Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (30 page)

She pushed back from her seat. "I'm
bored."

"Then maybe," Loretta said, "you can do the
dishes."

"But I don't wanna do the dishes," Lauren
Jane said. "I know. Make Chloe do it." Lauren Jane turned to me. "I
mean, you're used to it, right?"

Lawton pushed back his chair too. "Sorry," he
said, "but Chloe and I have to get going."

Loretta frowned. "Why?"

"Prior engagement," he said. "A thing at the
hospital. You understand, right?"

"Oh," she said. "Of course."

My dad stood. "I guess we'll let you two
cowpokes head on down the trail, then."

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Dick," Loretta said.
"Enough already!"

My Dad's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

Lawton looked at me. "Chloe? You ready?"

I glanced at Josh. He was still smiling. I
glanced at Loretta. She was glaring at my dad. I glanced at my dad.
He was reaching for another piece of cobbler. I glanced at Lauren
Jane. She was looking down at her lap. Texting?

"Lauren Jane!" Loretta said. "For the last
time, no phones at the table."

Lauren Jane did a mimicking voice. "No phones
at the table."

"Young lady," Loretta said. "Are you mocking
me?"

I looked to Lawton. "Yup, I'm ready." I
turned to Josh. "Wanna walk us out to the car?"

At the table, the argument between Loretta
and Lauren Jane was heating up by the second. I heard words like
"old bag," "ungrateful snot," and something about a cut in
someone's allowance.

Walking toward the door, Lawton leaned in
close to me. "She
still
gets an allowance?"

I shrugged. "Maybe not for long."

By the time we reached the front door, the
argument had turned into a wrestling match, with Lauren Jane
holding on tight to her phone while Loretta struggled to pry it out
of her grip. Other than Josh, no one acknowledged our departure at
all, which was just fine with me.

Standing in the driveway, I gave Josh a
goodbye hug. Then Lawton shook Josh's hand, man-to-man.

"Best Thanksgiving, ever," Josh said.

Surprisingly enough, I had to agree.

When we pulled out of the driveway a minute
later, I was surprised to find myself actually smiling. "You know
what?" I said. "You're right. That
was
fun."

"Told ya," he said as hit the
accelerator.

"Oh my God," I said. "That whole story about
how we met—" I shook my head. "Where'd you come up with that?" I
laughed. "I can't decide if I should kiss you or scold you for
lying."

"Baby," he said, "I'm a lot of things, but a
liar isn't one of them."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right." I glanced
out the window. We were practically flying. "Hey Lawton," I said.
"We're not running late anymore. Wanna slow it down?"

"Sorry. Can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said, "I figure we got about
fifteen minutes to make it to the hospital."

"You weren't kidding?" I said. "You really do
have plans there? Oh jeez, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say
something when I first called?"

"Because when you called, I didn't know we'd
be going."

"Huh?" I stared over at him and felt myself
tense. "Lawton," I said, with a voice far steadier than I felt.
"What's wrong with your face?"

He leaned over to glance in the rear-view
mirror. "Huh. That's not good." Returning his gaze to the road
ahead, he hit the brakes and skidded to a stop on the side of the
road.

"What is it?" I asked.

Still gripping the wheel, he looked down and
shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs.

"Are you alright?" I said.

When I reached out for him, his hands slipped
off the steering wheel. I looked down. The hands were so swollen
his fingers looked sausages about to pop. I glanced again at his
face. Gone were the lean lines and sharp angles. In its place was a
swollen mass of facial features I barely recognized.

"Oh my God," I said. "What's wrong?"

He leaned his head against the back of his
seat. Slowly, he turned to face me. His words were so garbled, I
had a hard time understanding him. But I'm pretty sure what he said
was, "Baby, can you drive a stick?"

And the answer, which I was terrified to
give, was no. I couldn't.

"Damn it," I said, squeezing Lawton's hand,
"you are
such
an idiot."

"Please," the nurse said for like the tenth
time, "no yelling at the patient."

"I wasn't yelling," I said. "Much."

With a look that told me she thought
otherwise, she checked off something on his chart and returned the
clipboard to the foot of the bed.

