School Ties (8 page)

Jesus Christ.

I press the pedal down farther, blowing late through a yellow and tearing down Route 2, hoping to god the Staties aren't out in force this afternoon. Luck is with me and ten excruciating minutes later, I screech to a halt in front of the ER doors, barely putting Erin's car in park before ripping open the passenger-side door. She's hot and light in my arms, moaning and shivering, imploding in pain.

Where the fuck are you, Will?

A nurse in scrubs runs toward us, probably seeing the blood soaking through Erin's clothes. She's shouting but I don't understand the words. All I can say is, “I think she's having a miscarriage.”

The nurse grabs my sleeve and hauls me toward a bed, directing me to set Erin down. I don't want to let her go, but if I don't, they won't be able to help her, make it stop. That's what I want more than anything.
Make it stop.
Every scream, every whimper wrenched from her body is a punch to my chest.

“Her name's Erin. Erin Brewster. Help her.”

A swarm of white coats and a rainbow of scrubs descend. They start shouting orders and asking her questions, shoving me out of the way. A nurse grabs my arm and urges me out of the room. I walk backward, not able to stand the helplessness, the fear choking me. There's a glass panel that lets me see her while the nurse who manhandled me out here tries to drag answers from me. I half answer her questions. Most I don't know the answers to, and I can't take my eyes off of Erin—

“Are you her husband?”

The lie comes to my lips.
Yes. She's mine. She belongs to me.
But I could get in way too much trouble. Besides, Erin's real husband will be here soon. “No. She's my teacher.”

I choke on the last word. Such a stupid, inane word for what she is to me. At some point, I must have given the nurse my name, because she's steering me toward the waiting room. “Mr. Shepherd, you can wait out here.”

After half an hour of staring dead-eyed, useless at the worn linoleum floor, I can't. I run out to the car, wishing I could keep running, all the way back to the Hill and beyond, run away from all of this. Instead I grab the cell Erin had been clutching, dropped on the floor of her car in one of her fits of agony. Will's number must be in here. They can call him. I don't know anyone else to call for her. Does she have family nearby? I don't know. Someone at school might.

Fuck. School. I am going to be in so much trouble. I've broken about ten thousand rules. Not supposed to leave campus without letting someone know. Not supposed to drive on campus. I'm sure there must be something about inappropriate touching between teachers and students, and cradling Erin against me would definitely count as inappropriate. Or would if anyone had any idea how right it felt.

But fuck it. If they want to kick me out for this, so be it. I won't apologize. I start the car and search for an empty spot, getting lucky a few rows from the entrance to the ER. I don't want her car to get towed or ticketed on top of all of this. The bloodstain on the seat makes me cringe as I pull a too-tight turn into the space, almost clipping a BMW. I turn on a burst of speed to get back into the ER. Once inside, I find a nurse who looks familiar, give her the phone and tell her Will's name. I plaster my hands against the window to Erin's room. They've gotten her into a hospital gown and she's stopped screaming.

She's pale under the fluorescents and there's a sheen of sweat on her forehead I want to wipe away. She looks dazed as she talks to a nurse. Maybe they've given her a sedative? Looking up from her conversation, she sees me with my forehead pressed against the glass and the corner of her mouth twitches. She's glad I'm here. She says something to the nurse, who looks over her shoulder at me before turning back to Erin and shaking her head.

Tears well in Erin's eyes and her small chin wrinkles. I can read the word on her lips: “Please.”

The nurse's rounded shoulders rise and fall in a sigh, but she pokes her head out the door.

“Mr. Shepherd? Miss Brewster would like to speak with you.”

I shove my hands in my pockets and try not to flatten the nurse on my way in.

Erin's lids flutter as I approach and dump myself into a chair. I keep my hands in my pockets so I won't touch her.

“You should go back to school, Mr. Shepherd.”

“I—”

“Please don't argue with me. I'm tired and I can't stand up to your testosterone-fueled whatever-this-is.”

