The Golden Boys: Chapter 32

For the past ten minutes now, I’ve watched her just sit there, doubled over with both arms folded across her stomach. With every second, I feel myself being drawn over there but hold back.

She’s not my responsibility and I’m not about to let her think she’s my responsibility.

Still, I notice something seems off.

It’s when Dane elbows me to get my attention that I realize I’m not exactly being discreet.

“Dude, just go talk to the girl,” he suggests, calling attention to what I’ve tried to keep to myself—that I’m aware of her. All the time.

“I don’t want to talk to her,” I clarify. “She just doesn’t look right.”

I feel my posture stiffen, feel the tension in my shoulders. And then, seconds before I give in and walk my stubborn ass over there, she starts to slip out of her seat.

Some kid notices and catches her head right before it hits the grass, but I’m already sprinting that way, hurdling headstones and shoving aside anyone who’s in my way.

“Move!” I shout, causing the crowd to scatter.

The kid who caught her backs away, too, lifting his hands into the air. “I didn’t do anything, man. I swear. She just started sliding out of the chair.”

I don’t have time to tell him I already know that, so I ignore him instead, because I don’t understand what I’m seeing. I thought she was just wasted, but her lips are blue, and her face and neck are covered in small, red hives. Leaning in, I hear a faint hiss and I go straight in to panic mode, realizing the sound is her wheezing because she’s hardly getting any air.

“Rodriguez!” I yell out, prompting someone to nudge her drunk ass back to consciousness, hoping she knows what’s wrong, but it doesn’t work. She can barely open her eyes, which makes her completely useless to me right now.

I push my arms beneath Southside and hoist her up from the grass, carrying her lifeless body against mine. Before I can even think of what to do next, I haul ass down the hill, headed toward my car.

“What happened?” Sterling asks, chasing after me.

“I don’t know, but she’s barely breathing. Looks like some kind of allergic reaction maybe?”

I hear the panic in my voice, and I know whoever else is trailing me hears it, too. But fuck it. I care about the girl. Even despite myself … I care about her.

We leave the dim light of the party behind and rush into the pitch-black woods beyond it. I’m going completely off memory at this point, knowing I don’t have any time to spare.

Something’s terribly wrong with her, something more than that drink going to her head. At this point, a doctor is the only one who can help.

Moonlight glints off the roof of my car and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Someone get the door,” I yell, which sends Joss running ahead to open the back one.

Sterling helps me slide Southside in and he takes my keys when I pass them to him.

“You’ll have to drive. I need to keep an eye on her, make sure she keeps breathing.”

He nods and I turn to Dane next.

“Stay here with Joss. She shouldn’t walk back up there by herself in the dark.”

He responds the same as Sterling, nodding once. “Text as soon as you have an update.”

I assure him I will, then the next thing I know, Sterling’s driving like a bat out of hell.

I’ve got Southside in my arms and she’s getting worse. I pat her down for pockets, hoping to find meds or one of those EpiPen things for situations like this, but all I find is her phone. Grabbing it, I tap the screen to light it up, but its password protected, which means I can’t even get in touch with her family.

I’m screwed.

The one thing I can do while Sterling barrels toward the hospital is harass the one I know is responsible for this.

“What the fuck did you do?” My voice is way too calm, and when I hear the fear in hers, I know I’m not wrong.

“I—I didn’t think she’d react like this,” Parker stammers. “I—”

“Tell me what the fuck you did so I can at least tell the doctors what she had!” The words ricochet off the windows of the car, but still, Southside doesn’t move an inch. She’s out.

Completely.

“Heidi went through her file,” Parker admits. “She helps out in the office during her free period, so … I thought we’d get some info to use against her. You know, personal shit,” she explains. “But when I saw the note about a peanut allergy, I thought I’d have a little fun with her. That’s all,” she adds, pleading her case.

“Have fun with her?” I growl.

Parker’s sobbing on the other end of the line and I want to reach through the phone and strangle her.

“I … slipped a little peanut sauce into the Monster Mix,” she admits, causing me to squeeze my phone until it creaks in my hand. “My cousin’s allergic, too. And when she has a reaction, it just makes her lips and eyes swell. I mean, she looks terrible, but nothing else happens,” Parker explains. “I thought this would be the same. I didn’t think…”

“You—” A frustrated growl leaves my mouth when nothing else will.

I hang up because I can’t take another second of this bitch’s rambling. The only thing that’s come of this is that I now know what caused the reaction.

I’m also now aware of the measure of Parker Holiday’s stupidity.

And that shit is off the charts.

I told Sterling to take off once Southside was stable. I plan to call for a ride when I’m ready to go, but I don’t expect that to be anytime soon.