We were in a private hospital room,
surrounded by machines, IV stands, and a whole bunch of other stuff
that did who-knows-what.

Lawton was lying in the hospital bed, groggy,
but more or less awake. How, I had no idea. They'd given him so
many shots, and then there was the IV drip, and I'm pretty sure
they pumped his stomach too, although for the sake of his dignity,
I tried not to ask.

If I'd just had
my
stomach pumped, I
sure as heck wouldn’t want anyone asking about it.

The nurse adjusted his IV drip and left the
room, but not before giving me a final look of warning. I guess I
couldn’t really blame her. Idiot was probably the nicest name I'd
called him.

Seriously, who eats a whole crapload of
oysters, knowing damn well they're allergic to shellfish?
Correction, deadly allergic to shellfish? Crazy people, that's
who.

Blinking hard, I looked down at Lawton.
"You're looking a lot better," I said.

He gave me a shaky grin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, "but you're still an
idiot."

"Not this time," he said. "So, you know how
to drive a stick, huh?"

"No. But I know how to call an ambulance." I
bit my lip. "I think I forgot to lock your car."

"Eh, no biggie."

"And, uh, I might've left your keys in the
ignition." I winced. "I'm sorry. Your car's probably long-gone by
now."

"Don't worry," he said. "It'll turn up. Or
not."

I scooted my chair closer and leaned down to
press my face close to his. "You shouldn't have done that." My
voice caught. "The doctor told me you could've died."

"They always say that. Hasn't happened
yet."

"Seriously," I said. "Why on Earth would you
do that? It was
really
stupid." I gave him a stern look.
"And don't try to tell me you didn't know."

"I would," he said, "but like I told you, I'm
not a liar."

"So why'd you do it?" I said.

"Because," he said with a faint smile, "I
couldn’t stand to see you hurt."

"You think I like seeing
you
hurt?" I
said.

"This?" he said. "It's nothing."

"Okay," I said. "
Now
you're a
liar."

Weakly, he shook his head. "Baby, I'm not
lying. Seeing you cry? Hurts way more than this."

I reached up to wipe at my eyes. For his
sake, I tried to laugh. "Oh so,
now
, you tell me." I closed
my eyes to blink away the tears. When I opened them, he was
asleep.

I sat there with him for the longest time. I
kept expecting someone to make me leave. But by some strange twist
of fate, or maybe a simple oversight, no one did.

Watching him, I thought of all the twists and
turns our relationship had taken since that very first day I'd seen
him, standing outside his gate. If I'd only been honest with him
from the get-go, things would've been a whole lot different.

I reached out to stroke his hand, relieved to
see his long, strong fingers returning to their normal shape. I
moved my hand upward, tracing the lines and shapes of his tattoos.
Feeling the ridges of his muscles steady beneath my fingers, it
made me feel just a little better. Like he was solid and real, not
just a figment, and not just wishful thinking.

Except for the faint humming of equipment and
Lawton's steady breathing, the room was eerily quiet. Thankfully, I
hadn't spent a lot of time in hospitals. There was that time my mom
fell off our apartment balcony, and then a couple years later, that
crazy accident with Erika's Porsche.

In mid-motion, I felt a stillness overtake
me. This scene, right now, it was all too familiar – a different
time, a different place, a different person.

Or – I swallowed – maybe it wasn't. Slowly, I
let my gaze travel the length of his arm, trying to see beyond the
lines and patterns of his tattoos. And then, just when I started
calling myself crazy for even looking, I spotted them, faint, but
unmistakable, even with the inky camouflage.

Cigarette burns.

Oh my God. It was
him
.

I remembered it all too well. It was the
night Erika crashed her Porsche. I'd been standing just outside a
side entrance, trying desperately to reach her parents before they
spotted her car at the end of their driveway and assumed the
worst.

Erika was somewhere on the fifth floor,
getting X-rays and a few stitches. I'd brought her to the hospital
myself, in my piece-of-crap Fiesta, which, come to think of it,
wasn't quite as crappy back then.

