Chapter 86
Summer's POV
"Jesus. Where are they from?"
"Some big city high school, I think. Probably on a field trip."
My paper cup slipped from my fingers and clattered into the basin. I stood there, staring at the water trickling down the drain, my brain trying to process what I'd just heard.
He carved along the length of it, then crossed back the other way.
Half a trash can of gauze.
Attempted murder.
I saw it again in my head—Kieran at the lake, his face blank and cold, dragging Tyler into the water. The way he'd looked at me right before he collapsed. The shape his mouth had made: I'm sorry.
He'd done this on purpose. He'd hurt himself, made it look like Tyler attacked him, created evidence that would hold up because it was written in his own blood and his own skin.
All to protect me.
All because Tyler had those videos.
I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. My whole body was shaking. I pressed my hands over my mouth to keep the sobs in, but they came anyway, silent and wrenching, tearing through my chest like something with claws.
Down the hallway, I could hear noise from Tyler's room. Voices, footsteps, the low murmur of adults trying to calm him down. Mr. Davis was in there. Another teacher I didn't recognize. Probably calling his parents, arranging things, making sure he was comfortable.
And Kieran's room was silent.
No one was going in. No one was checking on him. Just a closed metal door with a number on it and the faint smell of disinfectant seeping out from underneath.
I thought about my first life. The wedding where he stood alone. The office parties where he stayed in the corner. The house where he locked himself in his study and I never asked why.
He'd always been alone.
And I'd let him be.
"Not this time," I whispered to myself. My voice was shaking but I meant it. "I won't let you be alone this time."
The door to Treatment Room 2 opened. A doctor came out, pulling off his gloves. He was middle-aged, with tired eyes and gray hair, and he walked over to Ms. Thompson with a clipboard.
"The wounds have been sutured. Blood loss isn't critical, but he has pre-existing nerve damage in his right hand, and this injury aggravated the old scar tissue. We'd like to keep him overnight for observation, monitor for infection or nerve complications."
I was on my feet before I realized I was moving.
"Can I see him?" My voice came out hoarse. "Please. I need to see him."
The doctor looked at me, taking in my tear-stained face and pajamas. "Are you family?"
I froze. "I—"
"She's his classmate," Ms. Thompson said quietly.
The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry. Hospital policy is family only—"
"I'm the closest thing he has to family here." The words burst out of me, desperate and raw. "His mom is in Boston. She can't get here until tomorrow. Please. Please, I just need to see that he's okay."
Ms. Thompson looked at me for a long moment. Then she turned to the doctor and nodded slightly.
He sighed. "Ten minutes. And don't upset him."
I was through the door before he could change his mind.
Kieran was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, not lying down. His right arm was wrapped in thick white bandages from elbow to wrist, and there was medical tape on his left cheekbone. The bruises on his neck were dark purple-red, clear fingerprints pressed into his skin like a collar.
He looked up when I came in. For just a second, his expression was open—surprised, almost vulnerable. Then it shuttered closed and he looked away.
I walked over to the bed. My legs felt like they might give out but I kept moving until I was standing right in front of him. I wanted to touch his face, smooth back his hair, check the bandages, but I was afraid of hurting him.
"Does it still hurt?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper.
He shook his head. "No."
Silence. He was staring at the window, at the darkness outside, not looking at me.
"Why did you do that to yourself?" I couldn't keep the question in. My voice broke on the last word. "Why?"
He didn't answer.
I took a shaky breath and reached for his left hand—the one that wasn't bandaged. His fingers were cold. I wrapped both my hands around them and held on.
"I know why you did it." My voice was trembling but I forced the words out. "Tyler's cameras. Those videos he took. You wanted to make sure the evidence would stick. You wanted to protect me. So you—" I couldn't finish the sentence.
Kieran's hand tensed in mine but he still didn't look at me.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "I'm not going to let you face this alone. I'm going to Ms. Thompson right now and I'm going to tell her everything—what Tyler did, why you were there, all of it. And I'm going to make sure everyone knows—"
"Summer, don't." His voice was rough. He finally turned to look at me, and his eyes were dark and exhausted. "Don't get involved. This is going to get complicated. Tyler's father is on the school board. You—"
"I'm already involved." I cut him off. My voice was steadier now, almost fierce. "I was always involved. And I'm not going to stand back and watch you handle this by yourself." I squeezed his hand tighter. "I don't want you to be alone anymore. I don't want you to carry everything by yourself like you always do."
His eyes widened slightly. I could see his throat move as he swallowed.
"You're not alone," I said quietly. "Not anymore. I'm here. I'm staying. And I'm going to make sure everyone knows the truth."