The weak wave of her wrist with the IV taped to the inside of her forearm slays me. Is she angry at me? All this stuff surges around in my head and perfectly rational thoughts explode like popcorn kernels into the crazy urges I always have about Erin. I can't decide whether I want to take her into my lap and hold her until she falls asleep, fuck her until she's begging me to stop or take her over my knee and spank her until she cries. Any one of those things would be better than sitting here. Doing nothing.

Now she's mad at me and she wants me to leave? But a puff of her cheek is telling me she's trying to smile. She's not angry. At least not
really
angry.

“I'll wait with you until Mr. Chase gets here.”

She shakes her head. “Could you have someone call school? Will's on the road, he won't answer his phone for a few hours yet. Mrs. Wilson or Mrs. Latham should be around.”

There's a tightness in my chest like I've run too hard for too long.
They don't care about you the way I do. Please let me stay. I'll take care of you, haven't I proven that?
But she's exhausted and she's trying to protect me. So I shove the words back down my throat and lean my head out the door, waving to the nurse, and give her instructions.

When I turn back to Erin, her eyes are closed. Dark circles are heavy under her lashes, and her chest is rising and falling under the thin cotton of the johnny. She's asleep. I seize the opportunity to run a hand across her forehead, sopping away the sweat beaded at her hairline and over her eyebrows. She stirs and I wait for her to open her eyes, yell at me, call me Mr. Shepherd again, but she doesn't wake up. Instead, she leans her head toward my hand in her hair and she sighs.

A punch lands in my gut. She likes this. Likes my hand in her hair.
Twist the screws a little harder, would you universe? You fucking suck
. But for a few minutes at least, I can offer her comfort. I let my fingers wander through the strands lank with sweat. I don't care. This is the prettiest she's ever looked to me, because I know for certain in that instant she wants to be with me, too.

When the door opens half an hour later, I yank my hand away, not wanting to be caught, not wanting to have to answer any more awkward questions than I'll already have to. I'm expecting Mrs. Latham or Mrs. Wilson, but it's Will on the threshold.

“Mr. Shepherd, Headmaster Wilson is waiting outside. He'll take you back to school.”

I stand, waiting for some other acknowledgement from him. Possibly a thank-you or at least a
How is she doing
? But there's none of that.
You're a cold fuck, Will Chase.

The hospital room is too small not to brush his shoulder on my way out. It takes every ounce of willpower to not slam him up against a wall and knock his shit-eating teeth into the back of his throat.
Your wife is in the hospital. She lost your baby. She was in so much pain she couldn't not scream no matter how hard she tried, and you look like someone ate your leftovers.
But instead I take a deep breath and step into the hall, remembering before I close the door I have Erin's keys in my pocket.

“Mr. Chase.”

I may as well be a cockroach for how he looks at me, but he holds out a hand for the key ring dangling from my fingers and pockets it. I turn to go and before the door's all the way shut, I hear him waking her.

“Erin, what the hell happened?”

I ball my fists in my pockets to keep from beating the crap out of this thoughtless fuckwad and head down the hall to look for Headmaster Wilson. I find his bald dome easily; it glints under the fluorescents a head above the slumped bodies nearby. When I stand in front of him, his tangle of white eyebrows goes up.

“You've had an interesting afternoon, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stares at me, trying to see into my brain. It wouldn't be shocking if he could. More teenage guys have passed in front of this man's steady gaze than I can imagine. I look him straight in the eye like I think a man would, a man I'd like to be, anyway. Can he see how I feel about Erin? What's he going to do about it if he can?

It seems like forever that we face off, but he blinks first. “Let's get you back to campus and you can tell me about it over dinner. Mrs. Wilson's made my favorite. You like pot roast?”

He stands, dwarfing me—he's one of the few people on campus significantly taller than I am—and lays a hand on my shoulder, leading me out to the parking lot. In so many words, he's told me I'm not going to get in trouble for this. A weight lifts. I'd do it all over again no matter what, but knowing I'm not going to have to go home a failure is a relief.

“Yes, sir.”

Erin

My eyes crack open at someone shaking my shoulder and a voice.

