I parked in a hurry and called Edie’s cell. She picked up on the third ring, making my fucking heart almost detonate inside my chest. And it was ironic, the way I’d thrived on her weaknesses when we first met, and now how desperately I wanted for her to cling onto her strength to survive this.

“Fourth floor, I’ll be outside room 412,” she whispered, like she didn’t want to disturb anyone. The journey to her was the longest I’d ever taken. The pale blue walls and tired, reassuring eyes of the hospital staff haunted me, slamming me with memories I’d wanted to forget.

“Your leg is broken. Your college scholarship is, well, not going to materialize, Trent.”

“Congratulations. It’s a girl. The mother will sign the birth certificate shortly. Here’s hoping she’ll give the kid your last name, eh?”

“She is fine. There is nothing wrong with her voice. She is just…well, anyway, I have the name of a really good child psychologist.”

I stopped by door 412, pressing my palm onto the cool wood and closing my eyes. I was past caring about Jordan at this stage. If he was there, asking questions, like why the fuck Edie had called me, I’d be frank. I rapped on the door three times, as softly as I could, turned around and paced the hallway.

Ten seconds later, Edie walked out. She was still wearing the same flowery #SunChaser tank top and tiny burgundy shorts that had made all the men at the party salivate. Only she no longer looked like Edie. She looked like someone ten years her senior. Ironically, someone I wouldn’t feel so horrified about sleeping with.

“Hey.” My voice came out soft, and I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, my face, my fucking being, so I approached her for an awkward hug, which she—thank fuck—returned. We stood there in a loose embrace outside her mother’s hospital room. I stared at the plain door; she stared at some banal painting behind me probably donated to the hospital by some rich asshole. Her shoulders were frail and so was her mind, I was sure. Time seemed to stand still just like we did, for a while, before she disconnected from me and looked down.

“Is she okay?” I asked. Was it wrong that I didn’t truly care? The only person I was interested in at that moment was Edie, and I wasn’t entirely sure if her mother’s recovery would be a good or a bad thing for her. Edie blew a lock of hair from her face, her eyes cutting to the mostly empty corridor behind us. A nurse was leaning lazily along an oval reception desk. Phones were ringing. A doctor was scribbling something on a whiteboard.

Edie was waiting for someone. For her fucking father, most likely.

“I don’t know. She is stable now, but…” She rubbed her face wearily, shaking her head. I wanted to suck her pain away and make it my own. “But she’s in a coma, Trent. Her vital organs are working, but she’s not conscious.” Her chin was quivering, and tears glimmered in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether I should tell him…”

“You haven’t told your father yet?” I asked, caving into the urge to touch her. I stroked her arm, putting some reassuring weight on her body and encouraging her to lean into me. She shook her head, throwing another glance at the corridor. Edie sniffed.

“Let’s talk somewhere else. I have a long night ahead and I probably need to recharge.”

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Coconut water.” She almost smiled.

We walked to the cafeteria on the same floor. I got her a coconut water and got myself some coffee. We sat in front of a window overlooking our small, sinful town. Edie stirred her drink with a straw, staring at it.

“I told my father, but I hardly needed to. It’s all his fault. When we were at the barbecue, he arrived home without any notice and decided to break it to her that he wants a divorce. Mom…it’s not the first time she’s tried to kill herself…Anyway, so, my father. I texted him. He still hasn’t answered, but I’m not holding my breath. I was the only person to sit there beside her eight years ago when she first tried to slit her wrists, and I’m definitely not expecting anything to change now that he‘s left her.”

Fucking Van Der Zee. It was so fucking like him to pull shit like this. Leave a woman, who was so obviously ill, and his own daughter, who was in need of help, to pick up the pieces. I swallowed, my Adam’s apple bobbing, and tapped my fingers over my knee. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She scrunched her nose. “Really. I’m not even disappointed at this point. Not at him, anyway. But it would have been nice if she at least gave me a call before trying to do this. My mom is not a bad person. She is just troubled. But I still need her. Everybody needs a mom.”