That evening, we had brought Clay to the hospital, meeting my parents there. The three of us, along with Audrey, paced in the waiting room. Reid had stepped out for a call. My mom's grip on my hand was turning it white, and it only got tighter when the doctor appeared in the room.
Everyone breathed sighs of relief when Dr. Brussel recited to us that Clay had strained a muscle in his shoulder, and had a very minor concussion, but was mostly wound up with tension and anxiety and it was affecting his health, causing this breakdown. The adrenaline from the fight had pushed him over the edge. "We're rehydrating him, making sure he's stable, but he'll be able to go home in about an hour."
My dad immediately started grumbling about the competition and how apparently physical harm wasn't the only thing he had to worry about with "those stupid bikes". He shook his head roughly, pulling at his thinning brown hair. My mom had released my hand, exhaling tension out of her body.
But she tightened her grip again as the doctor said, "It'll probably only be a few days of rest and he can be back out on the track again for that competition—it shouldn't stop him on his way to getting to the semifinals." Apparently the doctor was a fan of the sport, and knew about Clay.
"Absolutely not." My dad's words were firm.
I rolled my eyes. "Try stopping him." My frustration was more so toward my brother, who I only saw as cocky and irritating right now.
"Won't he be disqualified though?" my mom queried.
"Actually, no." All eyes shot toward Reid as he reappeared in the room. He cleared his throat and walked forward. "I just got a call from Phil. Apparently they talked it through and don't want to pull Clay out because of his potential that everyone sees. But, as punishment, he won't be able to be in the next race."
My mind quickly calculated—he'd won the first and got second next. Even if he missed the third, he was far enough ahead on points that he could definitely still swing a win on the competition.
Audrey breathed out, "Thank goodness."
My mom seemed glad for Clay, but also worried. My dad just shook his head again and looked toward the wall.
"That'll give him good time to rest," the doctor said satisfactorily. He turned back to my parents. "He'll be checked out of the hospital today, he'll be fine. He did, however—" the doctor glanced at me "—ask if he could talk with his sister."
My mom stood up, ready to come with me, but she stopped abruptly when the doctor added, "Alone."
She looked down toward me, frowning but not too surprised. She knew the relationship my brother and I had.
I gave her a tight smile. She might think my brother just wanted to talk with me because I was the close friend he needed right now. But I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves, as I followed the doctor down the bleak hallway.
Clay was awake, his bed propping him up. He looked much cleaner than he did earlier that day. There was no mud, his hair was clean and slicked back. The first thing I noticed other than that was the deep purple circle on his upper right cheekbone.
The next thing I noticed was his glare angled straight toward me. The doctor checked quickly on Clay, then smiled ignorantly at me as he walked out, closing the door behind him.
It was a typical hospital room. I was well acquainted with him. I spent most of what I remember of a "childhood" in one. A monitor beeped steadily and quietly in the corner, and blue sheets covered Clay on the white bed. I walked over silently and stood by the foot. There was a chair to sit in beside him, but I didn't want to be under his eye level.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, my voice reserved.
Clay's eyes were still on me, and his head tossed back slightly as he scoffed. "Oh, just great."
"You look terrible."
"You should see the other guy," Clay snipped. Then he cocked his head, mockingly thinking. "Oh—wait, you have. You walked off with him and I didn't see you for a while, since you needed to check on your boyfriend first."
Here we go. I crossed my arms, exhaling harshly as I stared at my brother with annoyance. But I decided not to answer. I knew he was especially testy today, and I knew he probably wasn't feeling the best either. I'd give him the benefit of the doubt, let him run his mouth, and then walk away and avoid him for the next few days.
"So, am I disqualified?" Clay asked shortly.
"No. Reid just got a call from Phil. You're not disqualified, but you can't be in the next race."
Clay grunted in frustration, shaking his head.
"That's way less than you deserved," I snapped at him. "There was no reason to not disqualify you, you should be grateful for their kindness."
