41. Huckslee

Huckslee

G oddamn, Greg talks forever.

My foot is tapping while I listen to him drone on, my phone burning a hole in my pocket. It's getting late; Taylor is expecting my call soon. Between packing up the rest of my shit from the apartment and preparing for the graduation ceremony at the end of the week, I've had no time to talk to him all day. I'm fucking dying to hear his voice, see his face. But of course, the minute I pulled out my phone to text him, I'd seen the message from my ex asking if we could meet to ‘properly' break up face to face. And I'd felt like such an asshole for ending our relationship through text that I agreed, but only because I thought I'd be here twenty minutes max.

Greg's been talking for forty-five minutes about the new guy he's dating, and I don't know if he's trying to make me jealous, but I brought up Taylor and how great we are together just to shut him up. It worked for all of two seconds until he asked if he could give me a goodbye kiss. I don't know why I was expecting a peck on the cheek, but I nearly gagged when his lips touched mine. The minute he pulled away, he mentioned how much happier and healthier I looked, and I couldn't help but smile, knowing that Taylor was the reason.

I harbored a lot of anger and guilt when I lived out here and held on to too much hate. It's crazy how much five months can change a person.

My ex continues talking for another ten minutes before my phone buzzes for the umpteenth time, so I decide against being polite and pull it out. First, I check the Delaware chat, where Taylor's been sending me weird pictures and random street signs all day that make no fucking sense. Still, I grin because he's an oddball, but I like it. Actually kind of love it.

After sending him every color of heart emoji, I pull up a missed text from my old roomie and frown.

Shawn: Hey man, some guy came to the apartment looking for you. Told him you were at Greg's, but he looked super strung out.

Just letting you know.

Well, that's...strange. Everyone I know from school is at this party except for Shawn. But I shrug, figuring maybe it was some college football fan who found out where I lived and wanted to talk. Believe it or not, that used to happen a lot over the last four years.

Swiping away the message, I pull up the ones from Logan and notice I also have a few missed calls from him. The moment I read his texts, I go rigid against the railing.

Logan: Did Taylor find you??

Answer, please. I'm really worried about him.

Pick up the phone. Taylor isn't answering either and he sounded agitated when he called me because he couldn't find you.

He's out there in Berkeley. I sent him your location.

Wait, wait , hold up.

Taylor is here ?

My head snaps up, heart in my throat as I look around the balcony expecting him to materialize right in front of me where he belongs. Worry begins to gnaw at my gut when I don't see him.

"I have to go find my boyfriend. Apparently, he's here." Cutting Greg off in the middle of whatever he was saying and not caring in the least, I make my way back inside. Logan's messages have me alarmed, and I press my phone to my ear to call Taylor, cursing loudly when it goes straight to voice mail. So I send him a text.

Me: Baby, where are you? Logan said you're here.

Why didn't you tell me?

Looking over his earlier messages, all of the random photos now make sense. He was sharing his trip with me.

Panicking, I search the house from top to bottom, finding the few friends I know scattered throughout to show them his picture and ask if they've seen him. They all say no. I even check the rooms where super nefarious shit is going down, but I don't find him in any of those, either. I'm nearly pulling my hair out on my third sweep of the house when Greg finds me again.

"Hey, what's going on?" He grabs my arm, brows pinched in concern when he sees the frenzy I'm in. "Thought you were with your man?"

My voice cracks when I answer in his ear. "I can't find him, I've looked everywhere. And his phone is off."

"I'll help you look. Have you checked outside?"

Frantically, I shake my head, and we search the front yard, coming up empty. When we step into the backyard, one of my teammates, Robbie, calls me over to the firepit.

"Yo, Davis! Did you find your bro?"

"Huh?" I gaze at him with wild eyes, probably looking like a psycho from the look he exchanges with some of the other players.

"Guy was looking for you. Tall, dark hair, lots of tattoos? Eyebrow piercing?"

A sharp gasp escapes my lips. "That was my boyfriend! Did you see where he went?"

