it hard to stay calm. My mind is a constant jumbled mess of questions.

  Why did she have to use again?

  What happens now?

  Does she go back to rehab or somewhere new?

  Does it even matter?

  Is she truly suicidal, or did she overdose by accident?

  She’s been miserable my whole life, but I’ve never really worried about her killing herself. I was always scared she’d kill someone else with her recklessness.

  The door opens, and a man in a lab coat walks in. “Hello. I’m Dr. Marcus. You’re Mrs. Evans’ daughter?”

  I nod and push myself out of the chair I’ve been sitting in for the past five hours. My back is tight and sore, as are my legs. Dr. Marcus walks a little closer and takes his hand out of his coat pocket, offering it to me. “Harper,” I tell him, shaking his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Harper.” He looks down at the chart in his hands and frowns. “Would you mind stepping out in the hall with me for a minute?” he asks, pointing to the door. I nod and follow him out.

  “I’m going to be straight with you. It doesn’t look great for your mother,” he says, speaking in a low, even voice while he looks over the notes. “The results from last night’s tests show damage to her liver, and her kidneys are still sluggish. I want to run the same tests later today to see if there was any improvement overnight.”

  “What does that mean for her? What if the new tests don’t show improvement?”

  “Well, worst-case scenario is death, obviously. If her organs don’t start improving more, she’ll most likely need a liver transplant.”

  I nod my head, trying to absorb his words. How in the hell will we be able to afford an organ transplan
t? Do they even give those to junkies? I’ll have to worry about that later. Sadie has to get better first and then we’ll cross that bridge when and if we get there.

  “Will she go back to rehab?” I ask.

  “We have to make sure she’s medically stable before she can go anywhere, but yes. Rehab needs to be in her immediate future. It will be different than before, though. She’ll be on suicide watch for a while and will have little to no privileges, along with even more intensive therapy.”

  My brain hurts from all this new information, so I lean against the wall and close my eyes.

  “I know this is a lot, but we’ll take it one step at a time. For now, I’ll have a nurse come in and prep Mrs. Evans for more tests.”

  I follow Dr. Marcus back into the room and watch as he walks over to Sadie. First, he checks her pupils, and then he takes a second to study her IV bag. She still looks pale and frail to me. I can’t tell much difference since I first saw her earlier this morning. He writes notes in her file and then walks back toward the door. “It’ll be a few more hours before we expect any kind of response from her. Why don’t you go home and rest?”

  After he leaves, I slump back down in the chair and stare out the window. The anger and frustration I’ve been battling with since I got the phone call last night are in full swing. The lump in my throat is constricting, and I’m afraid if I breathe, I’ll cry. The tear that escapes isn’t because I’m afraid to lose my mother. I’ve never had her. The tear streaking down my cheek is because I’m so angry with her. Just when I’m getting my shit together, she makes a mess of things...again.

  A knock on the door makes me jump, and I quickly wipe the moisture off my face.

  “Knock, knock.”

  I turn around to see Layla standing at the door, holding a cup and a brown paper sack.

  “I thought you could use some coffee.”

  “Have I ever told you you’re the best friend a girl could have?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times,” she says, smiling a crooked smile. Layla hates compliments as much as I do. “It was on my way.” She shrugs and laughs because we both know that’s a lie.

  She walks over and sets the coffee and bag down on the window sill, then turns around to lean against it. “She looks rough,” she whispers, nodding to Sadie.

  “Yeah,” I tell her, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “The doctor said the tests show that her liver is failing. It’s not good.”

  Layla nods. “The drugs and alcohol were bound to catch up with her at some point.” She states the obvious, but I know it’s because she doesn’t know what else to say. I mean, what is there to say? My mom’s a junkie. She probably should’ve died a long time ago. It’s actually kind of shitty when you think about it. Good people die every day, and here she is, still living after taking a ridiculous amount of drugs—an amount that would’ve killed most people, but not her. Nope, Sadie gets to live.

  “What now?” Layla asks, her eyes trained on the tile floor.

  “They’re running more tests, and when she’s stable, they’ll move her back to the rehab facility.”

  “What about you?” she asks, looking up at me. “You’ve been doing so well, Harper. Don’t let this mess up what you’ve got going.”

  “I won’t. I’m not.” I shake my head and pick lint off my pajama pants. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” I say quietly.

  “Don’t beat yourself up over that either.” Layla squats down in front of me. “Do whatever makes you feel better. If you need to be here, then be here, but don’t let her pull you down with her.” I nod and bite my lip to keep from crying again. “We’re all here for you,” Layla says. “Mia said to tell you she’s sorry, but she hates hospitals.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes. “Yeah, me too.”

  “But,” Layla says, standing back up and reaching for her bag, “I did bring you some jeans and a T-shirt, and from the looks of it, you could use it. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be hanging out here, so I figured you could use a change of clothes.”

  I take the stack of clothes from her and then pull her into a hug. “Thanks for always thinking of me,” I whisper into her hair.

  She kisses the side of my head and stands up. “Why don’t you walk me downstairs and get some fresh air. I have to meet Connor for breakfast. I promised him pancakes.” Layla is good at a lot of things, but cooking isn’t one of them.

