He lowers his voice. “You should’ve fucking told me, Becca. You should have at least given me that.”

“Yeah, well you also told me to tell you if you were hurting me. And you are.”

“Yeah!” He’s back to yelling now. “And I also fucking begged you not to leave me. Yet here you are, Becs, leaving me.”

“What’s going on?” Grams snaps from behind me. I stare at Josh. He stares back. Neither speaking. Then his phone rings, breaking the silence. He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls it out, then turns away from me when he must see who’s calling. Tommy’s next to me now, dressed in his cowboy outfit Grams had bought him.

“I have to go,” Josh says, walking backward to his truck. “I’ll be back soon. Can you watch Tommy?”

I nod, even though I’m angry and hurt and blink away the tears before looking over at Tommy with the fakest smile I’ve ever had to fake before. “You ready, Cowboy?”

22

-Joshua-

“So there’s nothing else we can do?” I ask the doctor while my mom sits next to me, her head bent, her shoulders shaking with each sob.

“No,” the doctor says. “Unfortunately not.”

I look at my mom. “Sorry,” I tell her, because I don’t really know what else to say in this situation.

Mom says, “Thank you for trying, Joshua. I appreciate it.”

“Is he here? In the hospital, I mean.”

Doc stands up, pushing his chair behind him. “I’ll give you a moment,” he tells us. “I have another appointment in ten minutes though.”

I nod.

My mom waits until he’s left before partially turning to me. “He is. But he doesn’t want to see you.”

“What?”

“You know him, Josh. He’s too proud for his own good. It has nothing to do with you.”

“That’s bullshit, Mom.”

She cringes. “I know. And please remember—this stays between us.”

-Becca-

When you spend your whole life faking happiness, it becomes a second emotion. Somewhere between fine and anger and hurt and content and satisfied. But really, it’s just feeling numb, only you carry a smile with it.

I answer the knock on my bedroom door. Grams looks over my shoulder at Tommy playing with his blocks on the floor. “I’m going to Bingo.” She smiles sadly and places her hand on my cheek. “Are you going to be okay?”

I nod.

“Becca, if he’s not treating you right—”

“He is. He’s just distracted and going through some stuff at the moment. And he’s right, I should’ve told him about St. Louis.”

“I love Joshua, please don’t get me wrong. But I feel like you’re making excuses—”

“I’m not,” I tell her, pushing back the tears pricking in the back of my eyes.

“Okay. I just worry is all.”

“I know, Grams. But seriously, there’s nothing to worry about. We’ll work it out.”

I close the door and turn back to Tommy, who’s in my closet now, pulling out the skateboard we’ve been working on. He looks up at me with the board in his hands and grins from ear to ear. “Daddy secwet present?”

“You want to do some crafting?”

He nods enthusiastically and I can’t say no. I get down on my knees and pick up the shoebox filled with pictures of Josh skating. Pictures Josh has never seen before. And then I lay out the glue and scissors and everything we’ll need, just like we’ve done so many times before.

Tommy’s attention span doesn’t last long and when he starts rolling around on the floor, licking the carpet, I know it’s time to find something else to do. “Let’s get you a snack,” I say, and he jumps to his feet and runs out the door before I can even stand up. I chase him out of the room and try to grab him before he hits the stairs. But I’m too late, and by the time he’s on the third to last step, he turns to me, smiles, and then he jumps.

And the rest is a blur.

The thud as he lands on his side.

The screams that leave him.

The cries as I try to soothe him.

All while he’s holding his arm to his chest.

I call Grams, my heart pounding.

She doesn’t answer.

I call Robby, but he doesn’t answer either.

So I call an ambulance because I don’t know what else to do.

Tommy’s cries are loud.

Mine are silent.

The nurses at the hospital ask a million questions, all while I hold Tommy in my arms. And if there’s one sound I hate more than anything in the world, it’s the sound of a constant dial tone and the standard voicemail that means no one’s going to answer. I call Josh thirty-four times as I pace the hospital waiting room, desperate, worried, and afraid.

I run between the waiting room and Tommy’s room while they put a cast on his arm, tears flowing, stomach in knots. At one stage, a nurse approaches, asks if I’m okay and offers me water. “I don’t need water!” I shout, but my voice cracks and nothing comes out. I continue to dial Josh’s number and after what feels like an eternity, he finally calls back.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he rushes out.

“Josh! I’ve been calling you!”

“What happened?” he asks again, louder this time, but I hear his voice twice and I swear I’m fucking losing it. I feel faint, like I’m about to pass out. “Becca!” he shouts, clearer, louder. So loud it seems to echo.

Then I feel a hand on my arm and I flinch, shaking it off. “Josh, I’m at the hospital!”

The hand grips my arm tighter and spins me around and all of a sudden Josh is standing there. His heavy exhale hits my face, his eyes wide in panic. Then he seems to stop breathing. So do I. He looks around, his gaze frantic. “Where’s Tommy?”

“I’m so sorry!” I cry out.

“Where is he?”

“Room 203. His arm—” He’s off before I can finish, ignoring the shouts from the nurses as he pushes past them and through the ER doors.

I feel arms around my shoulders and the fear of someone else’s touch is completely overshadowed by the fear of what’s happening to Tommy.

And what’s going to happen to Josh and I.

“He’s going to hate you,” the voice in my head says. And then she laughs—an evil, sinister laugh that turns everything around me black. I get led to a chair and guided to sit down. And then I break. “I didn’t mean it. I should have watched him closer. I didn’t mean it,” I keep saying, my voice a whisper. The words meant for her.

An older couple rushes through the doors and marches straight to the nurse’s desk. “Thomas Christian,” they say, and then they, too, go through the doors.

I sit and I wait for Josh to come out. To yell at me. And I gear myself up to take it all.

After way too long, he finally emerges—his jaw clenched and his chest out. I stand slowly, waiting for him to make his way to me—to tell me that he hates me and he never wants to see me again.

He’s two steps away when someone shouts his name.