Page 87 of Forbidden Romeo
“You don’t know that,” Jill interjects but I cut her off with merely a look.
“He punished me for that. He punished me until a couple months ago when he offered me this part.”
“Did Mom and Dad know?” Mallory asks.
I nod. “They didn’t know all the gritty details, but because there was an investigation, I had to tell them. I didn’t need a lawyer or anything, thank God.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jill offers again, gently. “And there’s nothing in that journal entry that suggests Holden blamed you.”
She’s not wrong about that.
“Not yet.”
But we both know the weeks following Duncan’s fall were the worst.
As I run my fingers over the notebook paper, I can feel the ridges and valleys of the words that have been scribbled so aggressively in a cheap BIC pen. The ink has seeped into the fibers of the page, leaving behind indented letters that resemble braille. It's as if Holden’s words were waiting all this time, begging to be felt and understood, their urgency palpable on the rough surface of the paper.
Jill stands and slides into the open spot next to me on the couch, tapping the page with her trembling finger. “Which is why you have to keep reading. You can’t leave a fresh wound open and bleeding. You have to cauterize it.”
I shift uncomfortably, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts.
“What about an old wound?” I finally ask, my voice hollow.
Part of me wants to move on, but another part can't let go of the pain. It’s the only thing I’ve known for years and there’s a sick sense of comfort in the known versus the unknown.
“Even more reason to finally treat it with more than a Band-Aid,” Mallory said.
Jill's slender fingers intertwine with mine, her touch delicate and warm. A wave of comfort washes over me as we sit hand in hand and my sister’s arm glides around my shoulders, hugging me into her.
“Come on,” Jill says. “It’s time.”
With a deep breath, I turn the page…
CHAPTER 34
Holden
Five years earlier…
The hospital room was cold and sterile, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sound breaking the heavy silence. I sat in the stiff plastic chair beside the bed, knees drawn up to my chest as I watched my friend lying motionless beneath the stark white sheets. Duncan's face was pale, almost ghostly, one side swollen and bruised from the impact of his fall. Tubes and wires snaked under the sheets, connecting him to machines that made sure he could breathe with his punctured lung.
Guilt gnawed at my stomach like an ulcer.
If only I had reacted faster, been closer to grab him before he went over that railing. If only I had stopped the girls' stupid bickering sooner, none of this would have happened.
If only I hadn’t gotten drunk before the show and fucked Katherine on stage.
If only, if only, if only…
Now my friend was hovering on the precipice between life and death and all I could do was sit helplessly and watch the heart monitor blip, my own breath stalling in the silent space between the beeps.
The door opened and a nurse entered quietly to check Duncan's vitals. I watched her adjust the IV drip, her movements quick and efficient. She gave me a gentle, pitying look before slipping back out, the click of the door impossibly loud in the hushed room.
Alone again, I glanced at the clock. 5:37 a.m. I should try to get some rest, but I knew sleep would evade me. Not with the image of Duncan's broken body burning behind my eyelids.
Another knock echoed at the door, this one stronger, louder. Not the gentle knock of a nurse on night shift.
“Holden,” my dad said, barging in without waiting for me to say come in, McCay right there at his side.