Three Months Earlier — October
“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors
The eggshell-white walls, the smell of bleach lingering in the room, and the crackle of a nurse’s voice over the PA system—everything about Mount Sinai Hospital is the same as any other.
But I have this one memorized.
This is the hospital where my whole life changed.
It baffles me that four walls can hold the happiest memories for some people and the most devastating ones for others.
For me, it holds both.
This is where I was diagnosed with a rare form of childhood leukemia when I was six years old. From doctor’s visits to surgeries to experimental procedures, I spent nearly eight years in and out of this hospital. Sometimes it was only for a day or two; other times, it would be for months. And because of that, I know it like the back of my hand.
So many tears have been shed within these four walls. Not just sad ones, but happy ones too—because it was also in this hospital where I was told I was in remission, just a few weeks shy of my fourteenth birthday.
That’s what today is—the ten-year anniversary of that moment. It’s still, to this day, the best moment of my life.
Today is the absolute worst.
Except it isn’t because of a checkup or treatment or cancer. No, today is turning out to be much worse than any of those things. It’s beating out every single day of those eight years and every single day since then that I’ve spent here.
Because as of today, this is also the hospital my mom, my dad, and I were brought to after being in a car accident. It’s where I currently lie in a hospital bed, just like the ones I spent my childhood in, while my older siblings and I wait to hear whether or not our parents are alive.
My left arm is in a cast, and my pale-white skin is now littered in bruises. The windshield shattered when my car rolled, sending glass everywhere, so there are also stitches up the right side of my body. The doctor told me I have a concussion, along with a few fractured ribs from the pressure of the airbag and the seatbelt tugging on my chest. An IV in my right arm feeds me painkillers, though they definitely aren’t helping dull the ache in my chest.
“How are you holding up?” Dylan, my brother, asks gruffly.
He’s the protector of our family. As the oldest child and only son, he surpasses every expectation society sets about the kind of man he should be. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders and a constant dark cloud hanging over him, but he’s also the most loyal person I’ve ever met—almost to a fault. He would do anything to make sure the people he loves are safe and happy. If it came to it, he would take a bullet for all of us.
“I’m fine,” I rasp numbly. I’m in too much shock to give a deeper answer.
“You know it’s okay if you aren’t, right?” my older sister, Paige, says.
My sister has been the calm in every storm our family has faced. She’s the one we all turn to for advice, and she somehow manages to find a way to stay positive no matter what’s happening around us. Sunshine radiates from her. She cares more for others than she does herself, even though it may hurt her in the process. There’s no one better at keeping the peace in the chaos of our family. She’s the strongest person I know—the glue that holds our family together.
Without her, we would’ve fallen apart long before now.
How she’s still holding her head high and keeping a smile on her face in a time like this—even if it is just for show—I’ll never understand, but I’m grateful for it. She’s the light we need right now.
“I know,” I tell her. “But all things considered, I really am okay.” It’s a lie—I’m nowhere near okay. Not physically, and definitely not mentally. But I don’t need them worrying about me right now when I’m alive and our parents may not be.
“And you know it’s not your fault?” Dylan probes, a growl in his tone.
“Sure,” I tell him with a nod. Though it sure as hell feels like it is.
I might not have been the one who caused the accident, but it’s my fault they were in my car. I offered to drive them home rather than letting them use their very safe car service with the very protective driver.
It’s my fault they were even out tonight, with it being the tenth anniversary of my remission.
Deep down, I know I didn’t cause the accident. The other driver hit us, and this could’ve happened whether they were with me or not.
But that doesn’t change the fact that they were, and for that, I feel like I’m to blame. No matter what my siblings tell me, I will continue blaming myself. Probably for the rest of my life.
“Lennon—” Paige begins, but I cut her off before she has a chance to say anything else.
“I know what you’re going to say, P, and I appreciate it, but it’s not going to take away the guilt I’m feeling right now. Until I know Mom and Dad are okay, it’ll eat me up. And if they aren’t”—my voice cracks at the possibility of losing them—“I can promise you I will never stop blaming myself, no matter what either of you say. So please, just…don’t. I love you, but I can’t hear it right now.”
My eyes shift back and forth between the two of them. Dylan stares blankly at me while Paige has tears in her eyes.
If that didn’t tell them how I’m really doing, then I don’t know what will. But it had to be said. If I didn’t say it, they’d continue reminding me of how not my fault the accident was, which in turn would make me feel even more like it is my fault.
I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay, Lens. We understand, and we love you too. We’re here for you, no matter what happens.” Paige squeezes the hand she has grasped in hers before reaching across me to grab Dylan’s hand, too, and he grabs onto my cast gently.