It shouldn’t jumpstart my heart the way it does when she finally comes to, but I’m on my feet and at her side. At first, I reach to grab her hand, but catch myself just in time, shoving them both inside my pockets instead.

Southside blinks a few times and then reaches for her head with a groan.

“Are you okay?”

It takes her a second to get her bearings, and then she settles her confused gaze on me. “Where am I?”

That inkling to take her hand is back again. And I resist it again.

“You’re at the hospital,” I say. “You had an allergic reaction to something you ate.”

I don’t give a shit about protecting Parker, but can’t shake the warning she gave at the cemetery. I know that, if it gets out what she’s done, the girl would sing like a canary, giving up every detail of whatever she might know. Do I believe she actually has something on me? Not quite. But are the stakes too high if she does? Completely.

“My head,” Southside moans, letting her eyes fall closed again.

“Are you up to speaking with the doctors? They have a few questions they wanted to ask once you woke up.”

It’s still taking some getting used to, speaking to one another without there being venom in our words.

She nods. “Sure. I can do that.”

I leave her for only long enough to stop at the nurse’s station, then I’m back in the room, standing at her bedside like a dutiful boyfriend.

Dude, what the fuck are you doing?

I check my behavior and go back to the chair in the corner instead.

“Ms. Riley?” Dr. Turner says when he enters the room.

Southside offers a faint smile and sits up a little. “Hi.”

“You gave us quite a scare,” he adds with a smile. “Any idea what you ate that did this to you?”

I glance toward Southside and she’s clearly confused. “No. I’m usually pretty careful, but … I must not have been tonight.”

When she goes quiet, Dr. Turner nods. “Well, we got some epinephrine into your system as soon as this kind, young gentlemen rushed you into ER. His quick action likely saved your life tonight.”

Southside turns toward me, offering a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. My guess is it’s weird hearing someone use any of those words to describe me. I’d have to agree with her on that.

“No EpiPen?” the doctor asks.

“I keep one in my purse, but I left it in a friend’s car. Guess I thought I knew what foods to avoid,” she explains.

“Sometimes these things can sneak up on you, which is why you never want to assume, understood?” he asks in a stern, and yet caring, voice.

Southside nods. “Understood.”

Dr. Turner flips through his chart again. “I’d like to get your parents’ contact information, so I can give them a call and let them know what’s going on with you.”

He clicks his pen expectantly, but Southside doesn’t say a word. There are a good five seconds that pass until she finally speaks.

“They’re … unavailable.”

Dr. Turner’s brow tenses. “Unavailable?”

Southside nods. “Well, my dad’s home, but he’s pretty sick. And my mom’s out of town. On business,” she rushes to add.

If by home ‘sick’ she means drunk off his ass, then that statement about her dad is completely true. And based on what Sterling said about the call he overheard from her mom, I gather ‘unavailable’ is the best word to describe things.

Dr. Turner closes his chart and keeps his eyes trained on Southside.

“Well, you’re eighteen,” he says flatly, breathing a heavy sigh. “I’m not obligated to reach out to a guardian, but I’d like to keep an eye on you tonight. Might want to at least give your loved ones a call so they aren’t worried.”

With those words, he leaves us.

We’re plunged into awkward silence and I’m reminded again that this is out of our element. We haven’t called each other cruel names or tried to ruin each other’s lives in a few hours, so things definitely feel like they’re shifting.

“I thought you might need me to see you home,” I say, regretting my choice of words right away. It sounds like something a guy would say to a girl who belongs to him. Southside isn’t mine.

Clearing my throat, I start again. “If they’re keeping you, I can go,” I offer.

For all I know, she’d prefer to be alone versus having me hang around. Besides, it isn’t like I don’t have other things I can be doing.

“No, stay.” She responds a little too quickly for it to seem casual. When her gaze slips from mine, I imagine she realizes this, too. “It’s just that hospitals have always given me the creeps.”

She moves her braid behind her shoulder, and I smile thinking about her costume, topped off with a black wig now balled in a bag with the rest of the getup. Most girls live for this time of year, to get dolled up and show off their goods, but Southside could’ve shown up in a potato sack and would’ve been the hottest girl at the party tonight. I mean, I’m not complaining about the minidress or anything, but she doesn’t need all that. Jeans and a t-shirt, no makeup. I’ll take her as is.

‘You’ll take her as—’

What the fuck, man?

Cut that shit out!

You’re doing it again. You know what she’s about. You know what she did. Even if she claims there was only ever that Ricky guy. Even if you see her life’s shitty and understand why she could have possibly attached herself to someone like Vin—a predator. Nothing’s changed.

She settles against her pillow, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “Do you um … do you know where my phone is? I need to check in on Scar. She’s spending the night with Jules, but I was supposed to call an hour ago.”