I'd just finished leaving another message on
her dad's cell phone when I heard the steady beat of techno music,
growing louder with every second. I glanced up just in time to see
a huge white SUV squeal up to the curb. It had dark tinted windows
and bright gold rims that kept turning even after the car
stopped.

The rear passenger door flew open, and a body
tumbled out. It rolled a couple of times, then stopped, face down
on the sidewalk just a few feet away from where I stood.

I watched, in frozen shock as the SUV
squealed off, leaving whoever – definitely a man – lying there on
the concrete.

"Oh my God." Without thinking, I rushed over
to crouch beside him. "Are you okay?"

He wore no shirt, no socks, no shoes, just
some dark running pants. I saw spiky dark hair and the body of
someone I guessed to be in their twenties, at least based on his
physique, which was embarrassingly magnificent.

Instantly, I took in the hard lines and
sinewy muscle. And bruises. And blood. And – I swallowed –
cigarette burns all up and down his arms.

I looked frantically for signs of life.
"Somebody help!" I called.

It was stupid really, considering I was the
only one out there. Tentatively, I reached out for his hand. Was he
breathing? Did he have a pulse?

My own pulse was jumping so much, I couldn't
be sure of anything. "Help!" I yelled again. "Somebody's hurt over
here!"

And then he spoke in a groggy masculine voice
with just the barest hint of humor. "No," he mumbled. "I'm
good."

I heard myself gasp. At least he was alive.
It was better than I feared, given the blood pooling around his
head.

"Uh," I stammered. "I, uh, I don't think
you're
exactly
alright."

Desperately, I looked around. Where the hell
was everybody? But I knew exactly where. I'd been at the hospital
for the last couple of hours. I'd seen plenty of people inside, or
lingering by the front entrance, or even near the emergency room
doors.

This door was next to the dumpsters. No one
wanted to hang out here. But that's exactly why I'd picked this
spot in the first place, for some privacy.

I pulled out my phone. "Hang on. I'll call
for help." I started to dial 911, and was immediately struck by the
sheer stupidity of it. They'd just send an ambulance, which would
take him to a hospital.

He was
at
the hospital. "Wait here," I
said. "I'll get help."

"No. Wait," he said in that same groggy
voice.

"What?"

With a small groan, he lifted his head and
turned it in my direction. "Don't go."

He couldn’t be serious. He needed help.
"Don't worry. I'll be right back. With help. I promise."

At this, he gave me such a piercing look that
I felt my own gaze shift from his swollen eyes to the rest of his
face. It was covered in so much blood that I felt the color drain
from my own.

"No. Stay," he said. "Please."

Did he think he was going to die? Maybe he
didn't want to die alone? I tried to keep my voice calm. For his
sake. Still, when I spoke, it came out as a ragged croak. "What
happened? Were you shot or something?"

At this, he laughed. Seriously laughed. "That
bad, huh?" The laughter died abruptly when it was replaced by a
choking fit.

At this, I went into full panic mode. "Help!"
I yelled. "C'mon! Someone's hurt over here! Please? We need
help!"

But nobody came. I was afraid to leave him.
And more afraid of what might happen if I didn't.

His lips moved. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

His mouth moved, like he was trying to form a
smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. "Stop yelling."

In spite of everything, I felt vaguely
insulted. I'd been yelling for his sake, after all. I was still
holding his hand. "Then I'll be right back," I said, pulling
away.

Somehow, he managed to grab my wrist. For
someone in such rough shape, the grip was amazingly strong. "Don't
tell," he said.

I stared at him. "Don't tell what?"

"Anything. Whatever you saw, it didn't
happen."

Frantically, I looked around. Was he talking
about the white SUV?

"Stairs. Fell down 'em. No big deal." He
rolled onto his side and clutched his stomach. "Be fine in a
minute." A spasm shook his body, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Shit.

I leapt to my feet. "You hang on, I mean it!"
I told him. A waste of words, really. It was pretty obvious he
couldn’t hear much of anything. With a final glance at his scarily
still body, I sprinted around the side of the hospital, heading
full speed toward the emergency room entrance.