  “Okay.” I grab my coffee and reach into the paper bag for the bagel. “Thanks again for this,” I tell her as we walk out the door of the hospital room.

  Layla loops her arm through mine. “You’re welcome.”

  When we get downstairs, I walk outside with Layla, and we sit on a bench for a few minutes until I finish my bagel.

  “Well, I should get going,” Layla says, standing up.

  “Yeah, I better get back up there.”

  “Harper?” a voice behind me asks—a voice I haven’t heard in so long—and it causes me to freeze. My heart speeds up. My mouth goes dry. I look up at Layla, who is looking over my shoulder, and I can tell by her raised eyebrow that she sees him.

  “So, I’m gonna go,” she says, leaning in and hugging me tightly. “Is that...?” she asks—insinuating—whispering into my ear, and I nod. I’d know that voice anywhere. “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good luck with that... and go change your clothes,” she says, patting my back.

  I wince, realizing I’m still in my pajamas. Of course I’d look like shit at this particular moment. I want to beg Layla to stay and be a buffer, but I know she needs to leave, and I can do this. I can. “I’ll see you later,” I tell her as she walks off, and I slowly turn around to see the face that goes with the voice.

  “Hi, Luke.”

  I watch as he walks over to me, looking like a damn runway model with such unintentional beauty. His hair is longer, a little shaggy even, and...holy hell, is that a full beard? Part of me is pissed he’s covering some of his gorgeous face, but the other part is fascinated by the dark whiskers. They look so soft and inviting, making me want to touch.

  Get yourself together, Harper.

  “I’m sorry to show up unannounced, but I just heard about Sadie. Is she okay? Are you okay?” His voice is hesitant and unsure, nothing like the Luke I came to know. For a split second, I want to crawl into his arms, force him to take away the pain he caused and make things better—be the Luke who made me forget about the injustices of the world and made it easier to breathe. That Luke was confident and calm, except for the last day I saw him. That day, he was callous and cold.

  With that thought, my resolve strengthens.

  “I’m fine,” I say with a bite. “Sadie isn’t, obviously. They’re running more tests right now, and she’s still out of it. If you want to see her, you’ll have to wait until this afternoon.”

  He stands there, staring at me and then to the ground, like he’s trying to find the right words to say, so I help him out, make it easier for him.

  “Thanks for coming and checking on her, though.” There’s a finality in my voice. I’m now the one dismissing him, and I see the worry and guilt on his face. I've seen it in the mirror enough to recognize it on other people. I want to ease it, take it away somehow, even though I shouldn't. “I know you're her therapist, and you probably feel guilty, but you shouldn’t. No one forced her to take the drugs.”

  He rakes his hand through his hair before shaking his head. “I do feel guilty. I can’t help that part, but I’m not Sadie’s therapist anymore. I haven’t been for a while.”

  “What do you mean? Is it because she was released to the halfway house?”

  “No. It was before that.”

  I think back to the last family session I attended. It makes me sad to think Luke isn’t Sadie’s therapist anymore. He was so patient with her; I could tell he really cared. An image of the two of us kissing in the therapy room flashes through my mind, and I’m hit with a horrible thought. “Oh, no. Did you get f
ired? That day...Sadie’s last family session…” I don’t want to bring up the kiss. It’s too embarrassing now. “Did I get you fired?”

  I have a good mind to find that Blondie Ambition lady and tell her off if I find out she ratted on Luke. That was my fault. I kissed him.

  “No, Harper. It wasn’t anything like that. Sarah, the therapist who walked in on us, didn’t turn me in, but it was a wake-up call I desperately needed.” He shoves his hands down into the pocket of his jeans, dipping his head and looking back up at me through his long lashes.

  “I’ve taken a sabbatical from work. I just needed some time to get my shit together, you know?”

  That confession catches me off guard, and I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, I know all about that.” My voice sounds hoarse from the crappy night I’ve had.

  Luke smiles at me, and it nearly takes my breath away. It’s so hard to remain indifferent with him. I feel as though I’m betraying my heart, when the truth is, I’m guarding it. My insides continue to war between loving seeing him again and remembering the hurt. I feel like a rope that’s being pulled from both ends.

  “Why are you here, then?” I ask. “I mean, now that you’re not my mom’s therapist.”

  “Don’t misunderstand. I am very concerned about your mom, but when I heard what happened, my first thought was of you.” He looks away, biting his lip and closing his eyes before he looks back at me. “I had to make sure you were okay. I wasn’t even sure they’d let me up to the room since I’m not her therapist. But I had to try.”

  I’ve wanted to have the opportunity to run into Luke for a while, but now that he’s in front of me, I don’t know what to say or do. “Thank you,” is all I can come up with in the face of him telling me he came here for me.

  Because...What?

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly but with conviction, emotion thick in his voice.

  It’s not like when Heath Wheeler pulled my braids on the playground and Mrs. Smith made him apologize. It’s not a casual sorry you give someone you bump into on the street. It’s a sorry that comes from deep within your soul—attached to remorse and pain.