Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (22 page)

I shoved harder until, finally, the door swung open.

I barged right in, gazing around, expecting her to be standing here, maybe using the bathroom.

But she wasn’t.

That heavy unknown thing against the door was her body, which was sprawled on the floor, and in her hand was the telephone, and a bottle of her prescribed pills. She was probably trying to get them open.

Her face was pale, and as I bent down, immediate panic swept through me. “Grandma!”

I picked her up and took her to the bed, checking for a pulse—anything that would prove to me she was okay.

But she was so cold and motionless. She wasn’t moving at all.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! No—Grandma, please!” I shook her, gripping her shoulders.

I dialed 9-1-1. I couldn’t do this alone. I needed help.

I needed—I needed… fuck, I don’t know. I just knew I needed her here.

This reminded me too much of Mom. Too much of what I witnessed before. The pale face. The dry lips. The eyes that never opened again.

Mom overdosing, unable to control her gagging. She choked so much, and I could only watch because I didn’t know how to make it stop. One minute she was hugging me as I tried to sleep, and the next her body was shaking, her arms stiff, legs locked.

Can you imagine being a witness to your own mother dying at the mere age of eight?

She was dying right in front of me. All from a bottle of Xanax and a little too much whiskey. Both were things that Flex introduced her to. He made her do the pills and the other hardcore shit.

He made her into something she knew she wasn’t. She tried to change… but she never could. She was weak for him, and I could never figure out why.

The phone rang and rang as I paced the bedroom. Someone finally picked up and my words rushed through the phone. They were asking too many damn questions and telling me too many things to do.

“Just send a fucking ambulance! NOW!”

Those were the only words I could remember before I held Grandma Marie again. I grabbed the phone that was in her hand and checked the call log.

My heart sank when I saw that she called me.

She called me?

She whimpered and I dropped the phone. She was still there. Still fighting. “Grandma?” I whispered as I cupped her face. “Grandma, you there?” My eyes grew hot, prickling with heat.

“I’m… okay… Drake.” Her voice was dry and crackly. I’d never heard her this way before.

“Everything is gonna be okay,” I said as I picked her up again, carrying her to the living room. I laid her on the sofa and then went to the kitchen to wet a paper towel.

When I came back, I bent down at her side and wiped her forehead while stroking the wisps of gray hair away.

She took in a large, deep breath.

“What happened to you, wild woman?” I teased, forcing a laugh. “You know you can’t be running around like you used to.”

“I was on the hunt for my just as wild grandson,” she returned, smiling a little. “I needed a little bit of help.”

“I was around.”

“I know.” She continued a smile and then reached up to stroke my cheek. “You like this girl a lot. I know it. You can’t even answer my calls, you’re so busy with her.” She was teasing back.

I laughed, and I wanted it to be sincere but the truth was it hurt my chest.

She started to laugh, but a heavy cough filled its place and as she did, blood spouted out. It landed on the center of her white shirt and she looked down at it.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

I placed a hand on her shoulder, doing my best to remain calm. “Relax,” I insisted. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk.” I held her hand. “I’ll do all the talking. Is that cool?”

She nodded.

I squeezed her hand. “What do you want me to talk about?”

She gave me a look, as if I already knew what she wanted to hear.

“Jenny?” I asked, smirking.

She bobbed her head slowly.

“Well… Jenny is cool. A nice girl. She wants to meet you soon. I told her you want to meet her too. I’ve just been busy as hell, you know?”

She nodded.

“I need you to meet her. I think you’d love her. She reminds me a lot of Mom. Understanding. Fun. She asks a lot of damn questions, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

Grandma’s eyes lit up with glee.

“I don’t know what it is about her. It’s been this way since we were ten. It’s like she sees right through me and… I let her.”

Her smile was faint now.

“Mom would have loved her, too.”

“I bet,” Grandma responded quietly.

Sirens blared from a distance.

“They’re close,” I whispered as I glanced towards the windows.

Grandma Marie’s eyes shut. “I hear them.”

“Hang in there, okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Drake. And you’ll be fine, despite what happens. I know it. You’re a strong boy. A lot stronger and wiser than you think.” She swallowed thickly. “Way stronger than your father.”

The sirens were closer.

Before I knew it, they were knocking on the door. I hurried to open it and they immediately put Grandma on a stretcher. They rushed her out the front door and I rode with her to the hospital.

“You’ll be okay,” she said as she looked at me. “You’re a good boy. Your mother and I knew that. We love you. Don’t panic.”