His eyes widen, jaw dropping slightly. "Oh. He said he was your stepbrother. Saw him disappear with a bottle of rum, but I didn't see where. Sorry, dude."

What?! Why the hell would he do that?!

"Goddammit," I shout angrily, causing Greg to wince as he follows me back into the house. That familiar feeling starts to squeeze up my spine, my neck tense as the bodies around me close in. But I can't lose my shit right now, not when Taylor has clearly lost his mind, and I can't fucking find him .

Shoving through the crowd until I'm back on the front porch, I rub my eyes and try to breathe. Greg traces circles on my back like he used to when I'd get this way, and admittedly, it's helping, even though I wish it was my boyfriend doing it and not my ex. Once I've calmed down enough to think clearly, I rack my brain, trying to figure out what to do.

"Is there somewhere he might have gone to stay?" Greg asks.

"He doesn't know anyone out here. He's never even been here before." That gives me an idea. "I'm going to drive around and look for his truck, search all the nearby hotels to see if I can find it."

"I'll come with."

I raise a brow at him, wondering why the hell he's helping me, but I don't push the issue. Greg's always been a good guy, and I didn't treat him very well. He follows me to where my red Audi is parked—a graduation gift from Grandma and Gramps—and I start it up before heading down the road. I barely get ten feet before a flash of yellow has me slamming on the brakes.

"That's his truck right there!"

I'm out of the car in seconds, leaving it in the middle of the street as I sprint to where the truck is parked on the curb. Terror claws up my throat when I glance inside the window.

Taylor is lying face down on the seat, bottle clutched in his hand where it dangles on the floor. Music screams over the speakers, but the door is locked when I try to pull on the handle. Fuck.

"Taylor! Open up, baby." I bang on the window, trying to rouse him, but he doesn't move. My knuckles split when I start punching the glass, cursing to high heaven for it being so strong, and Greg grips my wrist before I can land another blow.

"Huckslee, stop, stop. You're going to break your hand before training camp. Do you really want that?"

"I don't give a fuck right now. I need to get to him."

Shaking Greg off, I pull back to launch another hit, but he steps between me and the truck, palms on my chest.

"I know you're upset, but you need to calm down. I have an idea, alright? His back window is cracked. I can probably shimmy through and unlock the door."

Shit, he's right. It is. I hadn't even noticed.

Blinking the tears of frustration away, I frown down at him. "You'd do that for me?"

"Duh." He clucks his tongue, rolling his eyes as he walks around the truck to the back. "For someone so smart, Davis, you're really dense."

Well, fuck. I don't even know how to respond as I watch him hop into the truck bed and slide open the window on the back of the cab above the seat. He's barely tiny enough to squeeze through, and he leans over Taylor to unlock the door. He tries to open it from the inside, but it gets stuck because this truck is a piece of shit, and the door only opens from the outside. I yank it open, causing Greg to nearly fall forward, and I wrap my arms around Taylor, pulling him up to my chest.

"Baby, it's me. It's Huck. Wake up."

His lids flutter but don't open, lashes crusted, and the tears streaking down his cheeks set me off instantly. I've never seen him cry before. Why the hell was he crying? He mumbles incoherently, breath rank with alcohol, and I shake his body firmly, gripping his jaw.

"Come on, Tay, open those pretty eyes. I need to see that you're okay."

Glancing at the bottle on the floor, I notice it's empty, and my breath leaves my lungs. God, please don't tell me that bottle was full when he took it. The keys dangle in the ignition, and I grab them, stuffing them into my pocket with his phone. Greg appears next to me again as I throw one of Taylor's arms over my shoulder and lift him out of the truck. His dead weight almost takes me down, but Greg presses into his other side, helping me lift.

"I think I need to get him to the hospital," I grit out as we drag him to my car, managing to slide him into the backseat. When Greg jumps into the passenger side, I glance at him in surprise. "You don't need to come with."

He flicks his hand at me, buckling his belt. "I don't mind. Just drive."

