I’m scared that if I look at him, I’ll cry and I won’t ever be able to stop. “I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper. “I need to know that you’re going to quit this shit. I get it. You like to get high. But it’s—”
“It’s not that I like to get high,” he whispers.
I can hear that he’s crying, but I don’t turn. If I do, he might not say whatever he’s about to tell me.
“It’s that I don’t really like being in my own head. Because you know what I do? I just imagine Dad driving too fast on those icy roads. I imagine him grinning at Mom, you know, in that way he did. And you know Mom. She loved him more than life itself. So even if she knew it was stupid, she’d be indulging him, laughing or whatever. And then he took a corner and—shit—and he hit a bit of ice he never should’ve been speeding over. He killed our mom, Dani. That’s the truth and we both know it.”
“We can’t be sure of that,” I whisper, throat feeling like it’s closing. Tears are choking me.
“I just picture it again and again,” he groans. “I can’t stop. It’s a fucking cycle in my head. The only thing that stops it is getting high.”
I return to the bed, tears streaking down my face. Wyatt won’t look at me. He’s trying to hide his own tears. I touch his chin and make him look at me. “There are other ways to stop it,” I whisper. “We can get you help.”
“A shrink, you mean?”
“Why not? They can help you. It’s better than OD’ing and dying. I can’t do this, Wyatt. I can’t be here for you if you’re going to keep doing this to yourself.”
He swallows. “Fuck, Dan. Fuck.”
There’s a really long pause. He looks thin and pale and ill, and I wish I could just make everything better.
Finally, he takes my hand. “I’ll get help,” he whispers. “For real this time. You’re the only person I really care about, Dani.”
I let out a breath. “You mean it this time?”
He nods. “I swear on Mom and Dad.”
I flinch. He’s never said that before. “Jesus, Wyatt.”
He nods, face hardening. “I’m done with it. But I need to stop this messed-up movie in my head. I need … maybe I do need therapy.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I tell him. “If you had a broken leg, you wouldn’t refuse medical care for that, would you? This is no different.”
“I know,” he acknowledges. “You’re right.”
I want to stay with Wyatt longer, but I have a shift in half an hour and I need to have a shower, get changed, and grab a quick coffee. I give him a big, sloppy, sisterly kiss on the forehead, both of us laughing our tears away, and then, after promising him I’ll see him after work, I head to the staff room.
I wonder if I should tell Wyatt about the pregnancy, but decide to leave it for now. I don’t even know how I feel about it myself yet, so I’m not going to make it official. After getting ready, I walk out to Betty, expecting to see Ricky leaning against her driver’s side. But instead, it’s a tall man with sunken cheeks I don’t recognize. He’s got a bad comb-over and, when he talks, it’s with a heavy accent. I can’t tell if it’s Russian or something else vaguely Eastern European.
“I am Artan,” he says, smiling in a friendly way. “You can call me Artie. Did they tell you I would be covering for Ricky today?”
“No.”
“But that is always the way, eh? Hectic hospitals.”
My thoughts are still back in Wyatt’s room, so I barely even hear him. “Yeah, that’s always the way,” I answer distractedly. “All right, you know the drill?”
“Racing the reaper, yes?”
I haven’t heard that in a while. It’s an old EMT saying that we sometimes use on rough nights. “Something like that. Let’s go.”
I climb into Betty and start the engine, nodding shortly at my new partner. I want to go inside and check what the hell is wrong with Ricky, but we haven’t got time. Soon, we’re called out to a traffic collision and my mind is on the work.
“Can I drive soon?” Artie asks after about an hour of work. He’s a good, efficient worker, and I’m impressed.
“Sure,” I say. “I don’t see why not.”
He smiles.
27
Angelo
Leaving the hospital, I pull out my phone and call Levi. He doesn’t