"Was Greyson let off the hook, too?"
I pursed my lips. "I don't know."
"Well, I'm sure you'll be talking to him soon, so just let me know."
"Why did you ask to talk to me?" I cut across his mumbled words. Giving him the benefit of the doubt was going to be awfully hard if he kept throwing words at me.
"Whose side are you on?" he challenged, his dark brown eyes settling on me like a weight on my shoulders.
I groaned, tossing my hands up lightly and turning to look out the window at the stormy sky. "This again, Clay? You know the answer."
"Do I?" he pushed back.
"Stop being so immature and stop trying to control my life. Just because you think something is going on—"
"Is something going on?"
I met his eyes once more. A dirty blond eyebrow arched unnaturally high on his forehead as he threw the question at me, almost daring me to confirm something.
"No," I stated with unwavering firmness.
Is that the truth? I wish the unwavering firmness would spread from my words to my emotions.
Clay searched my eyes. Then he shook his head lightly. "Stop being two-faced, Cory."
"I want you to win, Clay, you know that! But you keep being a jerk, so sorry if I'm not always your happiest cheerleader," I spat.
"You don't even know what you're doing, getting involved with him," he muttered, his jaw tensing.
"Oh, for the love of—" I stopped abruptly, my nose flaring as I exhaled harshly, anger clouding me. "You're right, I don't know what I'm doing. Because no one cares to tell me what's actually going on. And so what if I 'get involved with him'," I answered, using air quotes to accompany the sarcastic tone. "Are you going to renounce me as your sister, or something?"
Clay scoffed, his head shaking again as he dropped his eyes to the blanket that covered him.
"What? What happened? Are you actually going to tell me?" My voice was rising. I knew I needed to be quieter, but I was so frustrated.
Suddenly, a lightning bolt of pain struck my brain, and I winced, shutting my eyes tightly.
"Not now," I muttered, bringing a hand to my temple. I'd gone so long this summer without a migraine.
"He's just not a good guy, Cory."
"Do you actually know that?"
"You just need to trust me," Clay said, matter-of-factly, like he just closed the door on it all and that was that.
My turn to shake my head, eyes still shut tight trying to will the headache away. "I don't have time for this."
"Time? What else are you doing other than spending it with Greyson?"
I glowered at him, snapping, "Sorry, I meant I don't have the patience to deal with you right now. You're being an A-class jerk. Maybe if you keep accusing me of all of this, it's actually going to happen, so I'd just shut up if I were you."
With that, I spun on my heel and yanked the door open, hearing it crash into the back of the wall satisfyingly before stalking out of the room and down the hallway. A nurse veered out of my path, and I saw Reid look across the waiting room, his eyebrow furrowed. My parents were in discussion with a nurse, and Audrey was nowhere to be found.
I met Reid's bright blue eyes for a second before pushing the door to the hospital open and shoving my way into the rainy summer day.
— - — @ — - —
About twenty-four hours later, I was pushing my way out of the same hospital doors, but for a different reason. My migraine hadn't left, it just grew steadily in annoyance, like an alarm at 4am that you can't hit snooze on. I spent the afternoon yesterday, after my fiasco with Clay, sitting in my room with every light off. The only sound was the rain that had picked up, pattering gently against my window. I knew Clay had come home a couple hours later. I heard him come up the stairs and pause outside of my door. I let out a breath of relief as I heard his footsteps continue down the hallway to his room.
But the headache persisted throughout the day, and I hardly got any sleep last night. I tossed and turned, my mind filled with many things. I thought about my brother and the frustration I felt toward him, but also the unsettled feeling that accompanied when our relationship askew. I thought about college approaching faster than I realized, and wondering if I'd be up there alone.
And I thought about Greyson. Greyson filled up too much of my mind. His smile. His emerald eyes. The dimples on his tanned face. The sound of his voice as he bantered with me.
