Page 3 of One Shot

The Next Day

My throat is dry. My eyes are heavy, sticky, hard to open. After what feels like an hour, I finally get my eyes to listen to my brain. I take in the plain white walls and small window. I can see a blue sky outside, but inside it feels like a horrific storm came through. My body won’t move. I look down. Bandages cover what appears to be every inch of my body. My left arm is encased in a cast. There’s a loud beeping sound coming from the machines that I am hooked up to. They beep louder as my panic sets in. A man in scrubs comes into the room. His eyes grow wide with enthusiasm as he realizes that I’m awake.

“You’re awake! Lauren, you’ve been in a bad accident. You are in the ICU at St. Nicholas Hospital. We are going to make sure you are okay.”

He pushes a button on the wall, and the room swarms with what I assume to be nurses. Machines are still loudly beeping.

“How are her vitals?”

“Did you increase her morphine drip line?”

“What’s taking the doctor so long? You paged her, right?”

Commotion continues in the room as I am checked over and the doctor comes in. But my mind is elsewhere as the memory comes flooding back. Our conversation. The semi-truck. Nick’s F-150. The windshield shattered beyond repair. Nick. My brother shattered beyond repair.

Just like my body, my heart is bruised, broken, and shattered. But I am alive. Why me?

Nick had such a promising future. The golden boy. The legendary hockey player who just made captain as a junior for the West Michigan Wyverns—the first time since the team was founded forty-eight years ago. My idol. My big brother. My best friend. Gone.

Nine Months Later

Chapter two

Laur

“You got in!” Mom shrieks, opening the curtains in my bedroom.

“What are you talking about,” I mumble. I haven’t even been awake for a full minute yet.

“Get dressed and come downstairs. Celebration breakfast is waiting!” Mom says, as she turns on the light and closes the door behind me.

How much coffee has she had today? I really need to switch her to decaf. I pull on leggings and an oversize t-shirt from off my floor, brush my teeth, and head downstairs.

Mom and Dominic, her husband of about four years now, are both glowing with joy. Nick and I never understood how she could replace Dad so easily, even though it had been over ten years since dad passed away. Dominic took on the role of stepdad from afar—treading lightly to give Nick and I space. But after the accident, he’s tried to be more involved. He’s been exactly what Mom needed to get through the loss but far from what I needed.

At first, I needed vodka and endless joints on top of my pain meds, not a new non-blood-related man of the house. We were all finding our own ways to survive the trauma of loss.

For a while, I really stopped living my life. Depression crept in and took over. It gets a little easier every day. I applied to a four-year college like I had always planned to after two years in community college, but I had no intention of really going. I’ve rarely made time for friends over the last nine months, but recently I have made time tosee Bren, my best friend and cousin. I’ve even dialed back the drinking and smoking significantly. My therapist says I’m making great strides in my coping mechanisms.

I spot an opened envelope next to a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and what appears to be a mimosa. If this is real champagne, then I should be scared. Mom only serves me drinks on special occasions. I take a sip.

Shit.

It’s prosecco. She knows I love prosecco more than champagne. Something is up . . .

I sit down and look at her. She has tears in her eyes. I look at Dominic. He’s beaming with the biggest, dorkiest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Mom . . . Dominic . . . what’s going on . . .” I ask.

“Read the letter on top!” Mom shrieks shakily, handing me the letter. The tears in her eyes are now streaming down her cheeks, turning into full blown sobs. They must be happy sobs . . . right? If it wasn’t good news . . . there wouldn’t be chocolate chip pancakes or prosecco . . .

I start to open the letter and see the West Michigan University logo at the top. There’s a West Michigan Wyverns hockey logo too.

I start to read:

Dear Lauren Chip Bellinger,

Thank you for your application and portfolio submission for the Wyverns’ Student Marketing and Public Relations Program, working on behalf of the Western Michigan Wyverns Men’s Hockey Team. We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as the junior class representative.

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