15. Phoenix

Phoenix

Coma White

“ H i, yes, I need an ambulance at the Orleans hotel.”

We’re in Las Vegas—the last show of the tour before we head home for Christmas and I’m calling 911.

My hand shakes as I hold the phone to my ear.

“My…friend is sick,” I add on.

“Can you describe your friend’s symptoms to me?” the operator asks.

“I don’t know. I’m not there. He called me, and I could hear him throwing up.”

“Okay. Do you know if he has been vomiting before the call?”

“Maybe?” I swallow hard, remembering the bloody puke from earlier in the tour. “He’s thrown up blood before.”

“Thank you. What is his name? And what hotel room?”

Leon is on stage, so I can’t ask him. My eyes find Jorge’s, and he mouths 23. “Elijah Haw—erm, Madden. Elijah Madden. He’s in room 23.”

“We’ll send someone over. Is anyone with him currently?”

“No,” I croak. “But I’m on my way.”

“And what is your name?”

“Phoenix Sawyer.”

She tells me it will be okay, and we hang up. I order an Uber while Jorge holds my shoulder. The app says it’ll be here in five minutes. That’s not fast enough, and I’m too far away from the hotel to walk. I don’t know how I know, but if I’m not there before the ambulance, Eli won’t cooperate. He hates doctors. My nose tingles while I stare at the map, watching the icon move in my direction.

“He’s been throwing up blood?” Jorge asks.

“Yeah. Yeah. I…fuck. I saw it weeks ago.” There’s silence, so I glance at my best friend. He seems disappointed with me. “I told him to call an ambulance then.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because it isn’t my job,” I snap, guts knotting. “And I was pissed off.” Tearing my eyes away, I go back to watching the map. “I left him there when he asked me to stay.”

He whistles low. “So what’s changed now?”

What’s changed? Nothing, really. We’re still in the same shitshow. He’s still an addict. But I heard it in his voice. Eli is scared. He’s scared and all alone. It’s like Oli all over again. Only my little brother didn’t call me. He didn’t call anyone. I guess that’s the difference. Eli trusts me enough to reach out when he’s in trouble, and I can’t turn him away again—not after all that I’ve learned and the guilt I harbor deep in my heart.

The Uber pulls up, and we hop in.

It all takes too long. We hit every red light and get stuck behind people on the strip—I’m terrified I won’t get there in time. Is he ODing like Oli? Is he unconscious? My palms are sweaty, so I wipe them on my pants. Everything is wound up tight, and I keep swallowing. I look over my shoulder at least six times.

Hurry up.

Needing to do something, I rip the hair tie off my wrist and put my hair back. Jorge watches me silently freak out and grabs my knee.

“We’ll get there,” he whispers.

I nod fast, heart in my throat.

We eventually get to the hotel, and I throw myself out of the car. The ambulance is parked outside the lobby. A fire truck is right behind it. My stomach swoops as my knees buckle. God, what is happening in there? Jogging into the hotel, I head straight to the elevator. He’s in room 23. The doors slide open, and we step inside. We ride up to the second floor. I rush out when the doors reopen and immediately hear him.

“Phoenix!”

I whimper, heading for the hotel room with its door open. “Phoenix!”

The paramedics are trying to get him on the gurney, but he’s fighting them. Thick tears roll down his cheeks. The bathroom looks like a crime scene. White hand towels are stained red, and his pants are soiled. His cheeks are ashen, lips chapped. “Stop touching me!”

“Are you Phoenix?” A woman paramedic asks.

“Yeah, yes. Let me in.” I don’t wait for permission and shove into the bathroom. “I’m here,” I tell him.

He sees me, and his shoulders drop. “I feel better. I don’t need to go anywhere.” But even as he speaks, he sags further against the wall, teeth chattering while he shivers. “I’m alright. Please make them leave.”

I drop to my knees, cup his face as gently as I can, and say, “You have to go to the hospital.”

Those dark blue eyes are haunting, swirling with fear. “I just need medicine.”

It looks like he raided a drugstore. Walgreens bags and an assortment of over-the-counter stomach meds are scattered everywhere. “They’ll give you medicine,” I promise and nod at the paramedics.

I move out of their way, but he grabs my hand, shaking so badly. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. Just do what they say. Can you do that?”

His bottom lip quivers as he eyes the gurney. “I’m scared, Phoenix.”

“I know. I’m not going to leave you. But you need to let them take you.”

“We just want to help you, sir,” one of the paramedics says. Jorge looks at the scene, eyes wet.

Eli winces, clearly in pain, as he bands an arm over his stomach. “It’s bad. It’s bad.” I watch in slow motion as his eyes roll in his skull, and he goes limp.

