BoysLikeYou.indd (7 page)

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you weren’t careful. And I didn’t want to think about how many

times I’d had to listen to Rachel and her friends bitch about

breaking one of them.

In the grand scheme of things, I didn’t care about some-

thing as stupid as fake nails, and I was willing to bet most of my buddies didn’t either.

But her hand didn’t stay in mine for long, and by the time

we reached the entrance, I reluctantly gave in to her gentle tugs and released her.

She followed me to the elevators, and I punched the fifth

floor as if I had every right to. As if I’d done it a thousand

times before, when I’d only been up there once and that had

been a disaster.

Monroe didn’t say anything, she just followed me inside

the elevator, and I wished her hand was still in mine because

honestly, the urge to bolt was bad.

I thought of Rachel and how she had refused to come with

me that first time, three months ago. She’d pulled out the big

guns, had cried until her mascara made raccoon tracks down her

cheeks, and she’d managed to make me feel worse than I already

did. So I went without her, and it had turned out pretty much

the way she thought it would.

It had sucked. If she knew I was here now, I’m sure she’d hit

me in the shoulder and call me a loser.

But she wasn’t. I glanced down at my empty hand, and I was

still staring down when the elevator doors slid open.

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The first thing I saw was the nurse’s station. The second?

Taylor’s fierce scowl and her wild, blond hair.

“Who the hell is that?” she pointed at Monroe.

“You don’t need to be such a bitch, Taylor. This is Monroe.

She’s just a…a friend.”

“Uh- huh,” she said. “So she’s your ride?” I knew she was

thinking about Rachel, and judging by the nasty look she gave

Monroe, she thought there was a whole lot more going on

between us.

“Yeah,” I answered, a little pissed at her attitude. “What else

would she be?”

Monroe muttered something under her breath, and I guess I

was glad I didn’t hear it, because I had the feeling it wasn’t nice.

“I’ll be waiting over there,” she pointed toward a tired- looking lounge just past the nurse’s station. “You know, when you need

your
ride
home.”

Shit. She was pissed too. Seemed as if I was on a roll.

“Monroe,” I said softly.

“Forget it,
Nathan
. Go and do whatever it is you need to do, but I’m not sticking around all night.”

I watched her cross over to the lounge. Watched her sit on

the sofa, a faded brown one that looked like it was leather but I knew was cold, slippery vinyl. She ignored me, grabbed a magazine, and turned the other way, making me feel like an even

bigger shit.

“Are you coming?” Taylor grabbed my arm. “They’ll be back

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soon, and if you get caught, my ass will be toast and I don’t even want to know what he’ll do to yours.”

Taylor led me down the hall even though she didn’t need to.

I remembered the way. I saw it in my nightmares.

He was still in the same room, and as we walked by the nurse’s

station, Taylor waved to them, which was a good thing, because

I was pretty sure they wouldn’t let me in on my own.

When we reached 514, Taylor paused and shoved her hands

into the front pockets of her jeans. She looked tired, and the

heavy black crap she put around her eyes didn’t do much to

help. A year younger than Trevor and I, she was like a kid sister to me.

“I’ll let you,” she mumbled and glanced down the hall before

clearing her throat, “have some time.”

I followed her gaze and caught Monroe looking our way. She

stared at me for a few seconds and then flicked open her maga-

zine 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…”

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“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, anti-

septic 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’s. 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 it. At the machine that allowed

Trevor to exist in some weird, in- between place, and 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

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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 wrist-band 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.

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“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 was 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— ”

“Nathan Everets.”

I stared into Taylor’s eyes, feeling the world slide away at the

sound of her father’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, her eyes huge with worry as she

glanced behind me at her parents.

You know that moment when your world is about to implode?

That moment where you have to face a truth so hard you know

it will knock you on your ass and you feel sick inside?

Yeah, I’m there right now, and as I turned back, it was all I

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could do to meet Mike Lewis’s eyes. He used to like me. A lot.

Hell, I spent more time at the Lewis place than my own, because

Mike loved music as much as me and Trevor did and he let us

play as long and as loud as we wanted to.

Or I had. Past tense.

God, everything was so screwed up.

Trevor’s dad is built like a Mack truck. He’s six foot six with

broad shoulders and arms that are covered in tattoos. His thick

neck and square jaw are intimidating, but then so are the shaved

head and bulging biceps.

A sob sounded just behind him and I felt sick all over again

at the sad, forlorn look in Trevor’s mom’s eyes. Brenda Lewis

was about the same age as my mom, but she looked at least ten

years older now.

I guess not knowing if your kid is going to live will do that

to you.

“I told you never to show your face here again,” Mike said

slowly,
carefully
, as if he was talking to an idiot. Which I guess he was.

He took a step toward me, and every muscle in my body

ached with tension. My hands clenched and my chest tightened,

and for one crazy second, I wished he would just throw a punch.

Just one, because I needed to hurt more than I already did.

“Dad, leave him alone. He just wanted to see Trevor.” Taylor

tried to play nice but her father wasn’t having any of it. His eyes narrowed as they left me and moved to his daughter.

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“You stay out of this. I’ll deal with you at home.” Mike’s

anger was so thick and strong, I swear you could see it in the air.

And I was choking on it. God, was I choking on it.

“Sir,” I began, desperate to help, to do something,
anything
to diffuse the situation. “This isn’t Taylor’s fault.”

“I know,” he said slowly, the veins in his neck corded and

sticking out like something bad was filling them up. Hatred,

most likely.

“This is your fault, Nathan. All of it.” He pointed down the

hall. “The fact that my boy is in there, lying in a coma, fighting for his life, that’s on you.” He sucked in a huge breath like he

was about to dive under water. “The fact that they had to cut

into his skull so he didn’t die,
that
is on you.”

“Mike,” Brenda said softly.

I was aware that everyone was watching. The nurses. The

patients. The doctors. The man in his bright pink pajamas

over by the elevators. It seemed as if everyone had stopped

doing whatever it was they’d been doing and all eyes were

on me.

“I’m not going to tear him apart, honey,” Mike replied. “Even

though I want to. But I’m telling you this now, man to man. I

don’t want to ever see you here again, got that? You nearly killed my son, and as far as I’m concerned, your ass should be in jail.

We all know the only reason you’re not riding a bench in juvie

is because your daddy’s got the mayor’s ear and your uncle is an

auxiliary officer in the sheriff’s department.”

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“Sir…if I could trade places with Trevor, I would.” The words

tumbled from my mouth and I stepped forward.

He shook his head— a warning— and I stopped.

“I trusted you, Nathan. You were the responsible one, and

maybe I was wrong to do that, but…I did, and I can’t have you

here right now because I can’t control the anger I feel. Trevor’s fighting for his life because of you.”

His words ripped into me like a knife through bone. Every

single one of them hurt.

Mike slipped his hands around his wife and hugged her,

motioning for Taylor to join them. “Maybe I’m wrong to put

this all on you but I can’t help it. It’s the way I feel and as much as the sight of you makes me sick.” His voice was hoarse and he

pointed down the hall. “What you saw in there? My son hooked

up to a bunch of machines and tubes? That isn’t something I’d

wish on anyone, not even if they deserved it.”

Mr. Lewis turned away from me, but he paused before