11

Romi

Everything hurt, my mind was done, but my body was regrettably not.

Blinking my eyes open, I spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the tiled ceiling above my head, not caring for who was breathing heavily in the armchair next to my bed.

That someone turned out to be my father and when he noticed that I was awake, he quickly jumped to his feet.

"Sweet pea," he said, his relief evident in the huge sigh he released from deep inside his chest. "Oh, thank god!" He pressed a hand to the skin covering his heart. "You're in the hospital, but you're okay. You have a concussion and plenty scrapes and bruises. You sprained your ankle when you fell, and they had to operate to repair some damage to your knee. You also have some stitches on your thigh from where you cut yourself open when you fell. You lost a lot of blood, Romi. Too much. You opened a vein, sweetheart, and they gave you a transfusion to help with the blood loss. I know it sounds like a long list, but it's mostly superficial, and the doctors say with some rest, you'll be right as rain in a week or two."

"Okay," was all I managed to scrape together as my father lay across me, hugging me tightly and causing me to wince in pain.

"I was so worried," he croaked out, still smothering me with affection. "What the hell happened?"

"Happened?" I trailed my tongue over my bone-dry lips, desperate to dampen them and soothe the stinging sensation. A tang of copper hit my senses and I quickly registered the cut on my bottom lip. "Happened when?"

"You fell. From the treehouse." He straightened up, brows creased. "Is that right?"

"Fell?" Confused and slightly groggy from whatever medication that was flushing through my veins, I slowly pulled myself up to rest against the mountain of pillows at my back. "How did I get here?" I glanced around the hospital room, feeling a little devastated. "Did you find me?"

"No, Holden drove you here and called me on the way," Dad explained, still watching me with concern laced in his eyes. "He said that he was with you when you fell out of the old treehouse."

I gaped as his words registered with me. "Wait – Sketch brought me?"

"Yes." My father nodded stiffly. "He saved your life."

"Why?" I frowned. "I mean…why would he do that? Why would he bother?"

"Jesus, Romi," Dad scolded, paling. "Don’t say it like that."

"I'm sorry," I whispered guiltily, eyes landing on the medical boot encasing my left leg. "It's just that you know how he feels about me now." I shook my head again, finding it hard to believe that Sketch was the one who brought me to the hospital. "He was really here?"

"Holden," Dad corrected with a sniff, detesting Sketch's nickname almost as much as he detested the boy himself. "And yes. He's still here. He's right outside the door."

Coincidentally, the door swung inwards then, but instead of Sketch standing in the doorway, in marched Victoria.

My heart sank in my chest at the sight of her.

"Romi," she gushed, rushing to my bedside and enveloping me in a fake hug – all for my father's benefit no doubt. "Oh, dear, we were so worried about you."

"I bet," I deadpanned, keeping my hands at my sides.

"Don’t worry," she continued, releasing her hold on me to fluff my pillows. "Your father has found a wonderful rehabilitation center that caters to disturbed young girls." She cupped my cheeks in her hands and smiled. "We'll get you better, Romi. Just you wait and see, precious girl."

"What?" My heart turned to ice in my chest. "Rehab?"

"Vic," Dad sighed wearily and sank back into the armchair at my bedside. "I haven't had a chance to talk to her about it yet."

"What is there to discuss, Cal?" she replied hotly. "Your daughter tried to kill herself. If Holden Capaldi hadn't found her when he did and brought her to the ER, I dread to think of how this might have turned out."

"Rehab?" I repeated, panicking now. "You're sending me away?" I looked to my father. "Dad?" I swallowed deeply. "Tell me you're not?"

Guilt churned in my father's eyes and he shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "Sweet pea –"

"Don’t say sweet pea," I snapped. "Just tell me."

"It's better this way," he urged, reaching for my hand. "I know you're unhappy. Some time away in a place where they have professionals to help you come to terms with your grief will be good for you."

"Unhappy?" I glared at him, ignoring the tears filling my eyes. "Of course I'm unhappy. My life has been turned upside down. I watched Chris die, Dad. One of my best friends in the whole world. I was behind the wheel. I lost my friends – and Sketch. I lost Sketch, Dad!" Shaking my head, I balled my hands into fists. "I went through a trial, faced the wrath of the town, and then I spent six months in a detention center being bullied and beaten up."

"Exactly," Victoria cut in with an approving nod.

"And now you want to lock me up again." Tears sprang in my eyes. "You want to send me back to hell."

"Not back," my father hurried to soothe. "To a special place for young girls who have been through similar traumas. It's a place for you to heal, sweet pea, and it's not forever."

"I don’t want to be locked up again," I choked out, panic clawing at my throat just thinking about it. "Don’t do this to me."

"You've been hurting yourself, Romi," my father strangled out, sounding pained.

