Slow Burn (49 page)

I stand there for a long time.  Then there’s nothing left for me to do, but to get in my car and very slowly drive back home.  I’m crying the whole time, which cuts my visibility to practically nothing.  It’s a miracle I don’t get into a car accident.

Guess I’m just a lucky bitch
.

******

Chapter 40

Johnny is absent from school for the next couple of days.  I ask Nick and Mack
, but they haven’t seen or heard from him in a while.  I’m afraid to ask Dean if Johnny’s been home.  The bruises on Dean’s face provide a stark contrast to the perfect beauty, but no one dares ask him what happened.  We don’t talk, and I can’t tell if I’m avoiding him, or it’s the other way around.  Part of me thinks it’s best that we stay away from each other for now—most of me misses him desperately, and constantly replays the endless kiss we shared.  I can’t stop thinking about it, no matter how much I try not to.  And I want to tell him…how much it meant to me, how amazing, scary, and confusing it was.

But I’m such a coward.

I need to talk to Heather about this.  She would know what to do—or she’d at least take me to Boppy’s so I could drown my sorrows in ice cream.  I would ask that poisonous bitch, Sloane, about Heather, but she hasn’t been in school, either.  I’ve heard rumors that her parents stuck her in rehab. I don’t care enough to confirm with the people who would actually know.  Damn it, Heather.  See what happens when you’re not around to knock some sense into me?

I dream I’m being chased by a faceless giant, and I’m trying to find my way back home, but I’m completely lost.  Just as the monster reaches for me with a huge clawed hand, I jolt awake, limbs flailing wildly.

I sit up abruptly, adrenaline still pumping.  It takes a wh
ile for me to realize that my phone is ringing.  My eyes automatically go to the clock, and when I see it’s about two in the morning, I snatch my phone off the table and immediately check the display.  A phone call at two in the morning is never good news.

“Mom?” I answer fearfully, my throat dry as sand.  “What’s wrong?!”

There’s a short pause.  “Juliet, they just brought Johnny in.  He’s been in a car accident.”

She says something else, but the only words register are “Johnny” and “car accident.”  I’m out of bed and getting dressed in record time.  I have to get to the hospital right now. 

Oh, god, Johnny.

God, please let him be okay! 
I make the harrowing drive to the hospital in twenty minutes.  I text my mom from the emergency room triage area, hoping she still has her personal cell on her.  She texts me back a few minutes later, telling me she’ll meet me there.

I pace back and forth nervously until my my mom finally appears, looking exhausted.  She immediately holds up a hand when I rush up to her.

“The only thing I can tell is he’s conscious, and his injuries don’t appear to be life-threatening,” she says quickly.

My entire body sighs in relief.  “Thank god!  Did you see him?  Is he talking?  What happened?”

I fire questions at her one after the other.  Mom grimaces at the verbal assault, and shakes her head, pressing her fingers to her temples.  “He crashed his motorcycle into a tree, and he was drunk.  That’s about all I know.”

“He was drunk?”  I slump backwards, swallowing over a huge lump in my throat.  “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.  He’s very lucky he wasn’t killed—or that he didn’t hurt anyone else.”  She narrows her eyes at me.  “You’re not still dating this boy, are you?”

I shake my head mutely. 
What the hell, Johnny?
  “Can I see him?”

Mom stuffs her hands in the pockets of her patterned scrubs top, and tries to stifle a yawn.  “Not until after his parents get here.  They’re on their way now, I heard.  Why d
on’t you go home?  I’ve got a strange schedule today—I’m going to sleep here for a few hours, then I’ll do a four hour shift.  I’ll call you to let you know what I hear.”

“I’m staying.”  I sink down into plastic waiting room chair.

She sighs at my stubbornness but doesn’t demand I go home, so I take it as a good sign.  “Well, I’m dead on my feet.  I’m going to get some sleep.  Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mom.  Get some rest.”

When she’s gone, I take my phone out again, studying my list of contacts.  My finger hovers over Dean’s name.  He must know about Johnny’s accident.  Is he on his way, along with his parents?  I debate texting him, but I just can’t make my finger touch his name on the screen.

I text Heather instead.  She immediately texts me back, asking me if I need her to come to the hospital.  Her offer feels like a warm blanket settling around my shoulders. 
I immediately feel better, and reply that I’ll be fine, and I’ll keep her updated.  I almost smile when I get her answering message that she’ll be praying for him, accompanied by hands clasped together and a little heart.

I
try to call Johnny, on the off chance that he’ll answer his phone.  It goes straight to voice mail, and I hang up before leaving a message.  I think about texting the guys to let them know about the accident, but I hesitate.  Will he want everyone knowing, especially considering the circumstances?  I don’t know.  Better to wait until I find out more information.  Maybe Dean will let them know.

