Bad Boy Saint (Bad Boy 1)
I went to the small bathroom and brushed my teeth, washed my face, and then gathered up my hair into a topknot. When I glanced in the mirror, I saw a face white as a ghost, and haggard from staying up late too many nights to get on top of my classes. I needed sleep but it appeared that I wouldn’t be getting any for a while.
I pulled my laptop into my book bag, grabbed a couple of articles I'd need to read for classes tomorrow, and stood at my window to wait for Amy.
Then, I realized I'd have to miss my contracts class, so I texted my Prof.
CELIA: Sorry, but I have to miss class today. My brother is in ICU at Mass General.
I didn’t expect a response, so I went down the stairs to the front of Kirkland House and stood on the sidewalk, my nerves all jangling. When would Amy be here?
Most importantly – what the hell happened to Graham?
He didn't get into fights. He was an investment advisor in a startup he and his friend Mark formed a couple of years earlier.
He managed an investment fund. Stocks. Bonds. Securities.
He didn't fight…
Not even with Spencer, our bastard of a stepfather, who beat the crap out of both of us when we were kids.
Graham took it in silence, unlike me. I always rebelled. It cost me many a slapped face, but I could not accept his authority.
After my father died in the car crash that disabled my mother, Spencer tried to become our replacement father, but neither Graham nor I accepted him in that role.
I hated him. When I was nineteen, I decided that the last time he'd hit me was the last time I'd take any more shit from him. That was it. I never went home again, and I never had to take anything from him again.
I aimed to keep it that way.
Amy finally drove up in front of the building in her old jalopy of a car – an eighties Austin Marina, dark green, dented and held together by duct tape and wire. I hopped into the passenger side, my book bag in hand.
"Oh my God, Celia," she said, her eyes wide as we drove off. "What the hell happened? It's not like Graham to get into a fight."
I fastened my safety belt and leaned back, my eyes closed. "I have no freaking idea. Maybe he was mugged?"
She shrugged and made a face. "Possible. But his office is in the swanky part of the city."
I shrugged, at a loss about how Graham could have gotten into a fight. "All I know is that the ICU nurse called and said he'd been in an 'altercation' and was being kept sedated. He must have a concussion."
"I can't believe it. What do you suppose happened? I didn't think investment bankers got into fist fights."
"Me neither," I said and watched the streets pass by. The world seemed so normal, with people walking down the sidewalks, going about their business. My brother was in ICU and the hospital called and said I should get down right away.
That wasn't good.
&nb
sp; "Do your parents know?" she asked as we waited at a stoplight.
I shook my head. "Honestly, I won't call them until I know what's happening. They're in Germany right now and so it's late at night for them. The last thing I want is to scare my mother. She wouldn't be able to sleep if she thought Graham was dying or something."
"Do you think he's dying?"
"No, no," I said quickly, "but if my mom got a call late at night, she might freak out. You know what she's like."
Amy rolled her eyes. "I know," she said. "She can't handle any stress. It's probably best you wait and see how Graham is. But you should call her if things are bad."
"I will."
She reached out and took my hand in hers, squeezing. "I'm so sorry. You must be freaking out."