Boys Like You

I followed her gaze and caught Monroe looking our way. She stared at me for a few seconds and then flicked open her magazine again and disappeared behind it.

“Taylor, thanks.”

When she looked back to me, her brown eyes were filled with tears, and something inside me broke. I did this to her. I thought of her family. I did this to all of them.

“You don’t have long. They went for dinner at the Warehouse, and their reservation was for seven.” She cleared her throat. “It’s seven-thirty now, so that gives you about an hour before Mom and Dad will be back, ’cuz you know, we live at the freaking hospital now, so…”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

She didn’t say anything. She just turned and leaned against the wall, her raccoon eyes closed, her breathing heavy.

The door slid open and I slipped inside, exhaling through my mouth because I hated the smell so much. The sick, stale, antiseptic smell that Trevor and his family lived with every single damn day.

The lights were low, and I turned toward the bed. Toward the machines and tubes and IV. Toward the big gray one that forced air into Trevor’s lungs and then sucked it back out. The one that allowed him to breathe. The one that allowed him to live.

I swallowed hard and stared at the machine that allowed Trevor to exist in some weird, in-between place. I wondered if he knew I was there. Was he hanging out, levitating below the ceiling, staring down at the idiot who had put him here?

Carefully I made my way over to him, one foot in front of the other as if I was creeping across the foyer in my house after a night of partying.

It was stupid, really. What was I afraid of? That Trevor would wake up? No, that’s what we all wanted. It was the stuff that came after that had me tied up in knots.

What if he told me to go screw myself and never come back? What if he told me that he hated me?

Or even worse, what if he woke up and couldn’t say the things I knew were inside his head?

I paused at the edge of his bed. I took a moment to just look down at my best friend, and what I saw made my gut churn. It churned so badly that for a second I thought I was going to be sick, and it took everything I had to push the nausea away.

He’d lost a lot of weight and his hair was still shaved from when they’d cut into his skull to relieve the pressure because his brain had swelled a few days after the accident.

Funny thing was? Take away the tubes and shit and he kinda looked badass.

“Jesus, Trevor,” I whispered.

A shiver rolled over me, and I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to find some heat. “Dude, you gotta wake up.”

I leaned forward and touched his hand. It was cold, his skin almost papery and too soft for a guy. Even the colors in his wristband tattoo seemed faded and lost. The one on his shoulder? The tattoo that matched mine? I couldn’t look at it.

Courage. Protection. That’s the Celtic meaning behind the ink and obviously it was all a bunch of crap.

I stared down at my best friend and I wanted to cry like a baby. If he was here right now—really here—he’d headlock me, knock me on the chin, and call me a pussy. He’d say something stupid like, “It’s better to live fast and die young, asshole.”

“I wish it had been me,” I whispered hoarsely, wiping at my eyes angrily as I stood back and shoved my hands into my pockets.

I’m not sure how long I stood there like a stalker, just staring down at him, but I was surprised when Taylor yanked on my arm. Hard.

“Hey,” I snapped, but my voice died when I caught sight of her eyes.

“You gotta get out of here. Mom texted from the lobby and they’re on their way. Someone screwed up their reservations and they got sick of waiting, so they grabbed pizza or something.” Taylor was frantic, and I knew how much of a line she’d crossed by letting me in to see her brother. “You gotta go, like, yesterday, Nate. I’m serious. I don’t know what Dad will do if…”

“Shit.” I glanced back at Trevor and then followed Taylor out of the room.

“Take the stairs, Nathan.”

“I can’t leave without Monroe.” I paused near the nurse’s station, trying to get Monroe’s attention, but her head w

as still buried in her magazine.

“Oh my God, Nate. Forget about her. I’ll tell her you had to leave and you can hook up with her later.” She pushed me toward the stairs. “My dad will kill—”