Page 126 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

My body is vibrating with adrenaline, nerves peaking when Key’s face scrunches. Is it not Joel? Who would be calling now?

“No, I’m—I’m his roommate,” he says into the speaker. Then he turns ghostly white. “What do you mean?”

Key looks up at me, his eyes wide and terrified.

“Is he okay?” he asks through the phone.

My stomach turns to stone and I have to grip the counter to keep from falling over.

“Yes, I-I’ll be right there. Yes. Thank you.”

He hangs up and it’s like I already know the answer. “Who was that?”

Key is shaking, but he swallows hard and turns to me. “That was the hospital,” he says, and I can’t breathe. “Joel was in a car accident.”

CHAPTER33

The Waiting

KEY

The ER is buzzing when the cab drops us off at the hospital. I feel so helpless as we wander inside the automatic doors, looking around for anyone who might be able to help. My stomach is in knots. If Joel isn’t okay, I’ll never forgive myself. I’m the reason he left—he was only in that car because of me. And here I am with no idea where to go because I can’t read the fucking signs.

“Key, this way,” Dusty says, pulling me down the hall.

I follow along behind her blindly past the gurneys and orderlies, aware my hand is still in hers. I don’t want to like it but it’s familiar, and right now, it’s my life raft. Finally, we end up at a large round desk.

“Excuse me,” Dusty says to the older woman sitting at the desk. “Can you help us? We’re looking for Joel Thanger? He was in a car accident.”

The lady looks between us, smacking on a piece of gum. Finally, reluctantly, she picks up the phone. “Let me see what I can find out for you.”

We nod and step back while she dials a few numbers. I can’t stand still and my legs dance from side to side as we wait. I try to focus on the pattern of the floor, the rhythmic timing of monitors, the gritty texture of the walls, but nothing helps. After another few minutes, the lady hangs up the phone and beckons us both forward.

“He’s still in surgery,” she says, and I have to bite back the vomit rising up my throat.

“Surgery?” I cry.

She raises her eyebrows. “Yes. When he’s done they’ll be taking him to recovery. You can wait there. Just go all the way down that hall there and turn left.” She motions with a manicured hand. “There’s another desk, tell them who you’re there to see.”

“Thank you,” Dusty says, and then we’re bolting down the hall.

Horrible images start to play out in my mind. Images of Joel cut up and bleeding, of legs torn off, of his body broken and bruised. I’m starting to get lightheaded—nauseous. Dusty arrives at the nurses’ station first, which is just fine because I can’t form a single thought around the blood pounding in my ears.

“And what is your relation to Mr. Thanger?” the nurse asks.

“I—well, I . . .” Dusty says.

“We can’t let anyone who isn’t an immediate family member through,” she says.

“She’s his wife.” The words come out louder than I intended. I hadn’t intended to say them at all. But if I understand what they’re saying, they won’t let either of us in unless we lie.

“Oh,” the nurse says, “right, he’s still in surgery but if you have a seat in that waiting room over there, we’ll inform you when he’s moved to recovery.”

The nurse walks away and Dusty turns to me, her eyes bloodshot and watery. “Key?”

“Put this on.”

“What?”

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