“Hurry!”

I don’t want to let go of his hand, but I’m in the way. While he’s lifted off the floor, I watch his chest to make sure he’s breathing. God, what did he do ?

LeonHeadHunter: What hospital is Elijah at?

L eon sent that message on Instagram an hour ago. I’ve been in this waiting room with Jorge, not wanting to cough up the name because he didn’t ask for Leon.

He asked for me .

I promised I’d stay with him, but these fucking people won’t let me see him. The triage nurse said they took him back to the X-ray first to find the source of the bleeding. Someone is supposed to get me when he’s in a bed.

I’m honestly freaking the fuck out. I keep having to piss because I’m nervous. This hospital is packed . I mean, it’s standing room only at this point. The urge to puff my vape is nearly crippling, but I don’t leave my seat. Jorge told everyone what happened. Kelly texted me, asking if I wanted her to come. I don’t know what needs to happen. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Everything I’m reading on Google is scary as all hell. He could have something simple as a blown blood vessel from vomiting or fucking cancer.

“Phoenix Sawyer?”

I snap my head up and see a nurse. She looks exhausted. It’s like midnight. “That’s me.” I stand, then rush over to her, Jorge hot on my heels.

“And you are?” she asks him.

“His friend, too.”

“We aren’t supposed to let anyone but family in the rooms. However, Mr. Madden simply won’t cooperate.”

I swallow hard. “He’s afraid of doctors.”

She nods sympathetically, then says, “We need to do an endoscopy, but he is refusing to sign the hospital waiver. Legally, he has the right to decline treatment. It’d be unadvisable, though. Maybe if you spoke with him—”

“Yes. I’ll get him to do it,” I say with confidence I don’t feel.

“Alright, he’s back this way.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jorge asks.

I shake my head. “No. It’s better if I go alone.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

Quickly hugging him because I need it, I linger for a few extra seconds, then tell him, “I’ll text you when I know what’s happening.”

When Oli overdosed, I came to the hospital. I followed a nurse much like I am now. My mom and dad weren’t there initially; they were an hour away at the specialist’s office. It was just me. There was anger, trepidation, fear, and heartbreak while I walked through the emergency room. I guess I felt betrayed, too. I didn’t know if they’d be able to save my brother.

And I hated myself for not figuring it out sooner.

Deep inside me is a wound I haven’t ever been able to address. It’s the kind that starts small, almost ignorable, but over time, it gets bigger, festers, and stinks. I was the last to know when my dad got injured on the job, which resulted in all his back problems. I was the last to know when Darien got his girlfriend pregnant. I often went to school hungry because my mom didn’t make sure I ate breakfast. She just assumed I grabbed something like my siblings did.

I had my first school band recital, but no one came because Veronica had sprained her ankle. No one called the school to let me know. I waited almost two hours in front of my elementary school with my stupid clarinet before Darien picked me up. People forget me. People leave me out of things. People think I don’t want to be included because I keep to myself. Maybe that’s why I clung to Jorge so hard when we were kids—why I still do. His family included me.

None of this matters right now, but I’m thinking about it and remembering how lonely I felt as a kid. I don’t blame my family. I don’t believe they ever did any of it on purpose. My place was to be the kid who could be counted on not to get in trouble or who could figure out stuff independently. No one ever stopped to wonder if that’s what I wanted, though. It just was.

Dejavu slams into me when we approach the beds in the back of the ER. The curtains pulled around each patient for minimal privacy. Machines beep, a few people cry, nurses talk, and phones ring. Doctors walk around in blue scrubs, and the smell of bleach and starch from the sheets is almost exactly like that day.

The main difference is that Oli didn’t want me there.

He’d been barely conscious, hooked up to IVs and machines. He told me to leave—no, yelled at me to go. I know now that it was the drugs talking and not my brother. It still hurts, though. But the closer we get to Eli’s bed, the more I forget about that day. And the sounds of the hospital dull down. Soft cries replace them, and my heart bursts.

Pulling back the curtain, I step up to Eli’s bed. He’s got a single IV in his hand, a heart monitor attached to the tip of his finger, and a blood pressure cuff on his arm. He sees me, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks and crumbles. I hurry to his side and take his hand. He cries harder, black hair tangled and sticking to his cheeks. I notice his absent lip rings and the paper-thin gown he’s dressed in, and I can’t seem to stop myself.

