Letters to Nowhere: Part 84

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"I'll do it." Stevie whipped out her phone and headed for the hall.

            The doctor seemed satisfied with this answer and started poking at Jordan's cut.  Eventually he squeezed water over it. "This is a big one, probably sixteen or seventeen stitches I'd guess. Want to tell me how it happened?"

            Tony held up his phone. "I got a video!"

            I must have channeled the ghost of my lawyer father right then, because I grabbed Tony's hand, the one with the phone, and leaned close to whisper, "Delete that video, now."

            "Never mind," Tony said.

            Jordan looked up at the doctor and forced a grin. "Just a minor backyard accident."

            I watched the doctor pull out a giant needle and I squeezed Jordan's hand tighter. He gave me a weary smile but didn't even flinch. Probably because he was drunk. "I can't believe I was so stupid," he said. "I'm proving my dad's theory right. A hundred bucks says he tells me that within five minutes of his arrival."

            "You were right to be mad, Jordan," I said. "He's shutting you out, and it doesn't make any sense."

            "I just wanted to drink a little, calm myself down, and then I was going to let it go, head back home and tell him I'm sorry and to forget about it." He shook his head. "I'm not sure why it set me off. Maybe because talking about parent issues is our thing. Me and you. And then he was telling you stuff..."

            "How long were you listening?"

            "A while." He looked at me again, his face weary. "I'm sorry. I'm not really like this. If I hadn't nearly bled to death, I would have just slept it off and come home after school tomorrow and you'd never know the difference."

            I leaned forward and hugged him around the waist, pressing my face into his shirt. "I know what you're like—"

            "Oh God," Tony moaned.

            I let go of Jordan and turned around to look at Tony. He was swaying back and forth, color draining from his face.

            "Dude?" Jordan said. "What's wrong with you?"

            "That's a big fucking needle," Tony managed to say.

            The doctor barely glanced over at us. "You'd better have him sit down before he passes out."

            Me? Tony could crush me with one leg. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to hold on to consciousness. I grabbed a metal chair and slid it under him and poked him in the chest with one finger. That was all it took to make him fall into the seat.

            "Have him put his head between his knees," the doctor said.

            I pressed on the back of Tony's neck until his upper body slumped over. "I don't feel so good," he moaned.

            All I could think to do was pat his back awkwardly. Fifteen minutes later, after Jordan was good and numbed up in preparation for the stitches he needed, Stevie returned with Bentley behind her. He stomped right in and scanned the room, taking everything in.

"Mr. Bentley?" the doctor asked. "Your son is going to be just fine. A few stitches and he'll be good as new. We see this kind of shenanigans all the time. Nothing to worry about, unless it happens again, of course."

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