CHAPTER 1
I lay in my hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling, swimming in my own grief. How had it come to this? How had life brought me to this place – not just this room in this building, but the unbearable state of my own heart and mind? I want to escape myself, I want to crawl out of my own head and become a shadow curled up in the corner, just a ball of emptiness. I had destroyed every person who had ever tried to love me, and the pain in that realization is so devastating that it feels crushing, constricting, too big to handle.
I hear a light knock on my hospital room door and before I can answer, it's pushed open slowly and Dr. Fox's head peaks around the door, white hair wild. "Morning, Jake," he says, smiling.
He walks in, letting the door swing closed behind him.
Dr. Fox is the hospital psychologist and he's been stopping by for two weeks now, but I don't have a word to say to him. I'm not interested in what he's selling. Period.
When I don't say anything, he looks at me for a minute and then says gently, "Still don't want to talk to me about the traumatic month you've had? You might be surprised that talking helps."
I exhale, still remaining silent. This is the last f**king thing I need, some shrink trying to tell me to cry it out and it'll all be okay. He looks like Einstein, which might be good considering I'd need a genius to even attempt to work through all my issues. I'm a f**king mess and I know it. Still, I'll pass. Thanks, but no thanks.
"So, what?" I finally say. "You're going to Goodwill Hunting me or something? It's not my fault, right?" I laugh humorlessly and look away. What a joke.
He's silent for a couple beats and then he says, "Well, I don't know, Jake. I read about your accident and it sounds like that was most definitely your fault. And I'd like to talk to you about that if you're willing. Your dad passing away… obviously, no. But either way, I'm not here to blow sunshine up your ass. If you want someone to pat you on the back and tell you you're not responsible for your own bad decisions, I'm not your guy. If you'd like to talk to someone who has helped people a lot worse off than some poor little rich boy who didn't get his way and threw a fit by smashing up his new Porsche, maybe I can be a listening ear."
He turns to leave and I'm seeing red at his words. I can barely move my broken body, both arms are in casts and my leg is suspended in the air, encased in a cast as well and my face is bandaged and swollen. But I manage to jerk my body enough to make him swing his head back around as he's turning and I clip out, "You presumptuous bastard. You think you know me based on a few things you have written down on a f**king piece of paper? You think people can be summed up in a line or two on a clipboard? I'm not some 'poor little rich boy!' I didn't grow up with more than a pot to piss in. I had just found out my little brother was dead – a kid I practically raised. You don't know shit about my situation."
He's silent again for a minute. "I do now," he says quietly. "Thank you for telling me. What was your brother's name?"
I hesitate for a minute, furrowing my brow and then turning my head to look out the window at the blue California sky. Holy shit, that sneaky bastard tricked me. Huh. I feel my lips twitch against my will. A seed of respect takes root.
I take my time answering, continuing to stare out the window silently for a minute or two after he’s asked his question. He waits me out. "Seth."
"I'd love to hear about Seth if you'll tell me about him," he says.
I sigh. I haven't talked about Seth in so long. Ah, what the hell? The only way that sweet kid is going to live on in this world is through me. I've fallen down on the job. I owe him so much. Still, I hesitate, but finally find the words. "I hadn't seen him in ten years. I'm adopted. He was my real brother. Or half brother. But my real brother in every way that counts. It's a long story."
"I have a Ph.D. in long stories." He smiles and I chuckle despite myself.
"I bet."
"How would you feel about me coming back tomorrow morning for an hour or so?"
I pause, considering. "I don't know, I'm kinda busy. I've got a pity party scheduled for eight o'clock followed by wallowing at nine."
He laughs quietly. "Ten it is then. I'll see you tomorrow, Jake."
He starts walking toward the door and as he's reaching for the handle, I call out, "Hey, Doc?"
"Yeah?" he says, turning to look at me.
"My name is Leo. My real name, I mean. It's not Jake. It's Leo."
He pauses for a minute but doesn't ask me to explain. "Okay. How about we talk about that tomorrow and you tell me what you’d like to go by. I'll see you at ten."
And with that he opens the door and walks out.
CHAPTER 2
I watch Evie as she sits on the park bench, eating an apple, a novel open in her hands. She's so beautiful that it hurts a little bit to watch her and not approach. I think she's probably engrossed enough in her book that I can move a little closer and so I do, taking a seat on a bench close by, and pretending to talk into my cell phone. I'm desperate to see the details of her, to soak her in. But I have to keep my distance for now; at least until I figure out what I'm going to do, what I’m going to say. My heart starts beating faster. I can't mess this up. I've come so far and now the only girl I've ever loved is right in front of me. And she might hate my f**king guts.