I brush the tips of my fingers down the bridge of his nose. His eyes flutter shut while his shoulders tremble. I feel his wet eyelashes, using my thumb to swipe the tears away. I’m going to regret being here tonight. There’s no way I won’t because nothing is going to change. That doesn’t mean I’m walking away. I doubt I could even if I wanted to. Bending to kiss his eyes, I nuzzle him like I used to, carding my fingers in his sweaty hair.

He smells terrible, but I don’t stop. “It’s alright,” I whisper, throat bobbing.

Clinging to me, he shudders hard. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

His sweaty hand squeezes the back of my head desperately. “Don’t let them take me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the nurse set down the papers and then leave. “No one is going to take you.”

“I’m better. I’m okay. They gave me medicine.” He’s got IV fluids pumping in, and most likely, they gave him something for the vomiting. “Don’t let them. Please don’t let them, Phoenix.”

My heart is breaking hearing him like this—so raw and petrified. “They just need to do a scope, sweetheart. That’s all.”

His head jerks next to my cheek. “No.”

“You have to let them. They need to find out what’s wrong.”

“No,” he begs, nearly pulling me on top of him. His tears hit my neck as he buries his face in it.

Fuck me.

I kiss his temple and the top of his head, squeezing his hand tight. My eyes burn while I contemplate how to get him to do what needs to be done. “What are you afraid of?” I ask, figuring he won’t answer.

“That I’ll die. I’ll die just like them and won’t know it until it’s too late.”

“You’re not going to die,” I promise, pulling back so I can look into his eyes. “It’s probably something fixable. But we need to know what , okay? Will you let them check? Please? For me?”

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t want to die,” he mutters, glancing down at his lap. “I used to. I used to all the time. I don’t want to anymore.”

“I don’t want you to die either. I want you to feel better. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He peeks at me, hair half covering his face just like I deliberately do with mine to hide when I’m vulnerable. God, how have I not noticed this about him? I spot a chair just behind me. I go to grab it, but he instantly panics. Shooting upright, he claws at me and yanks me to the point I’m bent in half. His arms lace around my neck, constantly trembling. “Don’t go.”

“You want me right here?” I ask into his hair.

“Yes,” he breathes, relaxing just a fraction.

I cup the back of his head and nod. “Nothing is going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

E li eventually agreed to the endoscopy.

They have him in another part of the hospital for the procedure, and just like before, I wasn’t allowed to go with him. I’m proud of him, though. He calmed down while I held him and agreed to do the procedure as long as I didn’t leave the hospital. So, now I’m waiting. He’s been gone for about twenty minutes, which tells me nothing. I don’t know how long this stuff takes. Just as I pull out my phone to Google it, a new nurse pops in.

“Hi,” he says. “There is a gentleman in the waiting area insisting he’s Mr. Madden’s partner.”

Fuck. I completely forgot about Leon.

“His nurse said that you were—um.” He shifts awkwardly, not knowing who I am to Eli. “I’m going to need to let him back here.”

No. No, he can’t come back here. Eli only agreed to this shit because of me. If I leave this area, he’ll think I left. “Eli asked for me to stay,” I tell him.

“Yes, but I still have to let his partner back here. I’m sorry. You can wait in the lobby and switch with his partner at some point.” Partner. The word makes my blood sizzle.

I want to argue. I want to deck this fucker, but I swallow down my protests and stand. “Please tell Eli’s nurse that I’m not leaving the hospital. Please make sure he knows that.”

“Of course.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, I rub my face and head out. It makes sense why they’d want his partner with him versus me —a friend—a nobody. I can’t make any medical decisions for him. Not that I think Leon can either, since they aren’t married. God, I think I might puke. Biting the inside of my cheek and stalking back to the lobby, it takes everything in me not to tackle Leon to the floor and scream in his face that he’s just a piece of ass and will never be me.

Instead, I force a tight-lipped smile and say, “Sorry I didn’t write back. It’s been crazy.”

Leon looks destroyed, worried sick. And if he feels even a fraction of what I feel for Eli, I know how desperate he is to see him. I fucking hate Leon. I hate that he’s been a placeholder all these months. “They wouldn’t let me back. I don’t understand American hospitals.”

“I was there first,” I growl, then catch Jorge standing, hurrying over to me. I clear my throat. “I was back there first. They only let one person back.”

“Thanks for sitting with him. You can leave, though. It’s late.”

My jaw clenches, fists ball at my sides, and just as I’m about to tell this dick to bite the curb, Jorge stuffs my vape in my hand. “Let’s go outside for some air.”

He’s saving my ass right now. He’s sparing our band from the fallout I will cause if I stand in Leon’s presence for another second. “Alright. Yeah.”

Every step towards the exit feels like I’m quitting.

It feels just like it did last year. Like I’m walking away—like I’m isolated all over again.