canvas. “Where did you find this?”
One of my mom’s best friends is an artist, and after the night last spring when I lay under that tree with Mia, I got the idea to commission her to paint this.
“It’s like the stories your mom would tell us when we were kids,” Bailey says, studying the painting of the stars peeking through the moonlit tree branches. “Wow.”
“This is the most thoughtful gift anyone—” Mia bites her lip, as if she won’t allow herself to finish that thought. I want to revel in the moment and enjoy Mia’s reaction, but I can’t with Bailey standing there, scowling at me, seeing too much.
She doesn’t like that I gave this gift to Mia. She doesn’t like that I showed up here in the middle of the night when Mia was having a rough day. Maybe she thinks I’m encroaching on Brogan’s territory.
Maybe she’s right.
“I don’t know what to say, Arrow,” Mia says. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I shift awkwardly under Bailey’s scrutiny. “I should go.”
Bailey nods. “Night, Arrow.”
I can’t take my eyes off Mia and the way she holds my gift. As if it’s the most precious thing she’s ever received.
Bailey clears her throat and gives me a hard look. “Drive safely.”
“Happy birthday, Mia.”
When I get back to the dorm, Chris is awake and sitting in the common area between our rooms. “You okay?” he asks me. His voice is low, but with Mason with Bailey and Brogan out of town, there isn’t anyone to overhear.
I frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because.” He tosses his magazine on the end table before turning back to me. “I see how you look at her.”
I shake my head. “No. She’s just a friend.”
He gives a sad smile. “And yet out of all the girls in the bar tonight, you didn’t even have to ask which I was talking about.”
Fuck. I study my shoes and shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Just be careful.”
PART V: After
Arrow
I’m not prepared to see Brogan again, but here I am.
I’m not sure what made me decide to come. Maybe it was busting the shit out of my hand and breaking a couple of bones. Maybe it was hearing Mia tell me she doesn’t regret the night we spent together in October when I thought I was nothing more to her than a regret. Maybe it was my dad’s endless lecture on the way to the ER—how foolish I am, how this could screw up my football career. I wanted to tell him there are things that matter more than football. I thought of Brogan.
Whatever the reason, this morning, with a fresh cast and a bottle of painkillers I won’t take, I came here.
I told myself not to expect any change, braced myself to see him looking as bad as he did months ago, shortly after his parents had taken him home. But I wasn’t prepared for him to look worse. Smaller. A shadow of the man he used to be.
“Thank you again for coming,” Mrs. Barrett says behind me. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
I don’t know what to do with myself. Brogan sits in his wheelchair, strapped in so his body doesn’t fall forward. His eyes are open, his jaw slack.
My stomach suddenly feels completely empty of anything, and acid crawls up my throat. And my eyes—I blink—I’m not going to fucking cry right now.
For a while, I was grateful Brogan didn’t die that night, grateful he had a chance to fight. But seeing him like this, I know he got the worse fate.
He was a proud man, and I hate to think how he’d feel about Mia seeing him like this every time she visits.
When Mrs. Barrett opened the door, she asked if I’ve prayed for a miracle today. Every time I see him this way, I say a little prayer that God will have mercy on this proud man. After more than four months as a vegetable, I pray he’ll be allowed to die. Before, the prayer was blanketed with shame, guilt that I’d wish for such a thing. But not today. Mia believes Brogan is conscious and aware of his world, but I don’t. I think he’s gone. Nothing but a brainstem keeping Brogan’s body alive with the assistance of a feeding tube. But I’m here anyway. In case I’m wrong.
“I’m supposed to talk to you,” I say quietly. “It’s supposed to bring me closure.”
He doesn’t respond. Of course. He can’t. God, wouldn’t it be nice if Mia were right? If Brogan could have the