“Can’t,” he says, his fingers flopping around near his right front pocket.
“Oh my god,” I say, crouching down and putting my hand into his pants. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Feels good,” he says with a slight grin on his face.
“Shut up, perv.”
When I jam my fingers in deeper into the pocket his happy expression disappears. “Please don’t jerk me around. It hurts my guts.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears coming. Fighting to keep them at bay, I grunt to get my fingers moving in the right direction. I can feel the edge of the keyring, but it’s against his thigh, stuck there in a crease of the denim. “You have to move your leg!” I say, whisper-screaming at him. “I can’t reach it!”
He adjusts his body to slide down the seat a few inches and that’s all I need to get the keys out.
“Yes!” I yell in triumph as they come free. I hold them up in the air and shake them like a mad woman with a messed-up dinner bell. “Teagan! Rebel! Come on! We have to go! To the hospital!” I wait for their responses, staring down the sidewalk in the direction they went in. “Teagan?! Rebel?!”
Nothing. I got nada. Fucking crickets give a shit about my problems and that’s it.
I bend down and put my face near Mick’s, trying to use a calm voice. I’m not sure that I pull it off. “They’re gone. Of course now is the best time I can think of to go off and have sex in the bushes or whatever it is they’re doing. Idiots. I’m all you’ve got unless you want me to get Colin. I can call 9-1-1 …”
“Let’s go,” he says, cutting into my list of suggestions. “They can ride with Colin,” Mick says, his voice a whisper again. “I need a doctor, fast. No time for 9-1-1…”
For a moment I wonder if I should ignore his orders and go inside and tell Colin what’s going on, but then I quickly decide against it. For one thing, he’s the one sending Mick to the hospital, so he’s probably not on Mick’s favorites list right now; and second, I can just imagine how awesome it would not be to see Colin arrested at Mick’s bedside for assaulting his own brother. Fucking men. How did I get in the middle of this mess?
I run around the other side of the car and jump in, slamming the door behind me. “Okay,” I say, sticking the key in and turning over the engine. It roars to life, and when I press on the accelerator experimentally, it rocks the whole car side to side with the revving power. “Whoa. Holy horses under the hood,” I say, rubbing the steering wheel on the side, up and down. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a tad scared. I don’t have a whole hell of a lot of control over my body right now; I’m too freaked out. This car is way more powerful than Teagan’s Beetle or my dad’s Buick.
“Be careful,” he says. “The pedal is sensitive.”
“You just leave this to me,” I say, patting him on the leg with fake bravado while I check the rearview mirror for Teagan and Rebel. A few experimental honks on the horn get me nothing but a few responding honks from other cars passing by.
Putting the car into drive, I look out into traffic using the side mirror. “You sure you’re ready?” I ask, glancing over at Mick. “Put your seatbelt on.”
“Just go,” he says.
I take a few precious seconds to brake and put his belt on for him when he doesn’t comply. He complains the entire time, but I figure with the way my luck is going, I’ll get in a wreck and kill him on the way to getting him healed. Better at least try not to do that.
Now with the car back in drive, I try to press the accelerator easy-does-it, but the car has different ideas. It peels out away from the curb and we’re gone, my head flying back like it’s going to break right off my shoulders because there’s no headrest for it to fall against. I use the steering wheel to hold on for dear life.
“Oh shit … I’m gonna die,” Mick says, finishing up with a moan of pain. His body lists to the right.
“No, you’re not. You’re gonna be fine,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster, all considered. My eyes facing forward again, I pat him on the leg with one hand while the other one holds onto the skinny, hard steering wheel. The car rumbles down the street with the roar of a thousand angry horses. I swear people eight neighborhoods over can hear this damn motor gunning away.
Lights and buildings and other cars fly past the windows as I try to remember which direction I need to go in order to get to the hospital. Wind batters what’s left of my hair-do into a rat’s nest and pushes tears out of my eyes and past my temples, into my hairline. My sense of direction has abandoned me. Not that there was much sense there in the first place, but at least I used to know north from south. Now I could be heading in any one of the cardinal directions and wouldn’t have a clue which one it was.
