Holding Onto Forever (Beaumont: Next Generation 1) - Page 9

Everyone is crying, and that’s saying a lot because I have never seen my dad cry until today. Sure, he’s had misty eyes like when Quinn left for college or when he came home and showed us the Oscar that 4225 West had won for best song in a movie, but never have I been witness to seeing him cry like he is now. I tried to comfort him, to put my arms around him like I used to when I was little, but it didn’t do anything to help ease his pain.

The same can be said about Quinn. He’s always been the big brother to us, our protector. We had Noah for that as well, but the age difference made it so we were rarely in school together. Quinn fell right in the middle of our group. Friends with Noah and brother to Elle and me, and until today I have never seen him cry. Not even when he was in trouble or when he was given his first drum set. But now he is. He’s sobbing and holding onto Elle as if I’ve died already.

Maybe I have died and this is me as a ghost, standing on the outside and watching as my family falls apart. We’ve always been a strong unit, supporting each other’s goals and aspirations. Growing up, our parents encouraged us to find ourselves and to follow what we love. It’s how I ended up in Chicago while the rest of my family lived in Los Angeles. Elle wanted the sun, the sand, and surfers. Quinn wanted the music scene. My parents wanted solitude and quiet. I wanted the crazy, hectic life of a sports reporter.

There’s no doubt in my mind that my time to shine was about to happen. Being on the sideline, even for one game, was going to be enough to catapult me into something amazing. I had big plans for that article even if my professor was the only one to see it. I would’ve used it as a reference when I applied at ESPN or Fox Sports. I suppose meeting Kyle changed all that.

Speaking of, I still don’t know where he is. In my current state, it seems that I can roam the halls freely. I’ve tried to converse with the nurses and other staff members, but it’s as if they can see right through me.

The hall is quiet, except for the annoying beeping sound coming from every room on this floor. I peek in each one, most patients are sleeping and only a few have people in them. My room by far is the most packed with bodies, all here to say goodbye according to the doctor that stuck those odd drumsticks into my chest.

Yet, I’m not ready to go. I’m not done being me. I continue to visit each room, looking for someone like me that can tell me what I’m going through. Is this common for people who have died? The only other person I know is my father and I was far too young to remember anything other than his funeral. Sure, I can recall bits and pieces of my life with him, but his funeral is vivid and often plays like a movie when I’m not sleeping well.

The double doors open when I approach. This hall is far quieter than the one I was just in, with the only sound coming from the television. The noise is easy to follow and I’m surprised to find the room empty when I arrive. Whoever left it on would be in trouble and on dish duty for a week in our house. That thought makes me giggle a little bit because it was always Quinn who left something on and was stuck with that horrible chore.

As I approach the elevator, it opens for me. I’m alone and the number for the fifth floor is lit up but once the doors close they open again. There are a lot of people waiting to get on so I step off quickly, not wanting to be the reason they’re held up any longer.

This floor is busy with nurses walking up and down the hall, patients being wheeled in their chairs to their next destination and a police officer standing outside one of the rooms. That’s the one I go in, curious as to what they did to warrant a policeman to stand guard at their door.

It’s Kyle! I rush to his bed only to realize that he can’t see me either. His leg is in a cast that extends up his thigh and his arm is bandaged. He’ll surely be done for the season with an injury like that, and he’s probably very upset about it.

There’s another officer in the room talking to Kyle. It’s only after I hear my name that I start to pay attention.

“Tell me again how you met Peyton James?”

“It’s Powell-James,” I tell him, but he doesn’t seem to repeat the change. My dad has always insisted that we hyphenate even though it can get a bit tedious.

“I met her before warm-ups. I thought she was beautiful and she knew her stuff about football. That was an instant turn-on so I asked her out.”

“Kyle that’s so sweet,” I say.

“You said thought?” the officer says to Kyle, which confuses me.

“She was dead… I mean…” Kyle shakes his head and looks out the window. I wish he’d look at me so he could see that I’m not dead. I’m alive and standing right next to him.

“Did she have her seatbelt on?”

Kyle nods.

“Were you speeding?”

He shakes his head. “The truck… I didn’t see it until it was too late. I couldn’t do anything to move my car out of its way.”

“It’s okay, Kyle,” I tell him as I run my fingers over his hair. He seems to like that since he closes his eyes and leans his head toward me.

“Were you angry that you lost tonight?”

I look at the officer and say, “What kind of question is that?”

“I was, but I was looking forward to spending some time with her.”

“Me too, Kyle.”

“When they run your toxicology screen will they find anything?”

Kyle shakes his head again. “I’m clean.”

“Kyle stop answering his questions.”

Tags: Heidi McLaughlin Beaumont: Next Generation Romance
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