I touched my face, and my jaw felt swollen. A bandage covered the right side of my head by the temple. I pressed my neck and winced from the pain. I tried speaking but found it too painful. I gave up and drifted back to sleep.

  The next time I opened my eyes, a man’s voice coaxed me out of my sleep.

  “Carrington, I need you to try and open your eyes,” the man said. “There you go. Hi, I’m Dr. Autrey. I was the doctor on duty when you arrived.”

  “Hi.” I mouthed the words, my throat too sore.

  “It’s going to take a while for your voice to return to normal. You have bruised vocal cords.”

  “What else?” I mouthed the words.

  “You had a cut on the side of your head, and a nasty bump on the back of your head, which resulted in a concussion, but CT scans were normal.”

  I placed my hand on my stomach. The emptiness overwhelmed my senses, and it hit me like another punch to the stomach.

  “Baby,” I said in a whisper. Tears fell out of my eyes. I reached up to wipe them away, but Dr. Autrey took my hand instead. I gripped the side of the bed and prepared myself for him to say the words.

  “Your son is in the neonatal ICU. It’s just down the hall.”

  I gasped.

  “When you came in, you were bleeding internally and had a ruptured placenta from the trauma. We performed an emergency C-section and delivered your son at four thirty pm yesterday.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “He weighs in at just under three pounds, and he’s about five inches long. At twenty-nine weeks, he needs some help to breathe right now, and we are feeding him through a tube in order for him to gain some weight. His heart is strong, but with babies born this early, we just have to wait and see.”

  Dr. Autry described my injuries more, but I tuned him out. My baby was in trouble, but he was alive. Nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV

  As the sun rose, the warmth increased in the cocoon of blankets surrounding me. With the increase of heat, the pain increased, weighing on every body part. I panicked for a minute; the muscles in my legs seized, and I tried to bend them, but it hurt.

  I moved my toe, the only body part that didn’t hurt, and relief hit me—I wasn’t paralyzed. I tried to move my arms, and it took way too much effort. The back of my hands felt sore. I rubbed my thumb across my swollen fingers. Unable to open my eyes, I dislodged the blanket from suffocating me and pushed myself up.

  I fell back down and willed my heart to stop beating so fast. I clutched my chest and took deep breaths. When my heart slowed, I gave up on moving and tried working my brain instead.

  Where am I and how did I get here?

  The last thing I remembered was leaving my father’s house. Oh yeah, and the full bottle of Jack I swiped from the bar as I headed out the door.

  I remembered making it back to the highway, but my mind blocked out the rest.

  “Oh, Joshie, you’re awake.”

  The high pitch sing-song voice called my name.

  Why is she in my bed?

  “Candace,” I said, but it came out more like a croaking frog. I tried again, “Candace?”

  She pulled the cover off my head and the sunlight blinded me. I recoiled from the intense pressure originating in the center of my brain.

  “Oh, Joshie.”

  She placed something cool and soft on my face, and it brought tears to my eyes.

  I tried speaking. “How did you get here?”

  “Where?” she said. “This is my place.”

  “How did I get here?” I asked. I pried my eyes open and looked up at Candace. She sat on her knees next to me, wearing a green silk robe. It matched the green streak in her hair.

  “I found you at Dano’s. He said you barged your way in and he almost threw you out, but you threw a wad of cash at him. You grabbed the stuff he had in his pocket and locked yourself in his back room. You really freaked Dano out. He thought you had killed someone. You were passed out by the time we got the door open. He helped me get you in my car, and since I didn’t know where you lived, I brought you here.”

  I sat up, and my stomach clenched. I forged through the pain in order to make it to the bathroom. I emptied the contents of my stomach. The smelled overtook me, and I let loose again.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I searched for the handle to flush and prayed that my stomach calmed down.

  I studied my bruised hands and the scratches on my arms. My knuckles were swollen to twice the regular size. I sat in the middle of Candace’s bathroom in only my boxer shorts. I’d gotten in a fight, but I guessed I’d won, because no other visible sign of trauma existed on my body.

  I crawled back into her bedroom and pulled myself up on the bed. It took way too much effort, and I passed out.

  When I woke up, Candace lay next to me, rubbing my neck and back with the same cool cloth.

  I moaned and closed my eyes, but something nagged on the edge of my consciousness.

  “Why did Dano think I had murdered someone?” I asked.

  “Because your clothes were covered in blood. Turns out it wasn’t yours.”

  “Blood,” I said to myself. “Whose blood?”

  I fell back asleep, and when I woke up this time, I felt better. The nausea gone, I forced myself to get up. I stepped into the shower and stood under the water as it went from cold to hot to cold again. I dried myself, wrapping a towel around my waist.

  “You can borrow them.” She pointed to a t-shirt, sweat pants, and some sneakers sitting on the bed. “An old boyfriend.”

  She left me alone to get dressed. When I came out of her room, she stood in the kitchen fixing something on the stove. It smelled great, but it turned my stomach.

  “Thanks for taking care of me, again. I appreciate it.”

  “You are quite welcome, my sweet Joshie.”

  “Candace, did we do anything last night?”

  “You don’t remember.”

