“You’re okay,” he says again.
I like that, how he’s so sure. Not Are you okay? No question about it.
You’re okay.
He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “But if you’re going to lose it, this is a pretty safe place to fall apart.” He takes two cookies from the plate, then holds one out to me. “Here. Eat your feelings.”
I’m about to turn him down, but then I look at the cookie. I was expecting something basic, like sugar or chocolate chip. This looks like a miniature pie, and sugar glistens across the top. “What . . . is that?”
“Pecan pie cookies,” says Rev. He’s taken about five of them, and I think he might have shoved two in his mouth at once. “I could live on them for days.”
I take the one Declan offered and nibble a bit from the side. It is awesome.
I peer up at him sideways. “How did you know?”
He hesitates, but he doesn’t ask me what I mean. “I know the signs.”
“I’m going to get some sodas,” Rev says slowly, deliberately. “I’m going to bring you one. Blink once if that’s okay.”
I smile, but it feels watery around the edges. He’s teasing me, but it’s gentle teasing. Friendly. I blink once.
This is okay. I’m okay. Declan was right.
“Take it out on the punching bag,” calls Rev. “That’s what I do.”
My eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Do whatever you want,” says Declan. “As soon as we do anything meaningful, the baby will wake up.”
Rev returns with three sodas. “We’re doing something meaningful right now.”
“We are?” I say.
He meets my eyes. “Every moment is meaningful.”
The words could be cheesy—should be cheesy, in fact—but he says them with enough weight that I know he means them. I think of The Dark and all our talk of paths and loss and guilt.
Declan sighs and pops the cap on his soda. “This is where Rev starts to freak people out.”
“No,” I say, feeling like this afternoon could not be more surreal. Something about Rev’s statement steals some of my earlier guilt, to think that being here could carry as much weight as paying respects to my mother. I wish I knew how to tell whether this is a path I’m supposed to be on. “No, I like it. Can I really punch the bag?”
Rev shrugs and takes a sip of his soda. “It’s either that or we can break out the Play-Doh.”
We head to that corner of the basement. Rev straddles the weight bench and sits down while Declan sits on a yoga ball and leans against the corner. They fall into these positions so easily that I wonder if this is their space, the way Rowan and I claim her room or the plush couch in my basement.
I’m not a violent person, but hitting something sounds really good.
I draw back a hand and swing, throwing my whole body into it.
Ow. Ow. The bag swings slightly, but shock reverberates down my arm. I think I’ve dislocated every joint of every finger, but I can feel it, and it’s the first thing I’ve truly felt in weeks. It feels fantastic. I need one of these in my basement.
I grit my teeth and pull back my arm to do it again.
“Whoa.” A hand catches my arm in midswing.
I’m standing there, gasping, and Declan has a hold of my elbow. His eyebrows are way up.
“So . . . yeah,” he says. “I don’t want to be sexist here, but after the way you talk about cars, I didn’t expect you to throw a punch like that.”
I draw back and straighten, feeling foolish. “Sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I just don’t want to watch you break a wrist.”
“Here.” Rev half stands, holding out a pair of black padded gloves. He’s pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt, and I wonder if he’s grown more comfortable around me—or if he’s just warm. “If you really want to beat on it, put on gloves.”
The baby monitor squawks, and he straightens. “She’s up. I’ll be back in a few.”
Once he’s gone, the basement falls completely silent, and Declan and I are alone. I’m left holding a pair of gloves, feeling a little silly, a little embarrassed, and a little badass.
“You going to put them on or what?” His voice is as edged and challenging as ever.
It takes me a second to figure out the Velcro straps at the wrist, but I quickly slide them over my fingers. They’re like a cross between boxing gloves and fingerless mittens, with thick padding around the hand.
If I think about this too hard, I’m going to bolt out the front door, so I close my eyes and swing.
I feel the shock again, but I’m glad for the gloves. My finger bones don’t feel like they’re splintering inside my skin, and the straps keep my wrists stable. I strike harder. Again. And again. The shock travels through my body, a warmth that settles in my belly. I lose count.
“Open your eyes.”
I open them, and he’s right there, holding the bag from behind so it doesn’t swing. I wonder how long he’s been there.
“Get closer,” he says.
I shift closer, staring up into his blue eyes.
“Closer,” he says again.
I move close enough to hug the bag. I’m breathless, but I don’t think it’s entirely from the exertion. “Close enough?” I say softly.
His eyes study mine. “You don’t want to reach for it.”
I want to be coy, but my voice comes out serious. “Am I stronger than you thought I was?”
“You’re exactly as strong as I thought you were.”
The words carry more weight than they should, and I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe every moment is meaningful, but this one feels more so.
I bounce on the balls of my feet and tap the bag, like I’m Muhammad Ali or something. I probably look ridiculous.
He inclines his head. “Go ahead. Hit it.”
I throw another punch, but now my eyes are locked on his. I don’t hit anywhere near as hard. I feel so torn, like being attracted to him is some kind of betrayal to The Dark. And yet . . . I can’t help myself. Declan is prickly and explosive and sharp, but buried deep below all that is a boy who’s caring and protective and loyal.