So I do. Within ten minutes, I'm pulling into the emergency lane of the nearest medical center, and we both heft Taylor through the automatic doors. We barely make it past the entrance when my boyfriend turns his head, and projectile vomits all over himself and Greg, whose face turns green as he begins to gag.

Shit.

"I am so fucking sorry."

A nurse behind the counter glances up in surprise as we approach, wrinkling her nose when she takes in our appearance. "Can I help you? "

"I think he has alcohol poisoning. He won't wake up," I babble desperately, my arms tightening around Taylor. She stands quickly, coming around the counter with a wheelchair, and we get his limp body into it. When he slumps forward, she holds his shoulder, instructing us to stay where we are as she wheels him away behind a set of double doors. Greg spots a trashcan and makes a beeline for it, unloading his stomach while I wince. Feeling bad, I rub his back as he pukes.

What a hell of a first impression for Taylor.

The nurse returns with a clean sweater folded in her arms and offers it to Greg, who wipes his mouth and takes it with trembling fingers. Then she's behind the counter again, handing me a clipboard with papers attached. "Your friend is being checked out now. In the meantime, please take a seat and fill out these forms for him."

I sit in the packed waiting room and answer what I can, listing myself as his stepbrother. Greg opts to take an Uber home instead of sitting here with me, and I don't blame him one bit. I owe him lunch or something for helping me with this.

With nothing left to do but stare at the clock, anxiety begins to settle in. I clasp my hands behind my neck and lower my head between my knees, willing myself to breathe. What the hell just happened? I am so damn confused. Did something happen at home to set him off?

Pulling his phone out of my pocket, I search for some kind of clue. Normally, I don't condone going through a partner's personal shit, but seeing how he almost fucking died, I think an exception can be made. His texts give me nothing, but his call history makes me pause. Jesus. He literally called everyone on his contact list, including my dad, which is worrisome all on its own. Why was he calling my dad?

Ringing him up on my own phone, I realize too late that it's after midnight by the time he answers.

"Son? Is everything okay?" He sounds groggy, and I mentally kick myself for waking him up so late.

"Yeah, sorry pops. I just, uh...had a question. Did Taylor call you today?"

"He did earlier this afternoon. Why? What's going on?"

Swallowing hard, I try to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Nothing, I'm just curious. Did-did he sound alright?"

There's a brief pause. "Yes, he seemed like himself, though I admit the call was out of the blue. He wouldn't talk to his mother. Are you sure nothing is wrong, Huckslee?"

"Yeah. Yep, all good. Thanks, Dad. I'll talk to you later. Love you."

I hang up before he can answer, leg bouncing erratically, and send texts to all Taylor's friends, asking if anything happened that made him drive out here. They all respond the same, Christian saying he's been down since I left and wanted to surprise me for graduation. So what the fuck is going on?

"Huckslee Davis?"

Glancing up, I see the doctor gesture for me, and I stand quickly to follow her back.

"How is he?"

"Luckily, he's fine. The alcohol in his system didn't warrant a stomach pump, but he is very dehydrated. We're giving him fluids now, you should be fine to take him home in a few hours. "

My shoulders sag with relief as she leads me to a large room with several beds, all divided by curtains. She slides one out of the way to reveal Taylor, still passed out, lying on his back with tubes in his arms. I freeze for a moment, blinking away memories of my mom in her hospital bed.

Not now, Huckslee. We can freak out later.

The doctor continues, checking his vitals. "You're free to sit with him until he wakes up. When he does, alert one of the nurses so they can give him a once over before discharge."

Sitting down next to the bed, I take in his still form as the doctor shuts the curtain and leaves us alone. They've exchanged his soiled shirt for a light blue smock, the color making his sallow cheeks look even paler than usual. His hair is a greasy mess, hanging in strings around his face, with dried vomit on his chin. Fuck, he looks nothing like he did when I last saw him at the airport a week ago when he dropped me off.

This does not bode well for August. Not at all.

With a heavy sigh, I grab a water bottle from a table near the bed and dampen the edge of my shirt before wiping his face clean. My fingers thread with his, carefully avoiding the tubes sticking out of his veins.

And then I wait.