Page 83 of Love Always

Jesus.

“I’m fine,” I say and glare at her. “Move.”

The waitress leaves with an eyeroll.

At least Laurel and Cruz are in my line of sight again, and their conversation continues without another interruption. I lean back in the chair. The water bottle remains untouched.

Finally, Cruz gets the bill with a big flourish and the waitress leaves, not happy. He puts on his coat. Just then, Kevin Barr walks by and waves, not to her, but to him through the large pane glass window. Quickly shoving his laptop into his bulky briefcase, he’s putting out flight responses. Cruz wants to get away. When he exits, he hurries away in the opposite direction of Kevin. I quickly text Bryce to drop us and tail Kevin. Cruz is trying to put distance between them for a reason.

Gently taking her elbow, I edge her toward the entryway. Stepping out first, I scope out the street. No Kevin Barr. “All clear,” I say and keep an arm around her.

We cross the street and stroll to the open public parking area alongside the pier. The wind is really kicking up and it’s bitter cold. I zip my leather jacket up. By the time she closes the car door, her teeth are chattering. “That was pointless. I don’t really get what he wanted,” she says. “Geez, it’s cold.”

I turn on the Lexus and crank the heat.

“I could not get water in there. Hang on,” she says and pulls out the water bottle. “Oh, it’s leaking now.”

I hand her a paper napkin from the glove compartment. One thing I’ve noticed about these company cars: they are to be kept neat and clean at all times.

She uncaps it and quickly downs about a third. “It was so hot in there and the food was so salty.”

She hands me the bottle and I take a few sips, setting in the cup holder, leaving the rest for her. She starts to reach for it.

An alarm goes off in my head. Leaking water bottle. A switch.

“Laurel, stop,” I say, throwing the car back into park.

It’s too late.

She just stares at me glassy-eyed and held upright only by her shoulder strap.

Then the drug hits me, like a giant wave, and I suddenly feel like I’m pushing through water. I pull out my phone and text Bryce. ABORT, CASEVAC which is all I can come up with. The phone disappears. I turn her face to mine. Her lips are blue, fingertips are blue and I’m not sure she’s breathing.

My brain is sluggish. Half a bottle versus a few sips. It’s fentanyl. Got to be. I lunge for the glove compartment again, fingers numb, not connected to my brain.

There’s the one shot of Narcan. I reach across her, press the button on her seat. The hum is faint, but the seat lowers. Her body is limp.

Protocol says inject myself, like securing an oxygen mask on a plane first, so you can help others. But maybe she’s not breathing. She’s ODing right here in front of me.

My heart trills in my chest, so fast it’s humming a valvular song and I can hardly breathe—I’m ODing too. There’s probably less than a minute before I will be incapacitated. I tear open the syringe packet, hold it in my teeth and grab the top button on her jeans.

My arms are like lead, weak. I can barely pull them down past her crotch. It’s all I can do and a sob wells deep in my chest. Suddenly, a gurgling starts in her throat. My head swings to one side, so I can see her. Her eyes are open—she does not see me.

The trilling stops, and now my heart is rolling, drunk, irregular, then a spasm wracks my body just as I’m about to plunge the syringe into her leg. The needle can’t break. I’m leaning on her now, focused on my hands. The needle.

The syringe swims into view. It has to be perpendicular, and dive into the muscle. I tried this with my sister, tried to save her and then Laurel becomes her and my heart breaks because I can’t save either of them, can’t save Laurel. I don’t know if I’ve depressed the syringe, I can’t move, can’t breathe and I lay down over her, unable to cry, to speak, to make anything right.

Chapter Seventeen

Laurel

My eyes burn. I blink and they burn more and there’s a drilling sensation deep behind each eye. There’s something heavy on my chest, but at least I can breathe again. My hands feel like heavy weights and I lift one to wipe the tears trickling down the side of my face. Someone’s hair is in my mouth. I’m lying down. In a car.

And then it all comes rushing back just about the time I think I’m going to throw up. I struggle to move but I’m still pinned and then, as if some ethereal veil is slowly lifting, I know it’s Mateus. Bile roils into my throat. Then the passenger door opens, and my other arm, which I’ve been leaning on I guess, drops and I nearly fall out of the car. Someone catches me.

There is blood everywhere. My forearm hurts.

I still can’t talk. My tongue feels like felted wool lodged in the back of my throat. Bryce swims into view and then he’s gone. I feel the tug of the other car door tearing open, then the pressure on my chest is lifted. I’m still cocooned in something I can’t see, and sound is muffled, light too bright. I stare at the scene in front of me.