“Sir, I’m—” I start to say, stopping short when a young girl I’ve never seen before peeks around her dad’s shoulder, her eyes wide as she stares at me.
She can’t be more than ten.
“Marley,” the man says to her, nodding to me. “Do you know this guy?”
Her small, round eyes meet mine, and her fear kicks me in the teeth. She’s just some poor kid. But how can this be? I thought all the signs pointed to this Marley. This house.
The girl shakes her head, but I’m already stumbling back, trying to get the hell out of here, seeing the cracks in the article that I ignored in my excitement.
Lara, not Laura. Her sister, but not a single mention of twins. Hit at night instead of the morning. I just thought maybe my coma brain had gotten some of the details wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to get out. “Wrong house.”
I turn as quickly as I can, desperately struggling to get down the front steps, my vision tunneling. As if this isn’t already bad enough, one of my crutches slips halfway down. I lose my footing and hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me as my body sprawls across the front yard.
Gasping, I fight to catch my breath as the dad trots down the steps after me.
“Why are you here?” he calls out, voice angry.
I grab my crutches. I have to get back on my feet, but my entire body is screaming. “I got the wrong house. I’m sorry.” I grunt and hoist myself up.
I hear him call over his shoulder to his daughter a firm “Get inside, Marley.” Just hearing her name is enough to practically knock me over again, but I hobble forward.
I make it to a streetlight by the road, collapsing against it. Looking back, I see the dad watching me from the porch, glaring, so I keep fighting, stumbling to the curb at the end of the block.
I slide onto it, under the glow of the streetlight, my vision blurring.
It wasn’t her. If she’s out there, this was my shot. None of the others made any sense.
Which means she’s not here.
And she never was.
* * *
I pull my hands away from my face when I hear Kim’s car pull up. She stops right in front of me. Sam’s in the passenger seat, a worried look on his face.
They came the second I called, just like they always have.
Both of them hop out and help me off the curb, getting me safely into the front seat, my body too exhausted to do it on my own.
The three of us sit in silence, Sam’s arms resting on the center console, his eyes downcast.
I feel like a complete idiot. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”
He gives a sad shake of his head and lets out a long exhale. “I should have come with you.”
“No,” I say, defeated. “You knew it wasn’t going to be her.”
“Which is exactly why I should’ve been here,” he says, frustrated with himself even though I’m the one to blame for all of this.
“You’re here now,” I say, my voice cracking. I reach for Kimberly’s hand, but she pushes mine away, pulling me into a tight, bone-crushing hug instead.
She’s stronger than most of the guys from the football team even with one arm in a brace.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” I say, my eyes meeting Sam’s over her shoulder.
Sam leans over the seat to wrap his arms around both of us, tears running down all of our faces.
We pull apart and I rub my eyes, trying to get myself back together. “I’m sorry for all this.”
Kim gives me a sad smile, all of the weirdness since I woke up completely erased. She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m sorry you lost your Marley,” she says, meaning it. “I know how you love, Kyle, and if you love her like this, then…”
“I’m so fucked,” I say, the three of us laughing through our tears.
Then my laugh gives way, and I just sob.
Because Marley isn’t real.
35
The next morning, Dr. Benefield checks my IV line while my mom stands in the corner with her arms crossed. Both of them are decidedly not psyched about my nighttime escape. After checking my leg and shining a light into my eyes, she lets out a long sigh.
“What you did last night was really, really stupid. You could have seriously damaged your leg again,” she says as she hangs a small bag of morphine and attaches it to my IV, clearly disappointed that I’m back on it.
“I don’t need that,” I say, and her hand freezes in midair.
“Kyle, just take the medicine,” my mom says. “You were in so much pain last night, you could barely speak.”