Seconds Before Sunrise (The Timely Death Trilogy) (9 page)

“I say one month.”

“He bounced back in a week last time,” Mitchell argued.

Sarah twirled her brush through her fingers. “But he wasn’t hurt.”

“Welborn enjoys sulking around too much,” Mitchell said. “He’ll be back.”

“Good call,” Sarah agreed but shook her head. “I don’t see how someone so awesome can change so much.”

“He used to be pretty cool,” Mitchell agreed.

Sarah tapped her forehead. “Hit his head in too many wrecks.”

They continued to talk, and I gripped my seat to keep myself from walking across the room and slapping them. I didn’t understand how they could be so cold.

“Don’t worry abo
ut Welborn,” Jonathon said.

M
y neck cracked when I turned to him. “What?”

He
gestured toward the gossip. “You were listening,” he said. “I figured you were worried. Are you friends with him?”

I hesitated. Jonathon wasn’t going to give up.

“Kind of,” I sighed. “He’s my partner in homeroom class. He wasn’t there yesterday, and I guess I wondered where he was.”

“He’s fine,” Jonathon said, dragging his fingers over his palm as if he were drawing.

I ignored his habit. I wanted to know about Eric. “How do you know?”

“Our fathers are best friends,” he said. “I know Eric really well.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Not many people do,” Jonathon chuckled. “But we’re friends.”

“I didn’t know he had friends,” I said, hoping my honesty wouldn’t come across as harsh as it felt.

“He has lots of friends, Jess,” Jonathon said, standing this time. He walked over to his palette, and I followed him without hesitation. If he could come to me, I could do the same thing to him.

“I didn’t mean that as a joke,” I clarified, sitting next to him.

He picked up his paints.
“Eric and I tend not to talk during school.”

“Why?”

“That’s just how we are,” he said. “He does his sulking thing, and I do my artist thing.” His foggy eye seemed to focus on me. “I thought you met my father.”

“I did?”

Jonathon’s thick glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. “George Stone? He was at Eric’s house when you two were working on your science project last year.”

It came to me like a distant whi
sper − the bickering, chasing Eric down, his wit, and everything else I despised about the project. But the other memories happened like a burst of lightning − the willow tree, his house, his room. Everything was a dream I had to fight to remember, but it had only been six months.

Remembering George Stone was a migraine.
When he had opened the door, his voice had frightened me. He had longer hair, but his lack of facial hair made him look younger than I had originally thought. I didn’t think he had kids. He didn’t seem to be that kind of man.

“I did meet him,” I managed through the headache. “Weird.”

Jonathon turned his entire body toward me. “My dad likes to give me his autobiography every night,” he joked, explaining how he knew.

I laughed. “Fun.”

“Very.”

“My un
cle said the ambulance crew thought Welborn broke some ribs,” Sarah continued, louder every minute. I might as well have been sitting next to her. “He might even have permanent eye damage. It was swollen shut.”

I
focused on Jonathon. “Are you positive he’s okay?” I whispered.

He scooted closer.
“Positive as can be,” he said. “I talked to him once, but I don’t think he’ll remember. He kept drifting in and out.”

Jonathon was not making me feel better.

“He blacked out?” I asked.

He snapped his mouth shut as
his gaze drifted over my expression. “He’ll be okay, but he isn’t in good shape. Her uncle was right about that much.”

“What exactly happened?”

“He was speeding in that Charger of his, and he lost control,” he confirmed Sarah’s story. “He’s not too happy about totaling his car. He loved that thing.”

“I think I’d be more worried about my he
alth than my car,” I said.

J
onathon laughed under his breath. “That’s Eric for you,” he said. “He only fractured three ribs, and he has a pretty nasty black eye, but he’ll be walking around in a few days. No worries.”

“Fractured ribs?” I cringed, but I was glad to hear his eye wasn’t permanently damaged. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Sure, but he can manage a few bumps and bruises. He’s a tough kid.”

A part of me already knew that. Just by the look in his eyes, I knew he was tough. He was complicated
, too, and I was convinced Eric was simply misunderstood. He was always nice to me, and I couldn’t help but feel the desire to be nice back to him. I wanted to make sure he was okay.

“D
o you see him tonight?” I asked.

Jonathon’s
focus returned to his palette. “I’m planning to,” he said, suddenly refusing to look at me. “Want me to say hi for you?”

“Can you take me?” I asked, and Jonathon went rigid.
My stomach twisted. “I’d like to say hi myself.”

“I don’t know i
f that’s the best idea, Jess,” he said, each word as deliberate as the first.

“Please,” I begged, touching his arm. “I just want to make sure he’s okay myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Jonathon.
” I was desperate for his help. “Please?”

Jonathon glanced over before staring at his painting, sighing. “I guess I can’t stop you.”

“Thank you.” I hugged Jonathon without a second thought. He felt like a friend now, and Eric, in a way, had always been one. It would be nice to see them both outside of school, even under the circumstances.

“You’re welcome,” Jonathon
said, tense beneath my arms.

I let go. “Meet up after school?”

“I’ll have Teresa take us,” he said.

“Teresa?”

“Eric’s—” Jonathon took a moment to breathe. “She’s a family friend, too.”

The name was like my other memories
– familiar, but a migraine. I repeated the name until I got a mental picture of her up on the hill, underneath the willow tree as she talked to Eric. She used to pick him up every day after lunch. “Short, black hair?”

