In last-ditch desperation, I slammed my head backward. Maybe he wasn’t expecting me to fight because my skull caught him square in the nose, and the crunch of cartilage made him stagger, weakening his hold enough for me to get free. Fuck. I wish I had mace, pepper spray, anything. If I was faster, I’d make a break for it, but he had a foot on me, and I’d never been quick. So I swung my backpack off my shoulder and moved slowly with it in front of me like a shield. If he came at me, I’d hit him with all my business books.
That’ll hurt, right?
“You should let this go,” I warned.
Jared’s face was a mess, blood trickling from his nose. I could feel the stickiness on my hair, too. He shook a little as he came toward me, and belatedly I recognized the signs. He was high as hell, evident in the glassy shine of his eyes. That meant there was no reasoning with him. I backed away, swinging my bag with more determination than any real skill at self-defense. As he lunged, I’d never been more conscious of being short and female.
Terror went from zero to sixty when he dug into his jacket pocket and came out with a switchblade. The knife flicked open, then he edged closer. I tried to knock it out of his hand with my backpack, but he was jacked up and he sliced me on the hand. The sudden, stinging pain made me drop the bag. Twenty more feet, and there would be people to help, to hold him until the cops came. It was possible Jared wasn’t crazy, but meth made him that way. I’d met guys like him in rehab, so now that I knew his deal, it was hard to hate him completely.
I was still scared shitless.
If I turned and ran, I’d end up with a knife in the back. Somehow I knew it without a shadow of a doubt. But I didn’t know what else to do. So I wheeled and bolted, knowing I couldn’t possibly sprint fast enough. Jared’s footsteps rang on the asphalt as I skidded, my lungs too tight to scream. And then, somehow, I was in Max’s arms, as he spun me, slamming me against the exterior wall. I didn’t see the knife go in, but I felt the blood, spilling hot over my splayed hands. The world went strange and sideways, echoes and neon, people running, other hands, mouths, voices. None of it changed the red trickling into the dirty snow.
And I screamed like I’d never, ever stop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Another inch, and he would’ve died before we got to the hospital.
I sat in the waiting room with Angus holding my hand, too frozen to cry. Amy and Elena stayed for a while, and Nadia came in just past midnight. She sat down on my other side and put an arm around me, but I didn’t look at her. It was all I could do to breathe. This...this is my worst nightmare. Max wasn’t sick before he got together with me, but now he was in surgery. I’m toxic to the people who love me.
“It’s not your fault,” Nadia said. “That guy has a history of substance abuse.”
So do I.
The only thing that made me different from Jared was that I’d abused prescription meds, not illegal drugs, and my parents had the money to put me in an expensive rehab program. Otherwise, maybe I’d be cooking shit on a spoon by now and selling my ass to buy more. I’m not stronger or better than Jared. I just got lucky.
Unlike Max.
It was past two when the doctor finally came to talk to us. Nadia was asleep on my shoulder and Angus was whispering to someone on the phone. Del, I supposed, though it might be Kia. He hung up as soon as he saw the tired-looking surgeon head toward us.
“Are you here for Max Cooper?”
We approached as a group, and I nodded. “Is he okay?”
“He should be. He’s in recovery now.” She said some more stuff, more technical, but my ears were ringing and I couldn’t focus. This was a small hospital, only a few floors, and they seemed friendlier than the one I’d visited so often for Eli. At first the staff had been really rigid but toward the end, they’d let me come in and out of Eli’s room as much as I wanted. Tears burned at the back of my eyes.
“When can we see him?” That was really all I cared about.
“When he’s transferred to a regular room, you can check on him.” The doctor was young, enough to worry me, and she looked exhausted. In a few years, this would be Kia. “The nurses will let you know when he’s out of Recovery.”
“Thank you,” I said softly.
The doc gave us some directions so we could wait closer to Recovery and I led the way. Nadia walked me up, and then she said, “God, I’m glad Max is all right. I hate to do this, but I have to work tomorrow. I’ll stop in afterward, okay?”
“Sure.” I let her hug me.
With a final squeeze, she hurried off, leaving me with Angus. We sat for over an hour before a nurse came to tell us Max’s room number. “He’s groggy but awake and asking for someone named Courtney.”
“That’s me.”
Angus put a hand on my shoulder. “Want me to go with you?”
“No, it’s okay. I should hear whatever he has to say.”
No matter how bad it is.
My hands trembled as I followed the man down the hall. He opened the door for me and I went in quietly, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. The wound on my hand had four stitches; I’d had it treated in the ER after they took Max, before the police interviewed me. It had been a really long night. I sat down in the vinyl chair, staring at his pale, thin face. So many echoes, I couldn’t stop the shaking. Losing him this way... Just, no.
You’re better off without me, I thought.
His eyes opened, fuzzy, but scanning for something. “Courtney?”
“I’m here.”
“Are you okay?’
Seriously? What the hell. I made a weird sound, unable to decide if I was about to laugh or cry. “You’re confused about who’s actually hurt here.”
“He hurt you, I saw the blood.”
“Just a gash on my hand, you idiot. What were you thinking? Why didn’t you hit him?”
Max turned his head away, showing me his chiseled profile, the stark contrast of dark stubble against white hospital linens. “I wasn’t.”
“What?”
“Thinking.” His voice was so rough that I got up to find some ice chips.
“I’ll be right back.”
Even when Eli couldn’t have anything, they usually allowed him that. I checked with the nurse to be sure, and she hooked me up. When I came in, Max was watching the door, white-knuckled on the sheets. He let out a slow breath as I sat down again.
“Don’t leave like that again.” He was blurred and fuzzy-sounding, so I wasn’t sure we should engage about anything serious because it might be leftover anesthesia, yet I couldn’t shut him down.