“Hey,” I go.
“Hey.” She sits in Ben’s empty chair.
There’s an awkward pause and we blurt out together, “How’s your—?”
She smiles. “You first.”
“How’s Noah?”
“Good, now that he’s back in his routine. Great, actually.” She pauses. “What about you? How’s your…?” She looks at my chest. “How’s your gunshot?”
I snort. “Gunshot. I know, it sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” I glance at the bandage. “The doctors hope I’ll get full use of my arm when it heals, but I’ll have a scar—a bullet wound.” I smirk. “As if I wasn’t badass before. I’m, like, a neck tattoo away from full-on thug.”
“As if.” She looks right at me.
“Yeah, well the newspapers—”
“Who cares what they said? You can’t believe everything you read, you know.”
I laugh. “One more reason to avoid reading.”
Buster comes and flops on my feet. I bend down and pet him. His ears are like velvet flaps. He leans against me and licks my hand.
“He likes you,” Alice says.
“I always wanted a dog but we could never have one because my brother has allergies.”
Had allergies.
“Speaking of brothers,” she pauses, “I never thanked you for saving Noah. If you hadn’t been there…”
I shrug, unsure of what to say, because it wasn’t even like I chose to save him. It just sorta happened.
“You’re a hero, Hogan.”
I look up at her. “A lot of people would disagree with you about that.”
“Well…” her eyes glisten a bit, “fun fact…you’re my hero.” She blushes and looks away, but I hope it’s not for long. Because maybe if she keeps looking at me like that, maybe I might believe it someday too.
Xander, he’s the real hero. I think of him lying in the ICU up on the third floor. He still hasn’t woken up. I wonder if he will. I wonder what will happen to him when he does.
I’ve been thinking about him a lot these past two weeks in here. There’s not much else to do. Xander…he’s not “the bad guy”—or “the good guy,” really. He’s both. Kind of like me, I guess. Neither of us wanted to hurt anyone. We just got carried along and caught up and then, suddenly, things went too far. And people got hurt.
Just like Randy.
I don’t know what I saw that day in the atrium. Maybe it was Randy. Or maybe it was some adrenaline-shock-concussion-hallucination thing. All I do know is that since then, whenever I think of Randy, I feel him with me. Beside me. Not pressing down on my chest like he used to. Come to think of it, that probably never was Randy. Anxiety, maybe? Or guilt? I can’t explain it, really. All I know is that things feel different now.
Maybe it’s just the bullet hole. Or the guy I saved. Or the way his sister looks at me.
But whatever it is, it’s healing.
And it’s good.