Searching the bag hooked to the side of her bed, I find her cell. It lights up the second I grab it. A text that reads: ‘Yo, you good?’ from someone she saved as The Mistake. My guess is it’s Ricky.

“I’ll step out,” I say after handing it over.

“It’s fine.”

When I glance back in her direction, I see something in her eyes I’m not sure I thought I’d ever see. Something I’m not sure she should give a guy like me.

Trust.

I lower back into my seat. Something else I’ve noticed about her is the weird bond between her and Scarlett. It isn’t anything like mine with Dane and Sterling. I love those dickheads, sure, but I don’t look after them. Not like she does with her sister. Not like a parent.

She taps her phone screen a few times, first returning the text, I assume, and then holds it to her ear to talk.

“Hey,” she says, relief heavy in her voice. “You doing okay?”

I can’t hear the response she gets, but whatever is said brings a smile to her face.

“Good. And you ate, right?” There’s a pause. “And you thanked Jules for cooking?”

I was right. These are questions I would never ask my brothers. Ever.

“Ok, good. I’ll walk over and get you in the morning.” Another pause. “K, be good. Love you.”

The call ends and I lower my gaze, pretending not to be fascinated by their interaction.

“Thank you,” she says, placing her cell on the adjustable table beside the bed.

“You didn’t tell her what happened,” I point out.

Southside shakes her head. “Nah, kid’s had enough to worry about for a lifetime. No sense in having her lose sleep over this, too.” She thinks for a moment, then presses a hand to her forehead. “But, of course, she’ll read Pandora’s post. She’ll worry. I should’ve—’

There it is again. That fierce protection.

“She’ll be okay,” I cut in, encouraging her to relax. “Just shoot her a text, letting her know everything’s cool.”

Southside’s at war with herself for a moment, and I guess she wants to call, but eventually settles for taking my advice and types out a quick message instead.

Seeing how tightly wound she is, I nearly ask a question about her childhood but hold it. I’m not allowed to be interested in things like that.

“Ever stayed over in a hospital?” she pipes, smiling a little when she meets my gaze.

“Once,” I share. “Had my tonsils removed when I was seven. You?”

She nods. “More times than I can count. Mostly allergy related. In case it’s still a secret, my parents aren’t the most responsible people in the world. So, until I learned how to monitor what I can and can’t eat for myself, a lot of mistakes were made.”

She laughs after speaking, but nothing’s funny.

“That’s pretty fucked up.”

She nods, agreeing with me, but doesn’t speak right away.

The picture is becoming even clearer. She not only raised herself, she raised Scarlett, too. Because her parents didn’t care enough to do it.

“But you know what they say. What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right?” The joke is meant to remind me of my own words from a few weeks ago.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

I’m quiet again, but not because I’m thinking about her childhood, but because I’m thinking about my own. The shimmer faded for me early, too, but not because I’d been abandoned like it seems Southside was. For me, it was learning that my father isn’t the god he pretends to be, discovering he’s a mere mortal with a weakness for blondes with big tits and nice asses.

Like Southside.

Usually, being reminded of her connection to my father would piss me off, but I don’t feel that now. All I feel when I think about it is pity, imagining what he must have promised her—money, admission into CPA, and who knows what else.

Of course, she’d take that deal. Hell, my own mother fell victim to Vin’s game. For her, it was never about money, but rather a means of getting out of the small town where she grew up and everyone knew her as Boone Landry’s oldest daughter. She hadn’t seen much of the world and fell for every slick lie that fell from the bastard’s lips. My grandfather—being a man who doesn’t hold back—told me the whole story. How my dad came in, played nice just long enough to swoop Mom off her feet, then brought her north, to a city where she knew no one, to the city he runs and she has no allies.

Like I said, he’s a predator. He separates his prey from the herd, then conquers.

When I glance up, Southside’s dozing. She looks so damn innocent, like the scared girl I believe she keeps hidden on the inside. I think back on what she said, about being creeped out by hospitals, and I stay in my seat despite having made up my mind to go. If I’m going to leave her, this is the time to do it. But instead, I settle in, sliding off my shoes and propping them on the edge of her bed. She stirs a little when I disturb the mattress, but doesn’t wake.

Seems she’s faced most things in life by herself. Guess I just don’t see why spending the night here should be one of them.

‘She okay?’

I smile when Dane texts out the blue, proving that despite my best efforts to bring my brothers to the dark side, they’re better than that.

‘She’s fine. Sleeping,’ I shoot back.

‘Cool. Need anything?’

My eyes go to Southside again and I take a breath, realizing that my feelings are changing.

‘T-shirt and sweats,’ I answer. ‘Looks like I’ll be here all night.’