(Chris)
We stepped into the chaplain's room together. I was so glad Rob was with me, that he'd volunteered to help me. For one thing, I knew Chance would be upset with me—I'd kind of left him hanging, through no fault of my own. We'd had to run or we'd all be dead. But then I'd let Tris use my phone, and I'd forgotten about Chance, lost in my own head. And to top it off, I didn't know Chance super well. I had no idea what to expect. It would have been easier with any of the others because I knew them so well. Tim would yell and give me lip. Austin would scold me then cry. Rob would yell at me then issue a half-hearted apology and cry at me. Chance was still an unknown factor to me. Hopefully Rob would defuse any flying tempers and help to explain or smooth things over if need be.
Taking a breath, I seated myself on a bench. Ugh. It was like sitting on a brick. You'd think they'd try to make things as comfortable as possible for people who were bound to be grieving. I stood up and moved to the lone armchair. Shit, it was wet! I popped right back up the instant I felt the wetness. I didn't even want to know what I'd just sat in. Ugh. Giving up on the furniture, I settled down in the floor near the front, only to frown at some sticky gooey spot. I stood back up.
"Chris," Rob said frustratedly. "Find a spot and park it, would ya?"
"Well, floor's gross, chair's wet, and benches are uncomfortable," I grumbled, eyeing all three distastefully.
"Bench felt fine to me," he pointed out. "And we're only going to be sitting on it for a few minutes. Can't your butt just deal?"
"Nooo," I complained, feeling whiny.
Rob wasn't having it. He pushed me into the first bench, me landing with a thunk that was actually a bit painful. He giggled at me.
"Not nice," I grumbled, pulling my phone out of my pocket. Ugh. Just twenty-one percent battery. Hopefully someone would have a charger I could use. I found Chance's number in my recents and held my finger over his name before looking up at Rob. "How's he going to react? Is he a crier, a yeller, or what?"
He shook his head. "Not usually a crier. But he was hysterical when he called me, because he was so scared. He was crying then. Not usually a yeller. Typically fairly even-tempered, keeps a lot close to him. Typically," he enunciated. "Keeping in mind, this is not a typical situation."
"Really," I said dryly, finally just jabbing at his name. Here goes nothing. It rang twice.
"Chris!!!" Chance yelled in my ear, immediately dispelling the 'not typically a yeller' statement.
I winced involuntarily. "Hey Chance, it's Chris." Clearly, he already knew that. I made a face, aware that I was starting out sounding stupid.
"What's going on?" came a chorus of voices. I looked at Rob questioningly, who also looked confused.
"Um, who was that?" I asked apprehensively.
"Me, Tim, and Austin," Chance said impatiently. "Get on with it. What's going on?"
I blinked at Rob, taken aback by the tone in his voice. Rob shook his head at me, telling me to ignore it and move on. "I'm—"
"No need to be rude," I heard someone I thought might be Tim whisper to him.
"—sorry it took so long to—," I continued, smiling slightly that Tim took issue to Chance's tone and abruptness as well.
"Stay out of this!" Chance snapped.
"—call back, but we were pretty—"
"Don't yell at him," Tim warned Chance.
"Tim, hush. Elliott, shut it. Austin, your elbow is in my rib—move it. Chris, talk," Chance bossed.
"Who the hell's Elliott?" I hissed to Rob, who seemed to have adopted a permanent expression of confusion. "Chance?"
"Thank you," he said, sounding a bit relieved. "I can breathe now. Chris, please—"
"No offense," I began delicately, sensing he was somewhat irritable, though understandably so. "But could we just, um. The five, or six, of us?" In other words, get rid of this Elliott dude.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, staying between the seven of us," Chance muttered carelessly.
"Six," I insisted. "Home Free only."
"That eliminates you then," Tim said with a snort.
I rolled my eyes as Rob poked me, smirking. "Current and former Home Free only."
Someone started a low rumble of laughter over there. "In other words, you think you want Elliott gone?"
"Elliott is my friend, Chris," Tim explained as Austin muttered, "Never mind Elliott. Chris, where's Adam?"
"I'm getting ready to explain, Austin, keep your pants on," I complained. "But again, this is on a need-to-know basis. Your friend there does not need to know."
"Please, Chris," Elliott begged. "I'm worried about Adam. He and I—"
"I'm inclined to agree with Chris," Rob came in on my side. "Home Free only. Elliott, I'm sorry, but we're going to have to ask you to step away, please."
"Chris, Rob," Tim argued. "Listen to me. Please. You don't even know my story yet."
"I know parts of it!" Rob snapped.
"Whataya mean?" I asked, clueless.
"First things first. Let us talk to Adam," Austin demanded.
"First first thing is Elliott steps away," I argued, getting irritated. Is it too much to ask for a little privacy and discretion? I didn't care if he was Tim's friend; Adam deserved privacy. We didn't know him, and frankly, Adam is a celebrity. I couldn't have him running and selling him out to the tabloids or have my little brother's medical information featured on TMZ! Couldn't they understand that?
"Chris," Elliott said softly. "It's me. Elliott Robinson. I'm Tim's lawyer; he was accused of domestic violence charges and I happened to be at the jail when he was brought in, so I took his case."