I can’t sit still any longer.  I roam the hospital restlessly
.  I know where the cafeteria is, so I head there just for somewhere to go.  I see Bob, the mumbling doctor who examined me when I was in here for the smoke bomb incident.  He walks past me without any signs of recognition.  Oh, well.  I wish the gift shop was open so I could look for something for Johnny—like one of those Mylar balloon that says, “It’s A Boy!”  He would think it’s funny. 

When I’m making my third pass through the lobby, I spot a woman
whom I’m pretty sure is Johnny’s mother, based on the few pictures I’ve seen of her.  She’s tall and blonde, with huge eyes, as blue as her son’s.  She’s dressed in black slacks and a sweater, talking to someone at the information and registration desk.  Her expression is mostly calm, so I assume she didn’t just arrive.  There’s a dark-haired man standing a couple of feet away from her, glaring down at his phone—as shockingly handsome as a movie star.  He looks too much like Dean to be anyone other than his father.

I scan the area for Dean, but I don’t see him.  Is he here?  Johnny’s mother is smiling and chatting with the woman at the desk.  I take this as a good sign.  How is he??

Gathering up my courage, I walk straight up to her.  I wait until she’s finished her conversation with the other woman before I speak.

“Um, excuse, Mrs. Par—um—Youngblood?  Hi, I’m a friend of Johnny’s.  I was just wondering how he is?  Is he okay?”

Up close, I notice her red puffy eyes, and the lines of tension around her mouth.  She’d definitely been crying.  She manages a warm smile, even though I’ve startled her with my sudden introduction.

“Hello.  And you are…?”

“Juliet,” I say, flushing in embarrassment.

Something in her eyes change, and she looks at me more appraisingly.
  Oh, no!  What has she heard about me?! 

“Well, Juliet, it’s nice to finally meet you—though I wish it weren’t under these circumstances.  Let’s go have a seat over there, and I’ll tell you about Johnny.”

She gestures to a nearby bench, and I nervously walk alongside her.  She doesn’t say anything to Dean’s father, though she glances over at him briefly.  He doesn’t acknowledge her, all his attention focused on his phone.  If I were her, I would be wondering what kind of business he’s got so early in the morning.  I mean, I don’t want to make snap judgments, but he seems like a three-piece suit asshole. 

“Johnny’s going to be okay,” Mrs. Parker—Youngblood—tells me with a
big relieved smile.  “He’s got a concussion, and some issues with his left knee—but apart from that, he’s fine.  Thank god—it could have been so much worse!”

I shudder in response.  “Yes
,” I say faintly.

She looks down at her hands, her face darkening.  “
He was drunk.  I don’t know what’s been going on with him, lately!  He hardly comes home anymore, and he doesn’t talk to me.  Not that I’ve been around much…my husband and I have been traveling a lot.  I was hoping…has he mentioned anything to you?  I know something’s bothering him.  I was wondering…I think it might have something to do with his father.”

It’s my fault!

I swallow my guilt down past the lump in my throat.  I can’t meet her eyes, and all I can do is give a tiny shrug.  How much does she know about our sordid little love triangle?  I guess nothing at all, since she’s not slapping me right now.

“Can I see him?” I ask tentatively, trying to ignore her obvious disappointme
nt that I’m not sharing any insights with her.

But she’s already shaking her head.  “Right now, he’s in a lot of pain, and pretty out of it.  Why don’t you go home, and give it a few hours?  I can have Johnny give you a call when he’s up to having visitors.”

“Um…okay.  Thanks.”  I spring to my feet because it looks like she’s about to start asking me more questions.  I start hurrying away, throwing a “It was nice to meet you!” over my shoulder.  I make sure to give Dean’s father a wide berth.  Not that he even looks up from his phone.

I know I’m being unforgivably rude to the poor woman, but I just can’t handle an inquisition right now
.  What am I gonna say?  Yes, Johnny and I were together—until he cheated on me with an ex-girlfriend and a washing machine.  Then he tried to get me back, I had drunken sex with his best friend, he had sex with everyone else—and
then
, for the big finale, I kissed his stepbrother, and got caught red…lipped.  You’d think this kind of drama happens only on trashy TV shows.  It’s not nearly as fun in real life.

I don’t go home.  I hang around outside the hospital, sitting on a brick planter outside the lobby, and just staring off into space for a while.  I’m half-hoping, half-dreading that I’ll run into Dean here.  I’m positive that he’s around somewhere.  I wish I had the nerve to ask Johnny’s mother if he came.

Damn it,  how could Johnny have been so stupid?!  He could have been killed—what the hell was he thinking?!  I’m just so pissed at him…really, really pissed.  And what kind of issues does he have with his knee?  Is it going to affect his ability to play football?  A
re any of the colleges still going to want him after this?

“What did you do, Johnny?” I mutter out loud, dropping my head into my hands.