“Erin, what the hell happened?”

The corners of my lips tilt down in a frown. That's not Shep. My lids flutter open to Will, looking pissed. I must've slept longer than I thought if Will's here. But I'm not rested like I've slept for ten hours, and the clock confirms. My brain, hazy with painkillers, tries to fit the pieces together while I answer his question.

“I had a miscarriage.”

“That's what Tilly said.”

Why isn't he holding my hand, or stroking my hair, offering me comfort? Why did he wake me up? He's looming over me and his glare narrows. I feel about an inch high, guilty for some reason even though it's my body that's betrayed me.

“Are you shitting me with this, Erin?”

“What?”

“Did you do this on purpose?”

If he'd asked me if I were the Queen of England I couldn't be more shocked.

“Of course not. If I—”

“Yeah, you and your anti-abortion schtick. Whatever. Was this your way to trap me into marrying you? Then getting rid of it because you weren't ready for a baby?”

My anger flares, fiery in my chest. How could he think so little of me? “Listen to yourself. You sound like a crazy person.”

He
looks
like a crazy person, pacing the small room, hands raking through his thinning hair.

“This is bullshit.” He's muttering under his breath and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at him, to hold my tears at bay. How dare he?

“Get out, Will, if that's what you think of me. If that's what you believe. I can't deal with this.” It's while I'm scrubbing my hands over my face, my limbs stiff from trying to curl so hard around that gut-wrenching pain, that the switch flips. “Where were you?”

My question halts his determined wearing a ditch into the floor and his face could not say more blatantly
I've been caught
before he settles it into a bland mask.

He sits in the chair where Shep waited with me and takes up my fingers, kissing my knuckles. I want to pull away, but I'm too tired. “I was in the car on the way to my parents' house. You know that, angel. I left you a note, or didn't you see it? You ought to pay more careful attention. You're so scatter-brained.”

“I did.” My heart hardens into an ice cube, sending sleet pumping through my veins. “You don't answer your phone when you're driving.”

It's comical how myriad expressions flit across his face as he tries to decide what to do with this information.
Here, let me help you.
“Get out, Will. Have someone bring me some clothes.”

“Erin—”

“No. Get out. Leave my keys.”

“They won't—”

“If I need a ride, I'll call someone.”

I dare him with my eyes to argue with me. It'd give me a chance to scream at him. I've never been the screaming type, but if there's anything worth screaming about, it's your husband of less than two months shagging someone while you're losing the baby that got you into the marriage in the first place.

He holds up his hands in limp defeat and lays the keys on the table beside my bed. My lids are heavy and I dismiss him by rolling onto my side. I wish it were Shep's chest under my head instead of this flat, antiseptic-smelling pillow. I wish Shep were here so he could brush away the tears rolling down my cheeks the way he wiped the sweat off my forehead. Tenderly. With love.

Shep

Mrs. Wilson's pot roast is delicious and I tell her so.

“Thank you, Mr. Shepherd. I'm glad you enjoyed it. You must be looking forward to some home cooking when you go back tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I agree politely, not wanting to tell her most nights it's a box of mac-and-cheese or a microwave dinner. If it's a bad night, three bowls of cereal I'll get yelled at for eating in the morning when there's not enough food at breakfast for everyone.

Headmaster Wilson had asked me some questions about Erin, but Mrs. Wilson hushed him. “Let the poor boy eat, Rett. He's obviously starving.”

I'd done a passable impression of a ravenous teenager even though I couldn't care less about food. But once I'd gotten a few mouthfuls of the heavy broth heaped over roasted potatoes, it hadn't been hard. When I've finished the thirds I'd helped myself to at Mrs. Wilson's urging, the phone rings and Mrs. Wilson excuses herself.

“You'll be heading to Fort Lauderdale for the second week of break then, Mr. Shepherd?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Looking forward to it?”

“Yes, sir.” I am, although more for the chance to sleep and eat as much as I want than for the fun and sun most of my teammates are excited about. “I appreciate the school paying my way. There's no way I could've gone otherwise.”