"No, I haven't!" I lied, furious with him for not minding his own damn business. "I've been doing everything I've been asked to do. I've been going to school, making the grades, obeying my curfew, and staying out of trouble. What else do you want from me?"

"Dear, you threw yourself out of a tree," Victoria interjected. "I am sorry to say this but you are a danger to yourself, and not doing something productive now is a risk that your father and I are not prepared to take."

"Like you give a shit," I hissed. "You were hoping the judge would throw the book at me for the crash. Too bad I was a minor, huh?"

Victoria blanched and feigned tears, causing my father to snap at me.

"Romi, that's quite enough!" Straightening his spine, he growled, "I know you're upset right now, but do not take it out on Victoria. She cares very deeply for you."

"Bullshit," I spat unapologetically. "She hates me. She always has. She only cares about your money. That's it and you're a fool if you believe otherwise."

"Romi!"

"I'm not going to rehab," I hissed, glaring at my father. "I'm over eighteen. You can't make me go if I don’t want to."

"A court order will see to that," Victoria replied. "You are not fit to make decisions for yourself. Any judge will agree with us."

I balked. "You're joking."

"You are not in control right now," Dad tried to plead his case. "It wouldn't be forever. Just until you're better –"

"Whatever," I replied, turning my face away. "Send me to rehab. Take my rights away. I don’t give a damn about what happens to me anymore."

"Don’t be like this, Romi."

I didn’t respond.

"Ramona."

There was no point, no goddamn point trying to speak to him, so I didn’t waste my breath.

Maybe it would be better if I was gone. At least I would be far away from this God-forsaken town and all the devils controlling it.

If my father was willing to listen to Victoria – because I just knew this was her idea – and was willing to throw me under the bus, then why should I care what happened to him? Knowing my luck, Chris was right and my father was in on it. God knows, I'd been wrong before.

As for Sketch? Maybe I could get a letter to him. Wait until the dust settled and try to get a message to him? Figure out a way to get through to him without putting his life at risk.

A low knock sounded on the door before it opened inwards.

"Should I come back later?" an achingly familiar voice asked, startling me and causing my heart-rate to spike.

No joke; the monitors attached to my chest went haywire, beeping and flashing like crazy.

"Holden." My father sighed heavily. "It's you."

"Cal."

"I prefer Mr. Capaldi or sir," my father said in a clipped tone, though it was clear that he was making an actual effort to be civil today. "It's good southern manners, Holden. Like your Mama taught you."

"Cal."

My lips twitched and I quickly buried my smile. Always so rebellious.

"Holden," Victoria squealed in delight. "Oh, hush now, Cal. Leave the boy alone. Your daughter is not exactly flush with friends right now. Please come in, sweetheart."

"I'm not her friend," Sketch replied in a hard tone. "My father sent me. Keeping up appearances and all that shit ya'll concern yourselves so much with."

Unable to stop myself, I turned my face to look at him.

He was still in his uniform and his shirt was smeared with dried blood.

Mine, I assumed.

His intense blue eyes landed on my face and a surge of heat rose up my neck.

Sketch stared hard at me for the longest moment, gaze silently accusing, before turning his attention back to Dad.

"My father told me that you wanted to ask me a question." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked my father dead in the eyes and said, "And here's your answer; she didn’t jump."

Stunned, I gaped at Sketch, but he didn’t look at me, keeping his blue eyes trained on my father.

"The truth of the matter is that I spooked your daughter," Sketch continued, not missing a beat. "She got scared when she climbed into the treehouse and realized that I was already in there. Neither of us expected to see one another and it's no secret that we have bad blood. When she saw me, she toppled backwards and lost her footing. I reached for her and she reached for me in return, but our hands didn’t connect in time."

My father couldn’t mask the relief in his eyes at Sketch's admission – at his blatant lie – just the same way Victoria couldn't mask her displeasure.

"Really?" Dad croaked out, tone thick with emotion. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely," Sketch replied, not batting an eyelid. "I have no reason to lie for her, or spare your feelings." Casting a sneering glance in my direction, he added, "And believe me, if your daughter wanted to die, I would have been more than happy to let her."

My father flinched at his words, but I didn’t. I was too busy trying to make sense of why he would lie for me. And all of the cruel words he'd just spouted were lies.

I did jump.

He was lying for me, and he didn’t let me die.

There was a long stretch of silence then before my father finally spoke again. "Thank you for coming to tell me that, Holden. It certainly changes things." Rising to his feet, Dad walked to the door and held it open. "Thank you for your quick thinking today." He cleared his throat again before adding, "And, of course, for getting my daughter to the hospital in time."

Sketch nodded stiffly but he made no move to leave.

