Chapter 21: Heartbeat Haven

Cody POV

I wake up slow, my room dark and quiet. My hand’s sticky from last night, shorts twisted at my ankles. Ryan’s texts glow on my phone, dirty and desperate. “Miss your cock.” My chest hurts, tight and raw. Then that voicemail buzzes in my head. I grab my phone, hands shaky, and play it. His voice crackles, low and rough. “Cody, I can’t sleep. I need you back.” It cuts off fast, like he hung up quick. My throat closes up. Tears sting my eyes. I want to call, but my pride’s a wall, hard and cold. I drop the phone, curling tight. My heart’s loud, aching bad.

Morning comes gray and slow. I’m on my couch, staring at nothing. My coffee’s cold, mug heavy in my hands. My phone buzzes again. I jump, spilling a little. It’s not Ryan. It’s Mom. My stomach twists hard. I answer fast. “Cody,” she says, voice shaky. “Jake’s in the hospital. Overdose.” My heart stops, then slams fast. “What?” I say, voice small. “He’s alive, but bad,” she says. “Come now.” The call ends. My hands shake bad. I grab my shoes, pulling them on quick. My chest’s tight, like I can’t breathe. Jake. My scruffy brother. His warnings flash— “Fame’s fucked up”. Now this.

I run out, streets blurry past me. My sneakers slap wet pavement, rain from last night still pooled. The hospital’s close, white and big. I burst in, lights harsh and bright. My eyes burn, squinting hard. Mom’s there, hair messy, face red. “Where is he?” I ask, voice breaking. She points down the hall. “Room 12,” she says, quiet. My legs move fast, shaky. Nurses rush by, voices loud. My throat’s dry, sore. I need Ryan. Bad. My hand fumbles for my phone. I call him, no thinking. It rings once. He picks up. “Cody?” he says, sleepy but sharp.

“I need you,” I say, voice cracking hard. Tears spill hot down my cheeks. “Jake overdosed. Hospital. Please.” My chest heaves, air stuck. He breathes fast. “I’m coming,” he says, firm. “Stay there.” The call cuts. I wipe my face, hands wet. My heart’s pounding, wild and scared. I find Jake’s room, door cracked open. He’s in the bed, pale and small. Tubes stick out of him, machines beeping slow. My knees wobble. I grab the wall, steadying. My eyes sting more, blurry with tears.

I sit by him, chair cold under me. My hand shakes, hovering over his. He’s still, chest rising slow. My throat burns, choking me. “Jake,” I whisper, soft and broken. No answer. My chest hurts bad, like it’s splitting. I think of him barging in, yelling at Ryan. He was mad, but he’s my brother. My fingers brush his, cold and limp. Tears drip off my chin, splashing on the sheet. I need Ryan’s arms, his voice. My head drops, heavy and wet.

Footsteps come fast. I look up, eyes blurry. Ryan’s there, bursting in. His jacket’s open, shirt wrinkled. His hair’s a mess, dark and wild. My heart jumps, warm and dumb. He sees me, eyes wide. “Cody,” he says, soft. He’s on me quick, pulling me up. His arms wrap tight, strong around me. My face presses his chest, warm through his shirt. He kisses my forehead, lips soft and slow. “I’m here,” he says, voice low. My hands grab his back, clinging hard. Tears soak his shirt, hot and fast. My chest shakes, sobbing quiet.

He pulls me to a corner, away from Jake’s bed. My legs tremble, weak. He sits on a chair, tugging me down. I curl into him, knees up. His shirt’s off fast, tossed on the floor. Mine follows, shaky hands peeling it off. My chest presses his, skin on skin. No sex. Just us. My head rests on his shoulder, nose in his neck. He smells like sweat and him, sharp and good. My tears slow, wetting his skin. His heartbeat thumps steady under my ear, calming me. My hand finds his, fingers lacing tight. He squeezes back, warm and firm.

I breathe slow, shaky still. His chest rises with mine, soft and close. My eyes shut, heavy. “He’s bad,” I say, voice small. My throat’s raw, sore from crying. Ryan’s hand rubs my back, slow circles. “He’ll make it,” he says, quiet. His lips brush my hair, light and warm. My chest loosens a little, trust flickering back. I nod, face in his neck. My fingers grip his hand harder, needing him. He’s solid, real. My heart’s loud, but it’s steadying. His warmth seeps into me, chasing the cold.

We sit like that, quiet. Machines beep soft in the background. My legs ache, curled tight. His arm stays around me, heavy and safe. My tears dry, sticky on my cheeks. I lift my head, looking at him. His eyes are dark, soft on mine. “Thanks,” I say, hoarse. My voice shakes a little. He nods, thumb brushing my hand. “Always,” he says, low. My chest warms up, full and raw. I lean back in, forehead on his. Our breaths mix, warm and slow. My hand rests on his chest, feeling muscle. He’s here. For me.

Time drags, slow and heavy. Nurses come and go, shoes squeaking. My head stays on him, eyes half-open. Jake’s still, tubes snaking around him. My stomach twists, scared and sick. Ryan’s hand slides up, cupping my neck. “You’re okay,” he says, soft. His voice steadies me, like a rope pulling me up. I nod slow, believing him. My fingers trace his arm, warm skin under mine. Trust grows, small and fragile. My chest hurts less, leaning on him.

We don’t move much. My back’s stiff, but I stay curled. His heartbeat’s my anchor, thumping calm. My tears stop, eyes dry now. I look at Jake, pale under the lights. My throat tightens again. Ryan pulls me closer, arm tight. “He’s tough,” he says, quiet. My hand squeezes his, hard and sure. “Yeah,” I say, soft. My voice cracks less now. His warmth holds me, keeping me whole. My chest feels full, shaky but strong. I need him. He’s here.

Then Jake stirs. My eyes snap wide, heart jumping fast. His head moves, slow and weak. A whisper slips out, rough and low. “Cody, he’s trouble.” My breath stops, sharp and cold. Ryan freezes, hand still on mine.