Flashing red and blue lights in my mirrors cause my heart to leap up into my throat. Instead of stopping for the man in blue, I accidentally press on the gas.
“Eeeeep!” As the car surges forward and I realize my mistake, I jerk my foot over to the brake. All I need to do is add running from the cops to my list of bad ideas for the night; then I’ll definitely be a shoo-in for Asshole of the Year. I press down hard on the rectangular pedal beneath my foot.
The car squeals to a near-stop. Mick’s body flies forward until his seatbelt catches him and locks him in place.
“Holy, fuck that hurt,” he groans out.
I’m about to apologize, but when I catch a glimpse of the grill of the cop car almost upon us, I panic and hit the gas once more. I can only imagine what Mick would do if I got his car rear-ended. We fly forward again, leaving the cop car behind in our dust and smoke.
Mick’s back hits the seat and he yells. “What the hell are you doing?” He pants a few times before continuing. “Oh, fuck, that hurts. I think I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. You’re killing me. You and Colin are in this together, aren’t you? You totally planned this.”
“No, you’re not gonna die!” I scream, one eyeball on him and one on the rearview mirror. The blue and red lights are getting closer. “Holy shit, he’s going to ram us.”
“Who’s going to ram us? The cop? Don’t be ridiculous!” He throws his right hand on the door and the left onto the dashboard, bracing himself. “Ooohhhh, Gooood, I’m dyinnnnggg…”
The hood of the cop car is leaping forward, right at our back end. Panic makes me go faster.
“Pull over!” a voice says loudly. The cop is yelling at me through a loudspeaker and the entire surrounding neighborhoods can hear him.
“What should I do?!” I scream. I spy a corner up ahead that I think I can take and lose him.
“Stop the car!” Mick yells. “Pull over for crissakes!! What do you think you are? A fucking bank robber?”
“But what if he hits us!” I scream. “You’ll die!” I’m really not sure where any of this is coming from. Apparently I’ve fallen into a Bruce Willis movie. Die … something. Die Because You’re An Idiot. Is that one out yet?
“Just pull over,” he begs. “I’ll do anything you want. Just pull over.” His head lolls over to the side and that’s what does it; that’s what makes me snap out of my action-movie fog and realize that this uniformed man in the flashy-light car who I’m afraid might smash into us might actually be able to help the beautiful boy who’s dying next to me.
I pull over and stop with a squealing of tires and a lot of burned rubber. Throwing open the door, I struggle with my seatbelt. I accidentally try to get out without making sure I’m out of the restraint first, and the belt yanks me back inside. My legs fly up and I flash everyone on the left side of the street as the leg of my shorts gapes open.
“Stay in your vehicle!” the voice commands over the speaker.
“Fuck that!” I yell, wrestling with the seatbelt. “Emergency!” I throw the belt out of the way finally and stand up outside the car, waving my hands in the air like I just don’t care. “Emergency! I need an ambulance! Emergency!” I run on tiptoes towards the cop car, my shoes making me sound lik
e a herd of clydesdales in a Budweiser commercial.
“Get back in your vehicle, ma’am!” comes the voice, sounding angry now.
I wave his words off, still running. “Shut up! Stop yelling at me! Emergency! My friend is dying! Help me!”
As soon as I pass the headlights of the cop car, I realize my mistake. Now I can see the man at his car.
“Stop right there! Do not move!” The police officer has his arms propped up on the top of his open door and his big, black deadly gun is pointed right at my chest.
I want to stop. I really do. But I can’t help the fact that my nervous system has a short circuit in it somewhere and that this minor electrical problem combined with really high heels and an uneven paving job on the street equals uncontrolled forward movement.
I watch in slow-motion horror as my body is propelled forward, the cop’s finger pulls back on the trigger, and then an incredible amount of pain smashes me in the chest and blossoms out to consume every single square inch of my body. Everything goes white with blinding pain and then, blissfully, my world goes black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BEEP…
BEEP-BEEP…
BEEP…
MY vision is blurry.