My mom texts me, and is irritated to discover I’m still at the hospital.  She convinces me to meet her for breakfast before her shift starts, so I head to the cafeteria.  I suddenly realize I’m starving, and the food’s not bad.  When I almost fall asleep in my French toast sticks, Mom orders me to go home and get some rest.  After getting a look at myself in the reflection in my phone, I decide to do what I’m told.  At least long enough for me to get a shower because,
damn
.

I call Dad to let him know I’m not coming over, and he assures me that I’ll be missed by him and Cherise.  Eh.  I ask him about Michelle, and his voice grows concerned.  I promise to call her tonight to see how she’s doing.  After I hang up with him, I jump into the shower
, where I finally give in to the tears that I’ve been holding back since finding out about Johnny.

I feel better when I come out.  When I check my phone, I’m over
joyed to find a text from him.  He wants me to see me!  I immediately text him back, letting him know I’m on my way.  He’s okay, and he wants to see me!  Relief floods through me like a warm tide.

The first thing I notice when I walk in his room is all the flowers.  They’re on every available surface
:  the rolling bed table, the window sill, the cabinet against the wall…geez.  I didn’t even think to stop at the gift shop, which should be open by now.

Johnny is sitting up in bed, wearing the same lovely hospital gown I sported not so long ago.  Except it somehow looks better on him.  His face is a mess, bruised and swollen, but I don’t know how much of that is from the accident, or his fight with Dean.

I approach his bed cautiously, almost afraid to come to close.  “Hey,” I say quietly.

Johnny looks at me through the one eye that isn
’t swollen shut.  “Hey, Teeny,” he rasps weakly.

I creep closer, and cautiously lean against the side bars of the bed.  “I would ask how you’re feeling, but I think I can see for myself.  Crap, Johnny.”

“I know.”  He grimaces, shifting awkwardly under the blanket.  “When I decide to fuck up, I do it big.  I’ve ruined everything, Teeny.”

“No, you haven’t,” I say sharply.  “You’re still alive, aren’t you?  As long as you’re still here, nothing’s ruined.  Everything can be fixed.”

“Not everything.”  He lets out a bitter chuckle.  “I screwed my knee up.  I can forget my full ride to Alabama—or anywhere for that matter.  They’re not gonna touch me after this, especially since I was drunk when it happened.”

I grip the bars tightly.  “How bad is your knee?”

“Bad enough they have to open it up to fix it.  It’ll take a couple of months to heal, but there’s no guarantee it will ever be the same again.  Fuck.”  He groans softly, letting his head slam back against the pillows propping him up.  “I’m such a screw-up,” he whispers, his eyes closed.

I mentally harden myself so I don’
t give into tears and blubber all over him.  “Football’s not the only career out there, you know,” I snap.  “It’s not like it’s your life.  You said so yourself—it’s a means to an end.  So, you’re not going to end up in the NFL will a million dollar contract.  There are other things you’re good at, Johnny.  You could still have a career in sports medicine.”

“That’s not the point,” he mutters, his eyes still closed.  “I let a lot of people down.  I made my mom cry.  She hasn’t cried since that day the asshole left us.”

“So you can make it up to her by growing the hell up,” I say firmly.  “You screwed up—okay, fine!  Now fix it.  Use your recovery time to do some soul-searching, or something.  You’re self-destructive, I get it.  So go see your mom’s therapist, like you were talking about doing!  Find a constructive hobby!  Stop drinking, for god’s sake!”

“Teeny.  Ow.”

I suddenly realize that I’m in his face, half-leaning on him, putting pressure on the leg that feels like it’s wrapped up, or has a brace on it under the blanket.  I hastily jump back.

“Sorry!”

Johnny peers at me with his one good eye.  “Are you gonna start swinging on me now?” he asks tentatively.  I’m relieved to hear amusement creeping into his voice.

Exhausted from my little outburst, I collapse into one of the chairs next to his bed.  “I just might, if you keep doing dumba
ss things like this,” I reply primly.

“I’m really going to try not to,” he says after
a thoughtful pause.  “Sorry I’m such a dumbass.”

“Well, you’re still alive, so you’re forgiven.”  I glare at him.  “Just don’t do it again.”

Johnny sighs, long and deep.  “Just…don’t give up on me, okay?”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”  I reach through the bars and squeeze one of his hands.

He laces his fingers through mine, and we hold hands in companionable silence.  Just when I think he’s fallen asleep on me, he starts talking again.

“I need to tell you something.”

I sit up straight, alerted by the nervous tone in his voice.  “What is it?”

He clears his throat.  “First, can you hand me that
jug?  My throat’s dry as shit.”

I hand it to him wordlessly, and he takes a big drink.  He gives it back to me, and I put it back on his table.
  Then I look at him expectantly.  Obviously he’s about to say something I’m not going to like, so I inwardly brace myself.

“Dean’s the one who pointed you out to me
.”

“What?”  I frown in confusion.  “What are you talking about?”