I want to see more of that side of him.
His cell phone rings, and he jerks it out of his pocket. After a glance at the screen, his expression darkens, and he shoves it back in his pocket.
“My stepfather,” he says when he sees my questioning glance.
“You don’t have to answer it?”
“I’ll tell him I had my ringer off.”
His phone rings again almost immediately. He doesn’t even bother to take it out of his pocket this time.
“He’ll give up eventually,” he says.
I remember meeting his stepfather in the street, the way the man provoked Declan—though Declan sure provoked him right back. “You don’t get along.”
He snorts. “Have you ever heard of male animals in the wild killing the existing offspring of a new mate? Alan would probably be okay with that.”
His phone rings again, sounding insistent.
“He must really want to talk to you,” I say.
Declan actually does turn the ringer off now.
We stand there in silence for a moment, breathing at each other.
“Were you looking for me?” he says. “When you came out of school?”
His quiet voice is rich and full and gentle, revealing nothing of his temper. Something about it is so reassuring—maybe because I’ve seen the fierceness on the other side of it. I want to put my forehead against the bag and close my eyes and beg him to talk to me for five minutes.
I look at the bag and throw a solid punch, just to give myself a moment to figure out how to answer. “You remember that picture I took of you and Rev?”
“The one I ‘should have asked’ you to delete?”
I stop and look at him. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No.” His expression is penitent
. “You were right. I should have asked first.”
Oh. I remind myself to breathe. Another punch. “Rev said I didn’t have to delete it.”
“Oh, he did?”
I hesitate and look at him over the gloves. Some of my hair has come loose, and it hangs in my eyes. “Yeah. He did.”
“So what did you do with it?”
I have to hit the bag again. “Mr. Gerardi wants to use it for the cover of the yearbook.”
“No, seriously.”
“I am serious.” I hesitate. “He seems really excited about it. I told him I wanted to ask you if it would be okay.”
Declan looks incredulous, and not in a good way. Quiet and gentle is gone. “He wants to put a picture of me and Rev on the cover of the yearbook.”
“Well. Sort of. You’d be on the back.” His expression darkens as I babble, but I can’t stop. I’m rambling, trying to get in front of Declan’s temper before the train leaves the station. “It’s a wrap, so the cheerleaders would be on the front, and it would stretch around the spine to show the friendship yet isolation of—”
“Are you insane?” The words grind out in a growl. His eyes are fierce.
I have to force myself to keep from shrinking back. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about—”
“I don’t belong on that cover. I don’t need an eternal reminder of this year, and I sure as hell don’t need it wrapped around the yearbook for everyone else.” He hits the bag so hard that it bounces off my gloves, but I refuse to step away. “This is the worst year of my life. Do you understand me?”
The bag is swinging now, and I use its momentum to slam it right back at him. “How do you think I feel?” My voice breaks, and I don’t care. “I’m the one who took the picture.”
He freezes, catching the bag.
My breathing is loud in the sudden silence, and I can’t figure out his expression. Still furious, but there’s something else. Shock. Shame? Regret, maybe.
I can’t take it. “What?” My words are fractured. Hot tears sit on my cheeks. “You think you’re the only one having a horrible year? You don’t know anything about me, Declan Murphy. Get over yourself.”
“Hey, Dec.” Rev jogs down the basement steps, carrying the baby and a cordless phone. His voice sounds urgent, more than a plea for us to stop arguing. “It’s Alan.”
I take a second to swipe the tears from my cheeks.
Declan takes the phone and puts it to his ear. “What.”
After a moment, his expression goes still. “What happened?” Another pause. “I’ll be right there.” Another pause, shorter this time. “I don’t care, Alan. I’m coming.” Then he pushes the button to turn the phone off.
His eyes return to mine, and any hint of kindness or empathy has vanished. “Do what you want, Juliet. I don’t care.” Then he fishes his keys from his pocket and turns away.
“What happened?” says Rev. “Dec, stop. Where are you going?”
“The hospital. Mom collapsed while she was making dinner. Alan called an ambulance.” He doesn’t wait, just heads up the stairs.
“Wait,” Rev says. “Dec, wait. Let me get Mom. I’ll come with you.”
“I can’t wait.”
Now I can hear it. The fear in his voice.
I remember it well.
He’s through the door.
“Give me the baby,” I say to Rev. “Go. Go with him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
INBOX: THE DARK
No new messages
I don’t know why I keep refreshing the app. I left Juliet an hour ago, and Rev left her with the baby. It’s not like Juliet’s going to sit down and send me a letter while a toddler destroys the place—especially when she doesn’t know that Declan Murphy and The Dark are one and the same.
At the same time, I wish she would.
I rub the back of my neck. The waiting area in the emergency room is crowded and stifling. I haven’t seen Alan, and he hasn’t answered my texts or my calls.
I keep thinking of the three times he called me at Rev’s house, how I ignored him.
The cynical side of me thinks he’s doing this to piss me off.
The terrified side of me worries that Mom’s in such bad shape that he can’t even look at his phone.