"Was there anything else?" Dad asked, watching him with a wary expression, barely masking his displeasure.

"Yes," Sketch replied, keeping his tone flat and void of emotion. "My father wants me to speak to Romi." Rocking back on his heels, he shrugged his shoulders. "He wants me to offer your daughter forgiveness."

"And?" Dad's voice betrayed him. He was shaken up and it was coming out in his voice. "What do you think about that?"

Sketch folded his arms across his broad chest, looking both hostile and defensive at once. "I'm here, ain’t I?"

"Yes." Dad released a relieved sigh. "I suppose you are."

"I can't forgive," Sketch quickly added, tone as hard and unyielding as ever. "And I won't ever forget." He paused for a long moment before blowing out a sharp breath. "But I'm done fucking with her. It won't bring my brother back and I'm tired of the pain." He never once looked in my direction as he spoke, giving my father his full attention. "Shaming and blaming your daughter won't change anything."

"No," Dad agreed quietly.

"There won't be any more trouble," Sketch added. "At school or anywhere else."

"And I have your word on that?" my father asked, cautious once more.

I knew what was wrong. He couldn’t read Sketch. He'd never denied the fact that he loathed his best friend's youngest son. Even from a young child, Sketch had rubbed my father the wrong way. He wasn’t like Chris. They couldn’t control or contain him and that made him a liability. It made them all wary.

"Would you believe me if I gave it to you?" Sketch shot back with a glare. "I offered it to you before and it was thrown back in my face." He straightened. "If I recall correctly, I was told that my word wasn’t worth shit to you."

"That was a long time ago, Holden," my father replied, looking a little chagrined.

"I remember how long ago it was," Sketch was quick to say. "I remember everything."

"Yes, well," Dad replied with another weary sigh. "Things change."

I frowned in confusion, lost in the conversation.

"So I'm told, but I'm the same person I was then," Sketch countered. "Only difference as far as I can see is that I'm a brother down and an inheritance up. Oh, that and the fact that I filled out." He rolled his shoulders, making his biceps bulge and strain against the fabric of his shirt. "Had myself a nice big growth spurt." He glared at my father. "As you can tell."

My father's face reddened. In shame or anger…I couldn’t be sure. "I see," he replied, rubbing his whiskered chin.

"And I see," Sketch shot back. "And you should know that it's a no. I'm not interested in that."

My father's brows rose in obvious surprise. Whatever they were talking about, he hadn't expected this response from Sketch. "No?"

"More than a no," Sketch told him, shoulders stiffening. "It's a never."

Dad's brows rose even further. "Your father and I thought –"

"You both thought wrong," Sketch deadpanned. "You made the decision for me a long time ago. I accepted it and moved on. That's all there is to it."

"But –"

"It's done with," Sketch cut him off by saying. "As far as I'm concerned, that part of my life is over. It's water under the bridge for me."

"What are you both talking about?" Victoria, for once, asked something that didn’t grate on my nerves. At least she was as clueless as I was. "What is water under the bridge, Holden? What is all this code talk about, Cal?"

Sketch opened his mouth to reply but my father got in there first. "Nothing at all," he told his fiancée before taking her arm and leading her to the door. "Why don’t you go and grab me a coffee, darlin'."

Victoria was clearly unimpressed at being dismissed because her face noticeably fell, but she recovered before my father noticed and offered him a bright smile. "Of course, my love."

My love? I swallowed down a surge of vomit at that.

"Can I have a minute with her?" Sketch asked then, inclining his head towards me, but never taking his eyes off my father. "In private."

My father narrowed his eyes. "I don’t know if that's a good idea –"

"Oh, please." Sketch rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to hurt your daughter, do you honestly think I would have brought her to a hospital?" he asked, tone laced with disgust. "Clearly not."

"Romi?" Dad turned to look at me, brows bunched together. "If you're not comfortable being alone with him then I can stay –"

"It's okay, Dad," I replied hoarsely. "Honestly, I'll be fine. Go and grab some coffee with Victoria."

Dad didn’t look convinced.

"Really," I added. "Don't worry."

"Alright," he finally said, tone resigned. "I won't be far away. Just call if you need me."

I nodded and waited for him to leave the room before turning my attention to Sketch. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Sketch arched a brow. "That's how you thank me for saving your life?"

"Maybe I didn’t want to be saved," I replied. "Why are you still here, Sketch?"

"Oh, so you're suicidal now," he mused, moving for the armchair my father had vacated. "I'd say that kinda defeats the purpose of surviving an un-survivable car wreck, wouldn't you?" Sinking into the chair, he stretched his legs out under my bed and gave me his full attention. "And I'm here to talk."

"You're always here to talk."

"Yes, I am." His blue eyes were full of heat and channeled on mine. "So start talking."