I grabbed her hand, nodding—trying to smile but unable to.

It was a fifteen-minute ride to get to the hospital.

During it, I held her hand, watching as they placed IV’s in her arms and gave her an oxygen mask.

But it was halfway during the ride when all hell broke loose.

The EMT’s were working hard, trying to keep her stable. One of them pumped her chest, while the other worked on the tubing and kept her head lifted up.

She was choking on her own blood now.

It spilled down the corners of her mouth. I saw her face screw up with unspeakable pain.

I wanted to take it all away from her, but I didn’t know how that was even possible when I was already in too much pain myself.

My heart crumbled, the pieces stabbing me deep inside as I watched it all go down. It seemed like an out of body experience—one I couldn’t control or get a grip on.

The blood.

Her pale face.

Her fingers as they gradually slipped out of mine. I wanted to help. I wanted to step in and do something, but what more could I do that the trained professionals couldn’t?

I wasn’t a man that cried, but this was Grandma Marie, the woman who raised me to be smarter, safer, and just a little nicer.

She was the woman that gave me my second chance at life—saved me from Flex and his wrath.

She was the only person other than my mother that always put me first, and for a boy as terrible as I was, she did a terrific job raising me to be a decent one.

By the time we reached the hospital it was too late to revive her or do anything more.

It was over.

It was done.

The monitor beeped in a flat tone.

They noted her time of death and carried on as if nothing had happened, but I could only sit there.

Even when they carried her limp, lifeless body out of the ambulance and helped me out, I sat there.

On the curb, with a desolate, hollow feeling swimming in my veins. It swam and slithered in the deepest, darkest parts of me.

I was broken.

A shattered, fucked up mess.

My chest hurt so fucking bad. I couldn’t even cry because the pain was swallowing me whole. I didn’t know how to escape it, how to accept or cope with it.

I still wasn’t over Mom passing and now this? Grandma Marie?

What was this I was feeling? I had no idea whether to be angry or depressed as hell.

I couldn’t budge.

Oscar and Otto were by my side somehow, helping me up from the curb and letting me into their car. They took me home, encouraged me to go to bed, but I refused and sat on the sofa.

They stuck around on purpose, called into work for me to let them know we’d had a loss in the family.

They were saddened by what happened. She was like a grandma to them, but I don’t think they felt what I felt.

My guilt was eating me alive. She called me—I was her last call before she… died.

And I wasn’t even there to save her.

I wasn’t there to do anything.

I was with Jenny, the love of my life, but because of that I’d lost my caregiver, my protector, my scroll of daily wisdom. My only grandmother.

I wondered about so much, but what I really wondered was, if I’d been home, would she have survived just a little bit longer?

Would she have been okay?

Would she have made it long enough, at least to have a dinner with Jenny?

Was loving Jenny Roscoe and spending every waking moment with her worth losing a person that put her life on the line every single day for me?

Deep down, I didn’t know the answer to the last question.

And because I didn’t know, the guilt consumed me even more.

W
hen Mom threatened
to call the cops on Drake, I’d officially had enough of her. Our arguing became so heated that Dad woke up just to end it.

“That is enough!” he shouted when he walked into the kitchen. Mom looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, but I could only stare at her.

How could she do that to him? She didn’t even know Drake. She could have at least been nicer about it… but I knew her.

She was far from nice, and I was sure she really would have called the cops if I hadn’t stepped up for him. Drake wanted to say so much to her—I could tell, but he didn’t because he wanted to spare me the grief. She had no idea what he was capable of.

Come to think of it, neither did I.

“What the hell is going on? Why are you two arguing in the middle of the night?” Dad snapped.

I immediately told Dad everything, from how Drake had snuck through my window, to me sneaking him out. I backed it up by saying it was a mistake—that nothing happened—but he didn’t buy into it.

All he heard was there was a boy in his daughter’s room.

He looked at me with so much disbelief in his eyes, but he didn’t even flinch when I told him how Mom threatened to call the cops.

“Who is this boy?” Dad asked.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I stated.

“What is his name?”

“Drake Davenport.”

Dad grunted. “A Davenport? Jenny,” he hissed as he marched for me. “Have you completely lost your mind? Drake Davenport? I’ve heard about him. The fighter with the ignorant, no-good father. He used to set that boy up for fights when he was just a kid.” Dad’s head shook, and his wide brown eyes were full of disbelief. “Jenny, go to your room. I’m taking your car keys, as well as your laptop. I don’t want to see you again for the rest of the night.”

