Maverick

Chapter 27

"I honestly can't believe you're making me do this."

"You'll thank me later."

"Oh, I seriously doubt it."

It was late morning. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the gloomy sky over my dad's truck, winding down the Highway, turning up the puddles of last night's rain on the wet tarmac. Despite my protestations, my dad had insisted on driving Maverick and I to the hospital, a good few miles out of town; a kindness probably fuelled by fatherly instincts of protecting his daughter for as long as possible having to face the guy who, just a few weeks before, had thrown back all the years of friendship and trust they had shared, back in her face.

Getting dressed that morning, I had faced a few difficulties. Funnily enough, I had never had to dress for the occasion of visiting my once-best friend in hospital; someone who had once been my soul mate but now, I was supposed to be trying to forget. In the end I had chosen a plain, navy eyelet-lace shirt and faded jeans, my hair hung loose and wavy over my shoulders. Maverick wore black, a colour that contrasted oddly with the tanned complexion of his face. My dad looked behind at the two of us in the back seat. Smiled. "You look nice," he said, gesturing to my shirt. I turned my face towards the window, mumbling a thanks. I hated the fact that, today of all days, my dad was trying to make me feel better. We drove in silence for a while, my dad's favourite playlist buzzing through the loosely-wired speakers in the front by the dash board, Maverick's fingers tracing light circles into my hand. Not even my dad made small talk. Perhaps it was him who found the situation the most helpless. 

It took about an hour to get to the hospital. Dad took a dodgy turn and swerved up right by the entrance, slowed the truck to a shuddering halt. He turned back to look at us, his blue eyes crinkling slightly. "Here we are. You sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

Maverick curled his arm around my waist. "I'm sure we'll be fine. You head on home. Thanks for the lift."

"Any time, son."

As Maverick and I slid out the back of the truck Dad wound down the window, beckoned for me to go to him. "Don't let it upset you, Reece," he murmured. "You've moved on. Don't let Ezra get in the way of that."

"I won't, Dad."

"And let Maverick look after you. He knows what he's doing."

I looked behind at Maverick, his body stooped, hands deeply rooted in the pockets of his jacket, his head bent low, peering at Dad and me with his velvet eyes. "I know, Dad."

He rolled the frosty windows back up slowly, the glass clouding his crinkled features, the rain water from last night glittering on the faded paint of Dad's truck. As he finally pulled away into the cloudy morning Maverick moved closer towards me, rested a tentative hand on my shoulder. "Let's go."

A breeze played lightly across my face, a few strands of hair flew tangled and flying back from my eyes. "He's got ten minutes."

The corridors inside the hospital were cold and white. The smell of death and disinfectant filled my nostrils thickly, making my throat close up and my eyes water. It was hard to breathe. Maverick took my hand, squeezed my fingers lightly. "We can leave."

"I think it's a little late for that."

His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes dark and searching. "It's never too late, Reece."

"Whoever made that up is an idiot."

We continued on in silence for a while, our feet making light thudding sounds on the sick-coloured linoleum, the bright overhead lights casting eerie shadows of our slowly drifting figures onto the floor. I tried not to look sideways where the wards were stuffed full of the pregnant, the sick, the dying lay castrated in their beds. However much I tried to put it out of my mind, every patient reminded me of Maverick's mother. The innocence. The vulnerability. It made me feel sick to even think of her in a place like this. This was somewhere people came to die. This was where Ezra's mother had passed. This was the place where he had taken one last look at his her, at that face that was so still, so peaceful, so... calm. The eyes pale and milky with sea water. The cheeks crusted with salt. The hair, hanging long and limp down the side of her slender neck tangled with remnants of seaweed braided in between. I closed my eyes. How it must be hurting Ezra to be kept in the same hospital that, only ten years ago, he had watched his mother die.