I froze. Domestic violence? Tim?!?! What the hell??? "Bullshit," I said, shaking my head. "Tim would never."
"Thank you, Chris," Tim sniffled. "My Nashville ex-friends believed her lies. You guys—and Pentatonix—are the only ones that believed me."
"We know you," I told him. "I've known you a long time, since... since..." I racked my brain. We've been through so many basses. "2010?"
"2009," Tim and Elliott corrected me together.
"Somewhere in there," I muttered, trying to figure out how Elliott knew that.
"I thought it was 2008." Rob crinkled his nose in thought.
"Nope, 2009," Tim confirmed. "Right after Elliott here."
"Yeah, right after Elliott Rob—wait!" I suddenly started, nearly falling off my brick—I mean, bench. "Who did you say your lawyer was?"
"Elliott Robinson," the lawyer said. "The one and the same."
I did fall off the bench and onto the gross floor at that. Rob started cackling at me. Hands on the seat, I started hoisting myself back up. "Elliott? You're kidding me."
"Nope. It's me, Chris," he confirmed.
Rob and I stared at each other, agape. Seriously. What were the odds that Tim's lawyer would be our Elliott Robinson? That was totally whack.
"Damn," Rob murmured disbelievingly.
"No, Chris, I am not kidding you," Elliott said patiently. "Don't even know why I would."
"Hey, Chris?" Mom poked her head in the room. "Rob? Adam's done and in the recovery room. He's awake. You can come back now."
"Yesss!" I jerked to my feet, grabbing my phone. "Can I call you back? Adam is in recovery and I—"
"No!" all four of them yelled.
"You are not hanging up this phone!" Chance ordered.
"Recovery from what?" Austin demanded.
Rob put a hand on my arm. "Walk and talk."
"OK, carrying you guys with me," I amended, stepping out of the chaplain's room and crossing the waiting room, following my family. "In a nutshell, Chance, when you called, we were unwrapping gifts. Adam tripped over something, not sure what at this point, and knocked over a lamp off the table." Damn, the recovery room was white and sterile. My eyes brushed over individual beds, searching for my brother. There he was, in the third one. I darted over to him, still relaying events to Chance. "The lamp—the bulb—landed on wrapping paper and started a fire."
"Oh shiiit," Tim groaned.
"Adam reached down to pick up the lamp but grabbed the bulb end, ultimately lighting himself on fire."
"Oh God!" Chance gasped.
"That's why I had to hang up, Chance. I had to get out, or we'd all be dead," I summarized, studying Adam's well-bandaged hand. Could hardly see his skin, it was wrapped so good.
"Oh sweet Lord have mercy," Austin breathed, crying slightly.
"Avi 2.0," Elliott murmured.
I had idea what that meant. Rob leaned over the phone.
"Avi 2.0?" he asked quizzically.
"We'll explain later," Chance muttered.
Ericha finally lifted her head, a curtain of long blonde hair shielding her and Adam's faces as they talked quietly to each other and exchanged kisses. "He's groggy. Keeps talking about melodies and noodles."
Rob snorted at that and I rubbed at his arm.
"Hey, Adam," I whispered to him. "How're you feeling?"
His eyes flitted to me and he half lifted his bandaged hand. "Like a mummy."
I laughed. "You kind of look like one." I lifted the phone. "Adam had to have his hand surgically debrided. Second and third degree burns."
"Ouch," Elliott grunted. "Sounds painful."
"I don't feel anything right now," Adam admitted. "Other than loopy. Hey, is that, ah... whassisface?"
"What?" I had flipped to Facetime and found my friends huddled together in a car. "It's Chance, Tim, Austin, and Elliott."
"Who? Oh, I have an idea," he mumbled to them, then lifted his good left hand and felt around in the air with it. "Tim? Wherezu?"
Mom caught his fluttering hand and returned it to his side. "He's on the phone, sweetheart."
"I saw him," Adam insisted, picking it right back up and feeling around as if to touch Tim. "Tim, I gots a great idea about the New Year's Eve show—wherezu?"
"Adam," I said patiently, dropping the phone close to his face. "See, they're here. On the phone."
"Hi Adam!" Austin waved at him.
"Lemme see his hand," Chance said worriedly.
"Oof," Dad grunted when Adam grabbed him, still not quite grasping the fact that Tim, Chance, Austin, and Elliott were Facetiming on the phone and not physically here.
I moved the phone down to his hand. "Got him all wrapped up here."
"Wow," Tim sympathized. "They think he's going to recover and all?"
"I'm a mummy," he mumbled. "Ericha is a mommy and I am a mummy."
Rob giggled at that, patting gently at the bandages.
"Hello, you are the Rupp family, correct? Adam's family?" a doctor said, walking up to us. "David Spaulding, the doctor over Adam here."
"Yes. I'm Cindy, his mother. This is Steve, his father. Tristin and Chris, siblings. Ericha, wife. Cerise, daughter. And Rob, friend," my mother introduced us.
I lifted my phone to my mouth and spoke quietly into it. "Doctor is here."
"OK, but please don't hang up. We want to hear," Chance requested.