I glared at Mom as she stood behind him with a smirk on full display, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

I hated her. I really did.

I stormed out of the kitchen, rushing up the stairs and into my bedroom. I heard them start up an argument before I could even slam my door. Mom’s voice was loud, but Dad’s was louder.

“I don’t care if he is Hitler’s son, Wanda! No one needs to know that boy was in my house and with
our
daughter. Do you know how much that will ruin the company’s reputation in Fox River? Everything will go downhill if they think we are connected to what that boy’s father does in the slightest. Listen, we will talk to her in the morning when everything has cooled down. We’ll tell her she shouldn’t see him anymore. She’ll understand. We just have to talk to her like an adult.”

Mom mumbled something, but I didn’t care to listen to what she had to say. My door was already slammed, my face buried into my pillow as soon as I launched myself on top of the mattress.

I screamed to the top of my lungs, but I’m sure it couldn’t have been heard by anyone but myself.

I hated it there.

What kind of family was this? I knew I would get in trouble if I got caught sneaking a boy in my room—that was normal—but wanting to call the police, to get Drake in trouble, and spread it all over town? What kind of a Mom does that? All Dad really cared about was Roscoe Waffle’s reputation.

Picking up my head, I reached for my cellphone on the nightstand and called Drake. He didn’t answer.

I tried again.

Nothing.

I growled as I tossed my phone towards the bottom of the bed, roughly raking my fingers through my hair as I paced my bedroom. I heard my parents walk past my door and enter their bedroom moments later.

They were still bickering about me.

It was the perfect opportunity to get out of the house. They were going to be too disappointed in me to even come to my room. I wasn’t going to hear from them again until the morning.

Grabbing a light jacket, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and then sliding into my tennis shoes, I opened my window carefully, peering over the balcony railing. It was a high jump.

I couldn’t make it, especially with the rose bushes down there.

I glanced back, hesitant. The only room that had an easy way out was Mitchell’s. There was a trellis wall beside his window, attached to the house, covered in thick, luscious vines. He used to sneak out a lot, back when he was around.

Dad would be worried sick about him, and Mom would never do anything about it. It’s like she knew he’d always come back…until he didn’t.

I opened my door as quietly as possible and tiptoed down the hallway. When I reached his room, I walked in. The door creaked a bit, but I don’t think they could hear it.

They were too busy arguing.

I shut Mitchell’s door quietly and then hurried for his window. After unlocking it, I stepped out, and closed it behind me. The trellis was easy to reach.

Swinging a leg over the thick rail, I balanced my foot on one of the steps and then scurried down.

I didn’t have my car keys. I usually left them in the kitchen on the key holder and I was sure Dad had them in his clutches by now, so I ran away from the house.

I ran through the back gates and then I kept going until my lungs felt like they were about to burst.

I knew where Drake lived, so I jogged a little more until I met at a bus stop. The ride was quick, but I was way too antsy.

I finally came upon the dark neighborhood on the outskirts of town.

This was it.

Drake didn’t like bringing me here because he always said his neighborhood was full of bad people and stray dogs. He only brought me by three times, when he forgot something.

Whenever we happened to stop by, his Grandma would be gone or sleeping, so I could never meet her when the time seemed right.

It was different being in this neighborhood without him, I can admit that.

Things moved in all the dark places, tins banged, and drunken men cackled and roared. I gripped the collar of my jacket, rushing down the street, swallowing air as I got closer and closer to his house.

I knocked heavily, waiting for a response.

There was no answer, so I knocked again.

And again.

His truck was parked in the yard, but the house was vacant. I hopped off the stoop, checking inside of the truck. He wasn’t there.

I sighed walking back to the stoop and sitting on the step, looking around the dark, cluttered street. It was littered with old cars, cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, and cigarillo wrappers.

The people across the street were still awake. Their lights were on.

I remembered there was a girl around my age that lived there. Her name was Callie Cortez. She went to Lake Lane High, too. From what Drake told me, she was nice to him, but not in the way that made it seem like she liked him or anything.

They had a mutual respect for one another. Two good-hearted people living in a crappy neighborhood, doing what they had to do to survive and hoping one day they could get out and make something of themselves. I think she worked at a breakfast restaurant in town.

Speaking of, Callie came out of the side door ten minutes later with a bag of trash and tossed it into the trashcan. She then weaved her way between the cars parked in her driveway, pulled out a white carton, and placed a cigarette between her lips.