Then my mind would fill with accusations and indignance toward myself for letting him fill my mind.
Which would then restart the pounding pain that rang around my head, making me curl up tighter and chasing away any efforts of sleep.
So I went to the hospital the next day—it'd been over six months since I last had to come for a check up. Charlotte was there, the nurse I'd seen at the gala. It was nice to see a familiar face, until she asked how the young man who I came with to the gala was doing.
They ran all the tests, even did some blood work, but my vitals were steady. Nothing was wrong physically.
"You're mind is trying to remember something, most likely, that it should be able to easily recall," Charlotte explained. "But since the accident, it was wiped away. So there's tension in your brain that's giving you these migraines. It should go away in a day or two if you rest."
I mumbled a thank you to her as I walked out with the answer I knew I'd get when I walked in. She was right—that was the cause.
You know that feeling when you wake up and you had a dream the night before, and you go to tell someone it, and find that you don't remember what happened, even though it was just the night before? It was like the entire memory of the dream is just gone? And you rack your brain because you know you should be able to remember it, but it just disappeared?
That's what I felt like. Just amplified tenfold. And almost all the time.
A raindrop hit my nose, and I pulled my hood up as I made my way across the parking lot, narrowing my vision. It was cloudy and grey and dismal outside, but it was still too bright for comfort with my migraine.
I checked the time—2:03pm. I was supposed to be doing a makeup tutoring session with Gabby, since I missed this past week due to the gala. But I had texted Mandy earlier today letting her know I wasn't feeling well. Another piercing stab of pain hit my head, making me grateful I had canceled.
Reaching my car, I started for the handle, then almost jumped a few feet into the air as someone said right behind me, "Cory."
I whirled around, wincing as my head protested the movement with another zing of agony.
My heart had skipped a beat, and it resumed beating, but at a might heavier pace than before as I met Greyson's eyes.
"Greyson," I stated. "What are you doing here?"
He was leaning against the front of his truck, which was parked opposite of my car. I walked past him too quickly, and my hood had kept him out of my peripheral.
He had a black hoodie on, but his hood stayed down, the increasing raindrops hitting his chocolate hair. His hands were tucked into his dark athletic joggers, and he uncrossed his feet to walk closer to me, making me tilt my head up slightly to meet his eyes.
"How did you know—were you waiting for me?" I asked, confused. His green eyes searched my face as he took a deep breath. "How did you know I was here?"
"My aunt said that you told her you weren't feeling well," he explained quietly. "I figured you'd be here then. Yeah, I've been—uh, I've been waiting."
"That's kind of creepy," I muttered, frowning at him through a loose strand of dirty blonde hair that was curling in the humidity against my face.
"Yeah, sorry," Greyson started, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. "I didn't mean—that does seem kind of weird, but I just—I just wanted to talk to you."
A car started to our left, a few spaces down, and I looked over to see a patient pulling out of the lot. I watched as they backed up, their windshield wipers squeaking, then I turned back to Greyson, whose bright green eyes had returned to be fixed on me.
I sighed, my frown deepening. He seemed awkward and uncomfortable—two emotions I never thought I'd see from Greyson Ryvers. "Why'd you want to talk to me? Were you disqualified?"
He shook his head. "No, just can't race in this next one." I dipped my head—same sentence as Clay. They were both enough ahead of other racers in points that while this would be a setback, they still could keep their eyes on the prize.
Greyson took another deep breath. The cut on his tanned cheekbone from yesterday was cleaned, and now the skin around it was a yellowing purple. It shifted as he clenched his jaw.
"I, uh—I wanted to say that I'm sorry."
My gaze turned sour, and my words snapped out before I could contain them. "For what?" There were a few things he could be apologizing for. The wedge he was driving between me and my brother which was causing this headache and make me so frustrated could be the start. My anger was rising again toward Greyson. Sometimes, I wished he just never showed up at the track. Clay and I would be on good terms. I'd probably not be getting migraines again.
