“He needs something to do,” she says once he’s gone.

So do I. I need to run. Or hit something. I need to make this better. Change it. Fix it.

And I can’t.

So I just sit beside Carly’s mom and stare at the fluvaccine poster.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“HEY.”

I open my eyes, disoriented and achy. My neck’s twisted to one side, my shoulder pinched. I sit up, rubbing the ache, trying to figure out where I am.

Then it all comes back to me like sewage spewing from a drain. The police. The hospital. I fell asleep in the waiting-room chair. I don’t even get how that’s possible with how wired I am by worry and strain.

Jackson slouches into the chair next to me and takes my hand.

I shove my hair out of my face. “What are you doing here?” That didn’t come out the way I meant it to. I want to add, Thank you for being here. I need you. The words get stuck inside me.

“Sitting.” He squeezes my fingers a little. “In a chair.”

“Not in a tree.”

“Maybe later.”

“How did you know?” I whisper. How did you know I needed you? How did you know to come here?

“Luka came to my place after we dropped you off. We hung out. Played a few games. I was driving him home and we saw a bunch of police cruisers detouring traffic. Luka recognized your dad’s car.” He exhales, a slow, controlled movement, and his fingers tighten on mine. “I wanted to come straight here, but Luka’s dad called and said he needed him home to stay with his sister.” He pauses. “The rest of the way to Luka’s, I kept thinking it was you in that car.”

“No, not me,” I whisper. My dad. Carly. “Did you see Carly’s parents?”

“Yeah. Her dad’s pacing the hall. Her mom’s trying to get him to stop.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Mrs. Conner said they’re still doing tests.” He takes a slow breath, like he isn’t sure if he should say more.

“Tell me.”

“Carly was unconscious when they brought her in. She hasn’t woken up. Mrs. Conner said she has some broken bones but she didn’t say which ones and I didn’t push.”

I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I taste salt on my tongue and it takes a ridiculously long time for me to realize I’m tasting my own tears. “Daddy?” I rasp.

“They told Mrs. Conner they were taking him to surgery.” I clutch his hand tighter. He glances at our joined hands and continues, “She said he has a ruptured spleen.” He leans over and presses his lips to my forehead. “You can live without a spleen, Miki. Live a perfectly normal life.”

“How do you know?” I whisper.

“This guy I knew in Texas racked up his bike. They had to take out his spleen. He walked away with a big scar on his left side and a warning not to play contact sports.” He bumps me lightly with his shoulder. “That’ll be okay with your dad. Fishing isn’t a contact sport.”

I try to offer a watery smile, but I can’t. I’m fresh out of smiles.

“So it’s just his spleen? That’s all?”

“I don’t know. That’s all Mrs. Conner told me. That might be all they told her.” He shifts in his seat, angling his body; then he draws me against his chest, my head lolling on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I woke you,” he says. “I just wanted you to know I’m here. Try to sleep. I’ll wake you if anyone comes.”

Tears clog my throat. He held me like this in the caves, ordering me to sleep while he watched over me.

“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for being here.”

“I’ll always be here, Miki.”

My heart clenches. “Don’t say that,” I say, my tone fierce. “Don’t make a promise you might not keep.” Everyone leaves. “It’s enough that you’re here right now. This moment. You taught me that.”

And I can’t think beyond this moment, because what the moments to come might hold is terrifying and dark and horrible.

We’re both quiet for a bit.

I keep thinking of Carly, lying on the floor of the school basement, covered in blood. Like a portent of what was to come.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I say. “How could she survive the Drau, and then d—” I can’t say it. Can’t say the word. Like saying it might make it real.

“She isn’t dead, Miki. She’s still alive. Your dad’s still alive. Hold on to that. Hold on tight.”

I push off Jackson’s chest and twist in my seat so I’m looking at him. In this second, I hate his dark glasses. I desperately need to see his eyes, to know what he’s thinking when I say what I have to say. But he can’t take them off—not here, where someone might walk in any second.

Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. Maybe if I keep it a secret inside it won’t be true. But it’s already true. That’s why we’re here, in this waiting room with its brown, cloth chairs and scratched coffee table and flu-vaccine posters on the walls.

“My dad . . .” I say. “I heard the police out in the hall . . . they were talking about blood-alcohol level.” I jump up and just stand there, wanting to run far away, but having nowhere to run to. And knowing that no matter how far I run, this will still be real.

I start shaking and I can’t seem to stop. Jackson grabs me, pulls me onto his lap, and wraps his arms tight around me.