“You’ve seen her?”

“I think so,” I said. “Last year sometime.”

“She has an old
, silver BMW.” Jonathon eyed the clock. Class was almost over. “Meet me out front.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said, standing as bell rang.

Jessica

The car door squeaked when Jonathon opened it, and Teresa was already turned around, focused on him. Jonathon’s face turned red.

“Teresa, this is Jess,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat as I got in the back.

She was pretty, but she was even prettier close up. Her pale skin was flawless, and her cerulean nails were as bright as her eyes. Behind the black bob, she gawked, and her bottom lip opened up. I expected her to say something, but she only put on her dark sunglasses.

“She’s coming to the hospital with us,” Jonathon explained.

“Jonathon—”

“Not now,” he grumbled.

I straightened up to peer into the rearview mirror. Teresa was tightlipped until she turned to me. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hi.”

“Are you strapped in?” she asked, and I nodded. “Good.”

She drove away from the cracked curb, and no one spoke. Jonathon turned up the radio
to mask the awkward silence.

I
t was fifteen agonizing minutes before we reached the hospital. I got out of her car as quickly as I could and followed them into the giant building. Like most people, I didn’t like hospitals, but I was willing to deal with it if it meant seeing Eric. The rumors made it sound like he would never function again.

“He’s this way,” Teresa said, seemingly calmer, and we were buzzed into a section I didn’t even see a secretary fo
r. I walked behind them, only stopping when they did.

A middle-aged man stood outside of a room, and I recognized him as Eric’s father. His de
meanor was so alike his son’s that I couldn’t forget him.

“Mr. Welborn.” Jonathon gained the man’s att
ention.

He looked up, and his expression dropped when
he saw me. “Jess?”

“Hi, Mr. Welborn,” I squeaked,
waving. “I’m surprised you remembered my name.”

“
Well,” he cleared his throat. “Eric doesn’t have many girls over.”

Eric’s name twisted my gut. “Is he okay
?”

“Other than his ribs, he’s perfectly fine.” H
is father sounded more confident than anyone else had. “They have him on a lot of painkillers, so he’s been sleeping a lot.”

Jonathon
leaned to look past Mr. Welborn. “Is he awake right now?”

Mr. Welborn stepped aside.
“Just woke up, Jonathon,” he said the boy’s name like it was a curse.

Jonathon hung his head, and Teresa moved toward him. Their
rigid movements amplified my nerves, but I fought the urge to step back. I was here to see Eric, not to worry about whatever family drama was happening.

“You can go in and see him, Jess,” his father
spoke to me like an old friend would. “He’s in there.”

I hesitated
, staring at the white curtains used for doors. Eric and I were classmates, but I still didn’t know what he would think about my visit. I looked at Jonathon and Teresa. “Don’t you guys want to see him?”

“Believe me, Jess,
” Teresa began, opening the curtain. “He’ll be more ecstatic to see you than us.” With her free hand, she pushed me toward his room. “I have to talk to his dad anyways.”

“Are you sure?” I wanted them to come with me.
“I mean, if you want to see him—”

“I’m
positive,” she insisted. “Have fun.”

She pushed me again, causing
me to stumble, and I grabbed the doorframe as if I could still hold myself back, but I couldn’t. I was in his room, and there he was, lying in bed. His brown hair matted to the pillow like it hadn’t been washed in days, and his arm was wrapped. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a giant, black ring surrounding it, and his cheek was puffy and red. The rest of his face was blotchy and pale, but I had never been happier to see him before.

“Jessi
ca?” he croaked, sitting up. His eyes were glazed over. “What are you doing here?”

“I—I—” I hovered in the doorway
. “I’m not sure, really,” I admitted. “I heard you were in a wreck, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Eric’s brow rose, but it crumbled in seconds. I wondered if
this basic expression caused him pain. He patted the bed.

I walked across the room and sat inches away from him, and a rush of memories twisted through my mind.
Last semester, we had sat on his bed when we worked on our project. He leaned against me that night, and I was nervous. This time, I was nervous for him. I didn’t want to hurt him.

“I’m okay,” he said, managing a promising
smile. “Except for the eye, that’s not so good.”

“And the ribs,
” I reminded him.

H
e chuckled, wincing as his chest moved. “Those aren’t so great either,” he agreed, but his smile remained as if he couldn’t let it go.

I wanted to smile back, but I couldn’t. I felt uncomfortably sick to see him in such a state, but I felt more selfish for being unable to control my emotions.

His fingers tapped the space between my hands. “How’d you get here?”

“Jonathon. We have art class together,” I said. “I didn’t know you were friends with him.”

“And I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Small world.”

“Small school,” he retorted.

“It is,” I admitted, hesitating to say anything else. It was too strange to look at Eric. I was used to seeing him in class,
listening to music through his headphones. Now, I doubted he could even tilt his chair back without some part of him hurting.

“I’ll be okay,” he whispered, and chills ran up my neck. He could read my body language better than anyone else
I knew. “It could’ve been worse.”

“It shou
ld’ve been worse.” I relied on the information I had heard. He was lucky to be alive. My parents had done the same thing, and they weren’t. A part of me wanted to lecture him on his recklessness, but a bigger part of me knew the most important thing was that he was alive.

I stared at my hands as I dug my nails into my palms. I heard the bed shift before I realized he’d grabbed my hand. He threaded his fingers beneath mine and pulled my nails out of my hand. When I looked up, he let go.