"I'm sorry for how I've been treating you."
Well, that wasn't what I was expecting. I opened my mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut, leaving space for Greyson to expand.
He sighed again, biting his lower lip lightly. He was acting different than the Greyson I'd come to know. There was no cockiness, no teasing, no joking or the stupidly endearing charm. He looked skittish, and almost pained.
"I haven't been—I've been kind of a jerk," he stammered. "And kind of...messing with you."
My heart hitched. The truth comes out.
"I shouldn't have been, and I've been a selfish jerk," he said. His words were quiet, and he wasn't quite meeting my eyes. I grit my teeth, watching him dully. Rain was picking up, and a breeze raced along my bare legs, making me wish I hadn't chosen shorts. Another car started to our right, but I didn't look over, my eyes still fixed on the racer in front of me.
There was quiet, and then I pushed, "What do you mean, 'messing with me'?" I think I knew the answer. But I needed to hear him say it, then maybe I could move on past it.
He looked down, closing his eyes briefly and tightly, then he opened them and fixed his eyes on me. The emerald green irises looked reserved—he was holding something back.
"I just mean I've been treating you not like you should be treated," he said. "I've been selfish."
He was repeating words, being vague, and dancing around the main thing that needed to be said. He knew it, and he knew I knew it.
"So you've just been trying to rile me up to get at my brother, or something?" I asked shortly.
Greyson didn't respond, but instead searched my face. I kept my gaze on his eyes. It's not like I wasn't surprised. I suspected he was just messing with me. But I was angry.
I think more so angry with myself that I started to fall for it. Thought maybe there was something there.
The emotion that rose up at that thought seemed to grip my heart roughly, and then fling another stab of pain into my head. I exhaled harshly, wincing slightly, then looked back at Greyson.
"You didn't need to drive all the way to the hospital and chase me down just to tell me that," I said, my voice cut up with frustration and emotions I was trying to hold back. Stupid boys. Stupid Greyson and the way he drove me crazy, and the stupid emotions he pulled out of me that I'd been trying so hard to suppress, and now am finding out they were based on nothing. Stupid Clay and his anger toward me and the fact he would hardly even look at me, my best friend and brother.
My migraine pounded again, as if reinforcing my thoughts.
"I came to tell you that I'm going to stop," Greyson finally said. His deep voice was quiet, and resolved. "I just wanted to say I was sorry. But I'm going to—"
"Avoid me?"
"I just wanted to say I was sorry."
"What are you apologizing for?" I pushed back again, my voice rising. "You did nothing, you're just being who you've always been, I'm assuming. It's not your fault I—" I stopped myself short, and watched as his eyes flickered to mine. "You don't need to apologize. Unless there's something else you're not telling me."
His jaw tensed, and I saw an emotion pass through his eyes.
"Is there something else?" I asked once more.
Silence.
I shook my head bitterly, not even regretting the lances of pain it sent through my brain.
"You know what, fine." I turned, pulling the door to my car open roughly and stepping around to get in. "I'm sick of your confusing moods and the masks you throw on. Glad you finally picked one. It'll make my life easier."
My harsh gaze met his reserved green gaze, and I paused, daring him to explain more, wishing he'd say what he was holding back. But I watched his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh, and I knew he wasn't going to explain. As expected. I was left in the dark once more.
So I slid into my car, slamming my door shut, and watched as Greyson took a step away from my car, his eyes still latched on me.
Something happened—something between the gala and now, something about seeing my parents, something about what Clay had shouted at him during the practice that erupted into a fight, something about all of it—something had happened that had affected Greyson enough to make him say all of this.
At least Clay would be happy by Greyson's sudden change of attitude. And at least I could answer him with complete honesty next time he asked if anything was going on between me and Greyson.
With one more dejected huff, I started the engine and backed up, pulling out of the hospital lot and leaving Greyson alone in the rain behind me.