Did she ever tell him about how sick she was Friday night? Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe I should have said something.
She collapsed. What did that mean? A heart attack? Wouldn’t Alan have said she had a heart attack? Maybe she just passed out.
But why would she pass out in the middle of the kitchen?
She was cooking dinner. Did she hurt herself? What happened?
I rub my hands down my face and blow out a breath. Music pours from some overhead speaker, but it’s tuned to a station no one in their right mind would listen to. It’s some kind of croony old-timer’s music, and every time the singer hits a long note, the speaker crackles with static. I keep bouncing my leg. My nerves are shot.
When I look up, my eyes stop on a poster across the room about the warning signs for breast cancer.
Would that make you pass out? I have no idea. I look away. My eyes stop on another sign that talks about heart disease.
I jerk myself out of the chair. “I’m going to ask again.”
“Dec.” Rev’s voice is steady, settling. “You asked ten minutes ago.”
He’s right. I’ve asked every ten minutes. They tell me that only one family member is allowed back at a time, and I’ll have to wait for Alan to come out.
He hasn’t.
The woman behind the counter keeps glancing at me, and I can tell I’m beginning to wear on her, too. If they throw me out of here, I don’t know what I’ll do.
I slam back into the seat. My pulse roars in my ears, making me very aware of every heartbeat. I drag my hands through my hair. My shoulders are so tense I’m going to have to hit something to release the pressure.
Rev puts a hand on my shoulder, and I freeze. For a minute, I’m worried he’s going to say something biblical about God’s will, and I’m going to have to punch him. Or he’s going to say something empty and meaningless, like, She’ll be fine or I’m sure it’s just low blood sugar. They’re probably giving her a soda right now.
But he’s Rev and he’s my best friend and he doesn’t say any of those things. He sits there in silence, his hand on my shoulder.
In a way, it’s reassuring, to know I’m not here alone. But we sit for the longest time, until fear is pressing down on me.
I text Alan again.
No answer.
I call him and it goes right to voice mail.
He’s turned his phone off.
My chest tightens. Every breath is a struggle, and my throat doesn’t want to work right. I can’t sit here in silence anymore.
“I think she’s sick.”
Rev leans in. His tone is low, matching mine. “Why?”
“I found her throwing up after Homecoming.” My voice almost wavers. My eyes feel wet, and I keep them locked on the carpeting.
He’s quiet for a moment. “That was only Friday. It could be the flu.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. And she was fine yesterday.” I freeze, and a tear slips down my cheek. I hastily swipe it away. “No. She wasn’t fine yesterday. She was taking a nap. In the middle of the day.”
Then I remember something else. Kristin’s comment at dinner before Homecoming, asking if Mom was feeling better. “Kristin said she was sick last weekend, too.”
Rev doesn’t say anything to that. He remembers the comment.
Maybe Mom’s been sick for a while.
Every moment is meaningful. Sometimes Rev’s words feel like a premonition when I play them back in my head.
Each moment I sit out here, I’m not with her.
Rev’s phone vibrates, and I’m sitting close enough that I can hear it. He fishes it out of his pocket and checks the screen. “Mom will be here in a minute. Juliet is staying with Babydoll until
Dad gets home.”
Kristin is coming. I don’t know why, but that makes this feel more serious.
I can’t stop the next tear that rolls down my face. I drag my sleeve across my cheek and inhale a jagged breath.
She could have been dying all this time. She could be dying right now, and I don’t even know it because Alan has turned his phone off.
Rage is a new pressure in my chest, but I prefer it to the fear. I understand anger, and I welcome it, even as it crawls across my back to dig into my shoulders.
I want to kill him.
And just like that, as if my murderous thoughts summoned him, Alan walks through the double doors and appears in the waiting room. He looks tense and exhausted and afraid.
Just like me, really. It should dial back my anger, but it doesn’t.
I want to put him through the wall.
“Alan.” My voice could cut steel, and I’m halfway across the room before he registers that I’m barreling down on him. “Where is she? What’s going on?”
“Keep your voice down.” He glances between me and Rev and looks surprised that we’re here.
“Where is she?” My fists are clenched so hard that my nails are leaving little half-moons on my palms. “I want to see her.”
“Easy,” Rev murmurs beside me.
“You can’t.” Alan turns weary eyes to me. “She’s—”
“You’ve been with her for two hours,” I growl. “I want to see her.”
Frustration clouds his expression. “I told you not to come here, Declan. This is very personal, and it’s between your mother and me right—”
I shove him.
No, shove doesn’t do the movement justice. Alan is lucky there’s a wall behind him, because he slams into that instead of slamming into the floor.
Rev grabs me, so I can’t go after him.
Alan’s hands are in fists, and he’s going to come after me, though. I’m ready for it. I welcome it. There’s fire in his eyes, and I know he’s been wanting to hit me for months.
He doesn’t move, though. He stands there, breathing hard, glaring at me. The way Rev has a shoulder against me suddenly feels like overkill.
Every pair of eyes in the waiting room is on us. A nurse behind the desk is on the phone, and I can hear her speaking quickly. “. . . may have an incident in the ER waiting room.”