Page 5 of When the Smoke Clears

It was bad enough to consider her moving back to Austin for good.

Yesterday, I laid everything out for her. I wanted to give her time to process and decide what she wanted without my interference, so I let her be. The day got away from me, and we didn’t have a chance to talk. I got up before dawn as usual and she slept in before lunch with her mother. I have no idea what the rest of the day held leading up to the incident with Colt. All I could think about was begging her to try long-distance if I couldn’t convince her to move here.

I think she wants to be here. I know she wants me. Even if she’s dancing around the decision.

And yet now…now I’m faced with the possibility that a scumbag who wanted her to himself may have done permanent damage to her, possibly stealing her from me forever, as his last pathetic act on earth.

My muscles all feel tightly wound, ready to strike.

“Sutton. Whoa, man.” Nick has a death grip on my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go get some air.” His eyes bore into mine, waiting for a sign that I’ve heard him.

I nod vacantly.

Maci’s nurse stops at the open curtain. “I’ll come get you when she’s done.” She starts to walk away but pauses. “You can wash up in the bathroom, if you want.” Her chin jerks toward a door behind me.

“We’ll stay close,” Nick promises. I’m thankful, again, for his presence. He looks me over. “I have a spare shirt in my truck. I’ll be right back.” He waits for my silent acknowledgement before leaving.

I step into the private bathroom and take stock of myself in the mirror. My ruined white undershirt comes off first. Aside from my hands, there’s also remnants of blood around my jaw and on my stomach where it seeped through the shirt. I wash it all down the drain. The mingled life force of the woman I love and the man who attempted to steal her from me.

Washing up isn’t as refreshing as usual. I don’t feel any better than I did with blood on me. None of it matters until I know what’s going on with Maci.

Nick returns with a clean shirt, gesturing me into the hallway when I’m redressed. He starts talking, leading us away from the semi-private spaces in the ER. “Izzy and Leah are on their way.”

My brows furrow.

“Must’ve been a sixth sense thing. They showed up at the house just after the ambulance left. I didn’t give a ton of details, but they weren’t taking no for an answer on where Maci was. I think they’re packing her a bag and locking up the house.”

“Thanks.” I can’t bring myself to say anything else.

Before long, we approach a small, enclosed waiting room.

“I know you don’t think you’re up for it, but we need to talk. You’re gonna self-implode if I let you sit here and stew in whatever bullshit you’re creating up here.” He taps my temple.

“What do you want to talk about?” I shove open the door for us to walk through. The space is empty aside from us and a pot of coffee on a drab counter along the far wall. We both pour a cup, skipping the single-serve sweeteners, and sit in worn, leather chairs, side by side.

The free-standing ER location in Bull Creek is small. Unlike the hospital in the city, it’s good for strep tests and ear infections, but I doubt they handle many knives in stomachs. My leg bounces anxiously at the thought of Maci lying in their sterile operating room.

“Tell me about Maci. You’ve been keeping a tight lid on everything, but this all happened fast. So, what’s up?”

I grimace at the bitter brew. I don’t even like coffee. Maci loves it. It’s one of her greatest pleasures. I close my eyes and send up a prayer that I can make her coffee every day for the rest of her life.

“That. Right there. You’re killing yourself.” Nick’s voice is firmer.Is he pulling out the warden tone on me?

I arch an eyebrow at him, and he smirks.

He is. And he’s doing it on purpose.

“Start talking.” He crosses his beefy arms over his chest. Maybe for the first time with him, I do as I’m told. He lets me rattle on for several minutes without interrupting, except to ask more leading questions, keeping me talking.

I share more than I ever have. Maybe in my entire life. I tell him about the day I met Maci after her grandmother, Ruthie, passed. How even in her grief and struggle to be composed, she was beautiful. About her pride at the funeral and how she held the community in her palm with her eulogy. About her determination to be all she needs for herself, because people have continued to fail her.

I was beginning to think I wasn’t like the others—that I couldn’t possibly be. Except Ididfail her tonight.

“Dude, relax.” Nick picks up where I left off. “Maci isn’t dating you because she expects something from you. And you’ve been there every time she’s needed you. You brought that dirty-ass trailer up to the Fall Festival. You were there after that asshole busted her window. You were there to calm her down after he accosted her on Halloween. And you made it tonight. You’re here now. You don’t need to be everything for her to prove she doesn’t have to be everything for herself. You have to beyoufor her, because that’s what she wants and needs. I promise you, man, that’s enough.”

I stare at my best friend in awe. In a mirror of my uncharacteristic sharing, he’s spouted off some deep advice right when I needed it. My head rocks up and down while I wring my hands in my lap. “Thanks.”

The ticking of the clock on the wall is too slow. I lean my head back on the chair, trying to ignore the way my lungs refuse to inflate completely. I didn’t ask how long they would be. What’s normal? Do I panic after thirty minutes or three hours?

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