I pushed up and walked to the sidewalk as she lit it.

She heard my footsteps and whipped her head up quickly. When she saw it was me, she relaxed and smiled. “Oh, hey, rich girl.”

I sniffled. “Hi, Callie. Sorry to bother you. Have you seen Drake?”

She took a long pull from her cigarette and then pointed down the street with it. I looked back as if he were going to magically appear. “Saw an ambulance come and some little men carrying Mrs. Richman out of her house on a stretcher. Drake went with them.”

I gasped, my eyes stretching with horror. “Oh my God. Was she okay?”

“From the looks of it, rich girl,” Callie looked at me sorrowfully, “no. She looked worse than I’d ever seen her before.”

My heart dropped. “Do you know which hospital they might have taken her to?”

“Probably Presbyterian Lake.”

I nodded, stepping back. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” I could feel Callie watching me as I took off. Before I could get too far, she called after me.

I looked back as she tossed the cigarette and stepped on the butt with her mud-crusted boots. “You shouldn’t be walking alone in this neighborhood. Drake would pitch a fit.” She cocked her head. “I don’t see your car. I’ll take you.”

“Really?” I rushed back her way. “That would be great.”

“Sure. I need another pack of cigarettes anyway. Let me just grab my keys.”

Callie was in and out before I knew it. She unlocked the car doors of her brown Honda and climbed in the driver’s seat.

I got in and buckled up, but when it wouldn’t click in she said, “Oh, yeah. You can’t buckle in. Sorry. Seat belt clicker thing is broken.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s okay.” I released the seatbelt and sat back.

She tucked her faded blue hair behind her ears, started the car, and pulled off, skidding out of the neighborhood. She shifted gears like a madwoman in a derby race, made sharp turns, and hardly ever stopped for a yellow light.

We reached the hospital and I was more than relieved to set foot on land again.

“Thank you so much, Callie.”

She nodded her head. “No problem, rich-girl-without-her-car.” She grinned and I huffed a laugh.

“Long story.”

“I bet. Hey, let me know if Mrs. Richman is okay. That lady is the sweetest woman ever. I’d hate it if something happened and I didn’t know.”

I nodded. “I will.”

Callie bobbed her head and I shut the door. She pulled off instantly and I turned around, walking towards the entrance of the hospital.

The waiting area was empty. I went to the front desk and asked about Mrs. Richman.

The woman behind the desk kept glancing at me as she spoke to one of the nurses. One of the nurses in blue scrubs went to the back, and after thirty minutes ticked by she returned, but there was a look on her face—something in her eyes that gave me a really bad feeling,

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said as I stood. “Mrs. Richman passed on her way here. The body is here, but unless you are next of kin or family, we can’t let you in.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

My vision grew cloudy. I didn’t know Drake’s grandmother personally, but he talked about her so much that I felt like I’d known her all my life. Drake kept telling me how she was dying to meet me—how we needed to plan dinner once he found the free time. I couldn’t wait to meet her…and now I never would.

“Thank you so much.” I walked away from the nurse before she could catch sight of my tears.

It wasn’t Mrs. Richman that I was worried most about. It was Drake.

He was with her, but where was he now?

Did he see her die?

What was he doing?

I rushed out of the hospital and looked around, hunting the area. He had to be nearby, I figured, but as the minutes spun into an hour, I still hadn’t found him.

It started to get colder… and later. And I couldn’t find Drake. The hospital was huge. He could have been anywhere.

Defeated, I finally pulled out my cellphone and called Kylie.

She answered groggily, but when I told her everything that’d happened within the past few hours, she perked up immediately and said she was on her way to pick me up.

I sat on the curb, waiting, shivering now.

Kylie pulled up to the curb and I sullenly got into the car.

“Did you find Drake?” she asked, as she drove away from the hospital.

“No.”

“Do you think he’s back at home? Do you want to go check?”

I stared out of the window as the streetlights passed by, the sun hardly at its horizon. I could see Lake Ultimate from here, the ripples like black diamonds, fierce and sharp. Getting into those waters now would most likely result in drowning.

A storm was coming, but I wasn’t sure if it was the weather or the turmoil in my heart.

“Jen?” Kylie called softly. “Should we go by his house to check?”

“No,” I whispered. “Just take me to your house. He probably needs space.”

Kylie cleared her throat. “Okay, Jen.”