Page 130 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

Two broken ribs.

Fourteen stitches.

Fractured collarbone.

Concussion.

“All we can do is wait until he wakes up, then we can go from there.”

It’s been two hours since the nurse came to update me on Joel. Two hours since I watched Dusty disappear down the hall to sit with my best friend while he fights for his life. Two hours and two million times I’ve gone over that list of injuries.

Two broken ribs.

Fourteen stitches.

Fractured collarbone.

Concussion.

I’ve already thrown up once in the waiting room bathroom, and from the looks I’ve been getting from other visitors, I probably need a shower. I can’t imagine Dusty is doing any better, and I wish I could see her—talk to her. But she’s where she needs to be. Somewhere I can’t go.

“Key?”

I glance up from my spot on the bench and spot Dave walking hand in hand with a frazzled-looking Isabella.

“Dave,” I manage to say before his arms wrap around me. Then I can’t stop it. Tears spill down my cheeks and I cling on to him as if he’s a buoy in the middle of the North Sea. “It’s all my fault,” I cry. “It’s all my fault.”

“Key, stop,” Dave says, pulling back and running his hand down his face. He looks pale, his eyes red. “Just . . . just tell me what happened.”

I shake my head; I don’t even know where to start.

“Joel got into a car accident. He’s unconscious but stable. He’s pretty banged up. Broken ribs, collarbone, fourteen stitches . . .”

Isabella’s hand raises over her mouth and tears form in her eyes. “Oh god?—”

But Dave is staring at me hard. “If he got in an accident, why is that your fault?”

I close my eyes. “Because I’m the reason he was out driving in the first place.”

“You’re going to need to explain this to me, Key. In fact, you’re going to need to explain where the fuck you’ve been for the past two weeks as well. Do you have any idea how fucking worried we’ve all been? How fucked up it is that you just left without a word?”

“I know,” I say, “I know. It was shitty of me. I’m sorry.”

Dave frowns and glances at Isabella, and I take the opening. “I left to try and get some proof that I wrote those songs long before I ever met Logan. I only ever wrote them down one time . . .” I take a deep breath. “Because it’s hard for me to read and nearly impossible for me to write.”

Isabella blinks at me. “Really?”

I shrug. “I could never figure it out. My parents and teachers always made me feel stupid because letters just never made sense to me. But I did write the songs down once.”

Dave sits up straighter. “Key, that’s amazing! We can take that to the lawyers. They’ll prove to the judge?—”

I shake my head. “I don’t have them.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have them?”

“I wrote them down . . . to give to a girl.”

“Oh, Key . . .” Isabella sighs.

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