I hear voices murmuring next to me.
A sheet.
A white sheet.
There’s a white sheet over my face.
There’s a white sheet over my face?
THERE’S A FUCKING WHITE SHEET OVER MY FACE! OH MY GOD! I’M DEAD!
I scramble to get away from the light. No light! No tunnel! Fuck you, tunnel, I’m not coming in!
“No!” I yell, fighting the gauze between the worlds. “I’m not dead! I’m not dead! I’m not dead yet, fuckers! I’m not going! I’m not ready! I’m too young! I haven’t even tried anal sex yet!”
Strong hands grab my wrists and hold me still.
Do angels wrestle? Am I about to be part of an otherworldly smack-down?
“Quin, relax. You’re not dead. You’re just stupid.”
I freeze, no longer fighting the archangel Gabriel or whoever it is that has me in an iron grip.
Recognition dawns. “Who’s that? Teagan?”
“Open your eyes, dipshit.” She’s laughing at me, I can tell by her tone.
“They are open,” I say, squeezing my eyes tight together. “Oh.” My lids are already together.
I use my fingers to pry them open. Bright light hits my eyeballs and I squint to try and see through the haze. I guess it wasn’t a sheet there. Heh-heh. Did I say anal sex or was that just a bad dream?
“Where am I?” I finally ask.
“You’re in the hospital,” Teagan says. She leans over so I can finally see her face. She’s smiling.
“Stop doing that,” I say, frowning. “I almost died.” I’m pretty sure that’s the truth, too. I feel pain everywhere.
“No, you didn’t,” she says, practically laughing. “Now, Mick … yes, he almost bit the big one.”
My hands grab my covers in an attempt to throw them to the side. The pain in my chest stops me. “Oh, shit,” I say, breathing heavily through the agony. “He shot me, didn’t he? That cop. Do I have a hideous scar? Do I need a heart transplant?” I’m afraid to look down. “How long have I been out? Has it been days? Weeks?” I cringe as I wait for the answer. Maybe I’ve been here a year in a coma. I reach up to touch my hair and then my eyebrows. “How bad is it?”
Tegan is laughing too hard to answer me. She snorts like a pig, and unfortunately she’s sitting too far back for me to slap now.
Rebel comes into view from behind a curtain. “She okay?” he asks her.
“I’m fine, other than the fact that I almost died of a gunshot wound to the chest. I’m suing, you know. You can count on that.”
Rebel has the nerve to laugh. Two chuckles and he’s gone behind the curtain again.
“I’d really like to know what’s so funny about me being shot. I mean, what the fuck? Am I being punked right now or what? And where are my parents? Please tell me you told them what happened. They must be worried sick.”
Teagan takes me by the hand. “They know. They were already here and then they left.” She hands me her phone. “Call them and talk to them if you want.”
I snatch the phone away. “Not before you explain what the hell happened after I was shot. In the chest. With a gun. And a bullet. Where’s Mick? Is he okay? What was wrong with him?”
Teagan pulls the chair closer and takes my hand slowly petting it. “Babe, I hate to burst your superhero bubble, but you weren’t shot.”
“Bullshit,” I say, struggling with my hospital gown. Some idiot put the damn thing on backwards. I can feel it’s open in the back but I can’t see my chest because the material is in the way.
Teagan takes my hand and stills it. “You were tazed, babe. Tazed in the chest. With a taser.”
I stop trying to yank my hand away. “Tazed?” That sounds a lot less sexy than being shot with a gun.
“Yes. You got a couple prongs embedded in your skin and about a thousand volts sent through your body, but that’s it. No bullets. No blood. You’re going to live.” She tries to hold in a snort and ends up burping instead.
“That was nice. Thanks for that.” I flick imaginary burp shrapnel off my cheek.
“You’re welcome. Mick’s fine too. He had a ruptured spleen from the fight. They took it out and sewed him up.”
“Can I see him?” I ask, my voice going weak.