I glance between the two of them, appreciating how patient they’re being with me. My brother and sister are a steady balance between light and dark, serious and optimistic, and I truly couldn’t love either of them more.
At this moment, I realize that while I don’t want it to just be the three of us after this, maybe we will be okay as long as we still have each other.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Dr. Hill says alongside a knock on the door. “How are you feeling, Miss Thorne?”
I tilt my chin to my chest. “I’m okay. The meds are helping with the pain.”
“Glad to hear it.” She walks over to check the dosage before writing something down in my chart. Then she moves back to the doorway, looking out into the hall before glancing back to us.
“Any news about our parents yet?” Dylan grits out, worry laced in his tone.
The doctor clears her throat as her eyes shift between the three of us. My heart worms its way up into my throat with every second that passes as we wait for her to start speaking.
“Not yet,” she begins, and I breathe a sigh of relief. No news is better than hearing they’re dead. It means there’s still hope. “Both of them are still in surgery—your mother is with the cardiothoracic surgeon to remove the piece of glass embedded in her heart, and our best neurosurgeon is working on reducing the swelling in your father’s brain. I promise, as soon as there’s news, I’ll come tell you.”
“Thank you,” Paige says softly as Dylan grunts.
There’s an uncomfortable silence in the air for a split second before Dylan excuses himself to get coffees.
“I think you’re going to want to stay for this,” the doctor states.
Paige sits upright as two police officers join Dr. Hill in the doorway, and she gestures to them.
“These gentlemen would like to talk to you about the accident.”
I gulp, my throat dry.
Paige turns to me, tears welling in her eyes. “Are you comfortable speaking with them about what happened?” she asks, her voice shaky. She can’t help her constant worry despite the fact that I know she would give anything to have some answers.
I blink. It’s not that I’m not comfortable with it—the issue is I don’t remember much of anything.
All I can see in my memories is the image of the other driver with a breathalyzer in his mouth, which is also the part I have yet to share with my siblings.
Swallowing roughly, I tilt my head down. “Yeah, I’ll talk to them.”
The doctor nods and takes a step out of the room as the officers come in further.
“Hi, Miss Thorne,” one of the officers says. He’s an older man with kind eyes. His partner looks like a rookie with the face of a twelve-year-old. Both of them send sad smiles our way, as if they know something we don’t. “I’m Curtis, and this is my trainee, Josh. We have some questions to ask you about the accident, if that’s okay.”
I nod hesitantly. “I really don’t remember much.”
“That’s alright. We have a pretty good idea of what happened based on eye-witness statements and the cameras at the intersection, we just need some confirmation from you. Hopefully, our questions will help jog your memory.”
I sigh, relieved. “Okay.”
“According to the few witnesses we’ve spoken to, you had the advanced left turn, correct?”
I nod. “Yes. I even looked both ways before making the turn because I know that intersection is dangerous.”
Curtis tips his head as Josh writes down some notes. “Good call. Do you remember seeing any other cars coming?”
“No. He came out of nowhere.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he says kindly. “What makes you assume the driver was a he, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I saw him at the scene. After the accident. I was in the back of the ambulance and I saw…” I trail off, wondering if this is really the best time or place to drop the bomb that the other driver was likely intoxicated.
Paige squeezes my cast-free hand and says, “It’s okay, Lens. What did you see?”
I glance between my siblings, clearing my throat. Now is as bad a time as any, I suppose. “I saw an officer on scene hold what I can only assume was a breathalyzer up to his mouth.”
I hear Paige gasp at the same time that Dylan growls.
“Was he fucking drunk?!” Dylan barks in the direction of the officers.
“Calm down, Dyl,” I hiss.
Dylan takes a deep breath, and Curtis continues. “Yes, you are correct in assuming the other driver was under the influence—his blood-alcohol content was zero-point-two. We’ve taken him into custody. Everything you’ve told us aligns with what we heard from witnesses and saw on the camera, and he will face the appropriate consequences once we have all the information.” He doesn’t need to provide more details—we all know what he means.
All the information refers to once we know whether our parents will survive or not. Because I’m assuming that drunk driver and drunk driver who killed two people are two very different charges.
“Do you have any questions for us?”
I shake my head numbly. Curtis nods once, motions something to Josh beside him, and turns to leave the room.
“Wait,” Dylan adds before they leave. “Who is he?”
“Sorry?” Curtis turns to face us again. “You mean his name?”
Dylan nods curtly.
Curtis clears his throat. “Logan Jameson.”
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