"OK." I laid it next to Adam's good side. "Best friends Tim, Chance, and Austin on the phone."
Dr. Spaulding nodded. "Fine with me if it's fine with Adam."
" 'Fine, fine, fine, everything is fine'," Adam sang out a little goofily.
The doctor lifted his hand, starting to unwrap it cautiously. "We have surgically debrided most of his hand and up his wrist. Like we'd said earlier, we'd had partial and full thickness burns on the hand and wrist. Plenty of necrotic—dead—tissue, looked like the beginnings of an infection. We've applied antibiotic." He lifted the last bandage to show us a swollen, wet-looking bright red wound that made me wince. Adam lifted his head to look and screeched, letting it fall backwards onto the gurney, eyes rolling back into his head.
"Honey?" Ericha asked, sounding scared.
"Adam?" Tris and I said at once.
Mom and Dad looked nervous, stepping backwards to let the doctor elevate his feet. My phone slipped off and I grabbed it from the floor.
"Adam saw his own hand and passed out," I explained to them.
"I didn't see it," Tim complained.
"It's nasty-looking," I assured him. "Consider yourself lucky to not have seen it."
Adam groaned as he came to. "Cover it back up. Please. I don't want to see it. I hate blood, I hate blood."
Dr. Spaulding started rewrapping it. "Just showing your family." He turned to us. "We did do it under general anesthesia. Tried to do it under local, but his heart rate tripled when we did the first cut."
Mom whimpered at hearing about his heart rate. Dad wrapped an arm around her.
"Other than that, all went well," Dr. Spaulding assured us. "I would like to keep him overnight, though, for post-anesthesia reasons and initial burn treatment."
Ericha closed her eyes, Cerise starting to wail away. I reached out and patted her back. Rob did the same to me.
"If you think that's best, OK," Dad said quietly. "I just want what's best for him."
"Understandably," the doctor agreed.
"The—show," Adam groaned. "I got to be in LA. Flying out on the 27th. Please. I'm a professional musician."
"This doesn't necessarily preclude that," Dr. Spaulding said. "Currently, expected discharge will be tomorrow, the 26th. The 27th at the latest." He picked up his right hand. "Um, what instrument do you think you're going to play? You need to keep your hand bandaged while it heals."
Adam grinned. "Don't need it. I'm a vocalist."
"Well, that is lucky," Dr. Spaulding commented.
"We may all be running a touch later than expected," Austin spoke up from the phone. "Tim's arraignment is tomorrow; his preliminary hearing is the 27th."
Mom and Dad frowned at this.
"What? Why?" Adam asked concernedly.
"My soon-to-be ex wife filed false charges against me," Tim groaned. "Elliott and I are dealing with it."
"And Avi is in the hospital too," Chance added.
Adam sat up only to be pushed back down by Tris and the doctor. "What? Avi? Why?"
Dr. Spaulding stepped away, calling over his shoulder that a nurse would be by shortly to transport him upstairs to an inpatient room.
"Fell down in the woods, hurt his arm pretty badly. Fifteen stitches," Austin reported.
"Ow," I sympathized. Not exactly sure of who they were talking about, but anybody that required fifteen stitches had to be bad up. I'd gotten five once when I got pushed off a swing set when I was a kid by some bullies on the playground. Split my arm wide open trying to protect my face and head. On the bright side, I'd gotten out of a science test that afternoon, spending time instead in the ER getting stitched back up. Boys got suspended over that and I got a day off to recuperate. Should've spent my time studying—only pulled a C on the test I still had to take when I got back. Mom and Dad were willing to let that slide though, all things considering. And my whole tenth year of life was a blur I'd truly rather delete out of my memory files. At least now I was fit and healthy as I'd ever been.
"And nearly drowned to death," Austin added, sniffling. "Josh—his brother—had to pull him out of the river and do CPR on him."
Adam's eyes bugged out, grabbing my phone frantically. "Oh holy shit! CPR??? Avi?!?! Is he OK? What—where—how?"
Rob was blinking quickly. "But if he's in the hospital and got fifteen stitches, he'd be alive at least. They don't stitch up dead people."
"Not CPR," Elliott corrected him calmly. "She said artificial resuscitation. His heart didn't stop. Just his breathing."
"Well, that sounds a touch better," Adam muttered. "Still not good by any means."
"I am going to call Luke and see about rearranging flights," Chance said. "Aim to be there on the 28th instead. Fly out late 27th or 28th. I don't know about Austin, but I want to be here for Tim for his court times. Is that OK?"
"Absolutely," Austin immediately agreed. "I'll drive home after the preliminary hearing, throw crap in a bag, and fly out."
"I'll...," Adam muttered, lifting his bandaged hand up and looking at it. "Try to recuperate."
"You do that," Tim agreed, sounding choked up.
"Bye, guys. Love you," Chance whispered.
"You too!" Rob and Adam chimed in, me a half-beat after them.
"Chris," Adam said, his good hand falling on my arm. "Will you stick around and help me write? I seriously have ideas and music overflowing my brain right now."
"Sure," I agreed immediately. Writing music. One of my favorite things to do.