“I don’t know…” Teagan sighs. “Are you sure you want to?”
“Of course I’m sure. Don’t be ridiculous.” Now she’s got me all pissed off again. “Why would you say that?”
“Because … I guess Rebel and I were thinking that maybe you had something going on with Colin and maybe you don’t want to rock that boat.”
“Jesus, Tea, sometimes you make me want to rip your head off with my teeth.”
“Really? That’s kind of violent.” She doesn’t appear scared.
“Do you not know me at all? I mean, can’t you tell? I don’t like Colin like that. He’s like … a brother.”
“A brother.” She clearly doesn’t believe me.
“Yes. A brother. Okay, so he’s good looking and charming and talented. But he’s not Mick.”
Her eyebrows go up. “He’s not?”
“No.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Not being Mick … That doesn’t make sense.”
I realize I’ve said too much. I’m not even sure it makes sense to me, so I don’t know how to explain it to her. “I don’t know. Whatever. Forget I said it.”
“No way, Q-Baby. Tell me what’s going on. Come on, I know you’re stressed about your brother and all that. We need to talk.”
“You have enough on your plate,” I say, refusing to give in to her puppy dog face. “What’s going on with your case? Anything new?”
“I did get a call from the lawyer today which is a super big deal since it’s the weekend, but I’m not sharing until you share first.”
I’ve seen that expression on her face before. She can be very determined when she wants to be, just like me. I taught her well. And to be honest with myself, I’m getting tired of being so confused about my own feelings. Talking to her usually helps me sort them out, so I go ahead and cave without a fight.
“Mick is different. I don’t know how else to say it.” I toy with the edge of my sheets to hide my nervousness. Even just talking about it makes me go all frizzy fuzzy whacky inside. “I hardly know him, so it sounds ridiculous, but he just has something special about him. A confidence. An air of class, even though he’s standing there in a t-shirt and jeans and has grease under his fingernails. I like him, even though I don’t want to like him and even though I think liking him is a really dumb idea.”
She nods sagely. “I know what you mean.”
“Right?” I lower my voice, eyeing the curtain that closes me off from the door to the room. “I mean, what’s wit
h these Rebel Wheels guys, anyway? Do they have superpowers?”
She smiles. “Maybe. So what are you going to do about it?”
“About what?”
“Mick.”
I roll my eyes. “Nothing.” I’m all of a sudden depressed. Welcome back to the real world.
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“Nothing is what I mean. I’m doing nothing. Nada. Zip. Look what’s already happened! I agree to go out on one date and now we’re both in the hospital and his brother’s probably on his way to jail again and my parents are going to freak like nobody’s business. My life is over. I might as well become a nun. Do they still have those? Where do I sign up?”
“First of all, Colin is not going to jail. Mick told them some stranger punched him. And second, your parents are a little freaked out, but I explained that you were rushing your date to the hospital and that the cop misunderstood, and they got it. Okay? They’re on board. The cop told them the same story, so you’re good.”
“That’s a pretty cool cop.” I frown, not sure I believe my good fortune. “I’m not under arrest when I leave?”
“No, you’re not. He knows Rebel and Mick and Colin too. His name is Dickerson.”
I’m still frowning, my memory conjuring images of his car’s grill almost on our ass. “More like Dickweederson,” I say, pissed he got the drop on me. Who shoots a girl in bedazzled shorts and heels who’s yelling Emergency!? He should at least be demoted or something.
“Seriously.”
I smile at Teagan’s easy agreement. “Are we good?” I ask, holding up my hand.
She weaves her fingers in with mine. “Yeah, we’re good. Always.”
“So what’s next?” I ask. “When can I leave?”
“Maybe later today.”
“What’s the date?” I ask, looking towards the window to try and gauge the time of day. It’s covered in heavy drapes, making it impossible to see anything outside.
“It’s Saturday.” She looks at her phone, turning it in my hand so she can see the front of it “Ten o’clock in the morning. You’ve only been here overnight.”
“And Mick? Is he okay, really?”