Stacy scoffs. “You? Violent? Okay.”
“You’re forgetting my form of violence—I get you to do it for me. My little attack dog, you.” I wrap my arm around her and give her a noogie.
“Careful or I’ll turn my violence onto you.”
“Never. You love me.”
“I do. I’m happy to have you in my life.”
My eyes narrow. “But?”
“No but. You’re my best friend.” Tears pool in her eyes.
“Are you dying?”
She shoves me. “I can’t be serious every once in a while?”
“No.”
“Whatever, I hate you again.”
“There’s my Stacy.”
We watch the commencement speech and wait three hundred hours for Damon to take the stage. My leg goes dead at one point as pins and needles shoot down to my feet. Stacy laughs at my pain. Yeah, she really loves me. But not as much as the guy claiming his degree right now. The pride I have for Damon rivals that of his parents.
“Wait for it,” Stacy says.
Dread replaces the proud feeling warming my stomach. “What did you do?”
She grins.
“Stacy …”
As Damon crosses the stage to accept his diploma, the world slows down. It’s like a scene from a movie where the hero knows what’s going to happen but can’t stop it in time.
A confetti cannon goes off early.
Stacy jumps up and down and claps. She’s not seeing what I am. The cannon is too close to the stage. Yeah, it’s shooting paper, but put that much pressure behind it and it can turn into the weight of a baseball. And that weight launches itself at my boyfriend’s head.
Stacy pales when her brother drops to the stage. Gasps come from the audience, but I’m already halfway through the crowd to get to him.
Damon’s out cold.
“Babe,” I say frantically. Weird, I never call him babe—that’s his thing—but in my panicked state, it slips out.
My hand cradles his cheek. With a groan, he leans into my hand but doesn’t open his eyes.
“Someone call an ambulance,” I say.
“Ambulance?” Stacy croaks next to me. She followed me up here.
“What did you do?” I yell at her.
“It was a … it was a prank. I paid a guy to set off the confetti early so it happened when Damon was called. It wasn’t meant to—”
“Goddamn it, Stacy.”
“I’m okay,” Damon says, suddenly awake. He tries to sit up. “But the ground is upside down.” He lies back and closes his eyes.
“Shit, he probably has a concussion,” I say.
When the paramedics arrive, which takes way too fucking long for my liking, I don’t hesitate climbing in the back of the ambulance with him. He’s in and out of consciousness the whole way, complaining of the bright light every time he opens his eyes.
As soon as we get to the hospital, they take him for a CT scan, and I’m told to wait in the ER.
Illogical and selfish as it is, all I can think about is the fact Damon and I are going to miss the hockey game tonight. I was going to surprise him and finally get him that meet and greet with my brother-in-law—the hockey god, or whatever.
I take out my phone and message my sister what happened, letting her know we wouldn’t make the game, but the King clan enters the ER waiting room before she can respond.
For the first time since I’ve known Stacy, she looks sheepish. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant to do that. It was a ‘Yay, Damon!’ type thing. No one else got confetti with their names. I wanted to do it for him.”
“Maybe no one got confetti because no one should’ve been on stage when the cannons went off,” I say.
“How was I to know that?” she whines. “The guy I paid off should have.”
I can’t be mad at her. This is who Stacy is.
“This does make me think I should ease up on the pranks.”
“Ya think?” I ask.
“I mean, paying off people costs a lot these days.”
I shake my head. “You’re a horrible human being.”
“Yep.” She smiles but it falls quickly. “Is he going to be okay? I do have half a heart and know it’s inappropriate to joke about this if I accidentally killed my brother.”
“Paramedics said he’s showing signs of a concussion but should be fine,” I say.
“But they’re not doctors,” Stacy says. “EMTs know shit all.”
“Makes me feel a lot better. Thanks, Stace,” I say.
“Shit. Sorry. I’m sure he’s going to be fine.”
We wait in that waiting room for over an hour. In that time, I pace, drink acid-flavored coffee, and glare at Stacy.
“King family?” A doctor asks, coming into the waiting area. We all stand. “Damon’s got a mild concussion—a lot less serious than we originally thought.”
I release a loud breath of relief.
“We need to keep him overnight for observation, but he can have visitors. Who’s first?”
I look at his parents but they’re looking at me. “I guess that’s, uh, me. I’m his partner.”