Page 54 of Crashing Into You

“Appreciate it.”

I drop the bag of trash, my heart heavy. Mum comes to me, hugging me. We cling to each other as we watch the medics take Millie, then Marco away, leaving us in the shattered remains of Millie’s apartment.

“Come on.” I’m so close to crying, still feeling as though I’m stuck in a bad dream. “We need to get to the hospital.”

I don’t say anything as we drive to the Alfred Hospital, not trusting myself to hold back. I pull into the car park and find a spot, turning off the ignition. I don’t get out of the car, though. I sit there for a moment, then I slam my hand into the steering wheel.

Mum flinches, but her green gaze is steely.

“How long, Mum? How long?”

“Bryce, I?—”

“You told me you were worried about her two weeks ago, but that it was okay. I came home anyway. I came to see you both, took her out for the day. I wanted to see how things were for myself. I was worried, but you said we needed to trust her.” I pause, catching my breath, not wanting to yell. “And when you messaged me and I called you back, youstillinsisted everything was fine. But things seem pretty fucking far from fine. That apartment didn’t get like that in a couple of weeks!” I’m so angry I can hardly see straight, my heart racing. But this isn’t Mum’s fault, not really.

“I didn’t know things were that bad.” Mum’s voice is shaking. “I didn’t. I thought she was still going to school. I swear I took her there myself, just a couple of weeks ago.”

“I bet he was already living there,” I say. “Already worming his filthy way back into her life. And now this shit.”

“It’s pretty common, among reformed addicts. They get used to injecting larger doses, because their resistance levels are high. And then they get clean.”

“But when they relapse, they inject the higher dose, because that’s what they know. And their bodies can’t handle it. Yeah, I know that, Mum. And I reckon Millie did, too. It doesn’t change the fact that she”—my voice breaks—“is in there right now, fighting for her life.”

“Oh!” Mum’s hand comes to her mouth, her face twisting.

I pull her in for a hug as she sobs, my own eyes prickling with tears. “Come on, Mum.” I rub her back, my voice softer. “We need to get in there. For her.”

Mum pulls back, sniffing. She wipes her eyes. Then she opens the car door and gets out.

ChapterTwenty-Four

Bryce

It’s touch and go.

Hours spent in the hospital, a long night of getting endless shitty cups of coffee from the vending machine, making sure Mum’s okay. I feel like I’m on autopilot, as though everything is muted, behind glass.

I miss Claire so much it hurts. Crazy how someone can come into your life and almost immediately become indispensable. I sit down in a chair next to the coffee machine and pull out my phone, scrolling through the photos of us. At the Torquay event, on the balcony at her place, a few shots of the magnificent view. And one I took on the beach, after I kissed her in the water and told her I wanted to explore where things were going. She stares back at me, her dark hair slicked back, her rash top clinging to her, her ocean eyes dark and endless. She’s so fucking beautiful it takes my breath away.

I keep scrolling, then stop on a photo that feels like a punch in the chest. It’s the one I took of Millie, standing outside the smiling clown-face entrance of Luna Park, holding pink candyfloss and grinning like a little kid. A reminder of what’s possible.

And now she’s lying in a hospital bed. I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand. Then, on impulse, I post the photo to my socials with a single line.

Love this girl.

Those who know me will know who Millie is, what she means to me. And those who don’t? I don’t really give a shit at the moment. I sigh and get up, paying for another couple of cups of coffee. I head back to where Mum is waiting, her face drawn and grey, and hand her one of the cups. Then I catch a glimpse of a clock and realise the time. Shit. Claire. I’m not going to get back to the coast today. Reality comes rushing back to me, everything suddenly seeming too loud, too bright. I wish she was here, wish I could hold her and bury my face in her soft hair, breathe in the sense of comfort, of peace, that she gives me. The feeling is so intense it hurts, like something inside my chest is trying to burst out.

I pull out my phone and start texting. I don’t trust my voice to call her, and I don’t want to worry her. I know I need to tell her about Millie and what’s going on, but I’d rather do it in person.

I’m not going to make it back tonight. Things aren’t great here. I miss you, so much. Wish you were here with me. I’m so sorry. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can. And then I’ll tell you everything.

I pause, because the thing in my chest is pushing harder, and I just want to tell her how I feel.

I love you.

I type it, then delete it. Several times. If I’m going to say it to her, it doesn’t feel like the kind of thing to say over text message.

“Mrs Maylands?”