  “I don’t remember anything. I mean, I know the last time we got high, we fooled around and it… you know… it was nice, but I have a girlfriend, and she’s pregnant, and I kind of freaked out last night, I guess. I can’t remember, but I’m trying to do right by her, you know.”

  “I know, you told me last night.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah, I tried to seduce you in your more lucid state last night, but you wouldn’t have it. You said you loved your girlfriend. It was kind of sweet.”

  “Really?”

  She smiled and nodded her head. She seemed a little sad. I thought it better to get the hell out of her apartment and get on with my life.

  “Well, thanks again. Candace. I’m going to head home.”

  “Okay. Bye, Joshie. You take care of yourself,” she said.

  I smiled, waved and headed out the door. I approached the parking lot.

  Shit, I must have left my car at Dano’s.

  I’d lost my wallet and cellphone, too.

  I made my way to the main street.

  I needed to find someone to drive me out to get my car. Maybe Jackson, but he’d ask me a bunch of questions. I needed to think of an excuse on how I got there last night and how I ended up somewhere else.

  Oh, hell, maybe I should take a cab.

  As I passed a church, I stopped and watched the people arrive.

  Why were people going to church on a Friday morning?

  I stopped a guy and asked, “What day is it?”

  “It’s Sunday. You okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry, thanks,” I said and started in a slow jog, but soon I took off in a full-out sprint to get home. I’d left campus to go visit my father four days ago.

  What the hell happened in the last four days?

  I entered the kitchen from the back door. The house seemed quiet for a Sunday. I headed straight for the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. I drank it in one sip and grabbed another before heading toward the living room.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  I heard Jackson’s voice and turned, but I should have ducked as he grabbed me around the neck and slammed me against the wall.

  I registered the anger in his voice more than the pressure on my closing windpipe. I grabbed the wall behind me and pushed off. He budged an inch, but slammed me back up against it. My head bounced, and I saw stars for a minute.

  “How could you even show up here after what you did?”

  I reached for his hands around my throat.

  “Dude, what the fuck? Get your hands off me!”

  He slammed me back into the wall. I struggled to push him back, but the man’s biceps were bigger than my leg.

  “I stuck up for you. I vouched for you, and you shit on me, on this fraternity?” Spit flew from his mouth as he yelled.

  I pushed and got him to back up a step.

  “Listen, Jackson, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened? The last couple of days…” He stepped back further, and I collapsed to the floor. “I fucked up. I know, but… I…”

  “You don’t know what happened?”

  I stared up at him, and he stood over me, ready to react. I shrunk down even further.

  “I blacked out, man. I don’t remember anything about the last few days. I went to see my father on Thursday and this morning I woke up and,” I studied my hands and arms, “I can’t remember.”

  He stared me down, and I turned away.

  “Carrington must be freaking out. Have you seen her? I’ve got to call her.”

  “Oh, God,” Jackson said as he backed up into the nearest chair and sat down. His hand over his mouth, “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t remember,” I yelled and Jackson flinched, ready to pounce on me again. “What did I do?”

  “Carrington’s in the hospital,” Jackson whispered.

  “What?” I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them, trying to focus and understand.

  “She’s in the hospital. She’s hurt pretty bad.”

  “Why? What happen?” I asked. “How’s the baby?”

  “He’s tiny.”

  “He’s here? No, it’s way too soon.”

  “I ran into her in the quad yesterday. She was looking for you. You weren’t answering your phone, and she was pretty upset. We came here, and I was going to help her buy a plane ticket so she could get home. I let her in your room and left her alone for a minute to get some of her stuff. You came home and found her in your room. You locked the door and then. . .” Jackson’s voice trailed off.

  I waited for him to continue.

  How did this story end? What did I do?

  “You started yelling about how you had to fix it. Your dad told you to fix it. She screamed for me, and you went off. I could hear you hitting her through the door. I banged on the door trying to get you to open it or at least stop, but you didn’t hear me. Brandon and I finally broke the door down, and you were on top of her punching her in the stomach. I tried pulling you off her, but when we had you up, you kicked her. We got you away from her, and I let go of you to check on Carrington, and you punched Brandon and took off.”

  “Carrington?” I said, but he didn’t hear me, in his own head recounting the story.

  “She was unconscious, but then she came to, and I don’t know,” he said shaking his head. “She was in pain and bleeding. I held her hand and talked to her. I told her everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t know. She started having contractions. I didn’t know what to do. Brandon called an ambulance.”

  I remembered none of this, but why would Jackson lie? My heart pounded inside of my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rocked back and forth, the tears free flowing at this point. I hurt the one person who believed in me. She granted me the most amazing privilege and I tried to kill it from her.

  I opened my mouth to explain, but … I had no explanation.

  I was high.

  Letting go, getting violent, and hurting the people I loved the most—that was what I did.

  I drank and did drugs and dealt with the consequences later. I’d never found anything in real life that I wanted more than I wanted to get high, except Carrington, but even she couldn’t keep me sober.

  I was damaged off the drugs, but on the drugs I did the damage. For as much as I craved control, when I was high, there was no control. When I was sober, the drugs controlled me.

  “Is Carrington going to be okay?” I asked.

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed as he glared at me and wiped the tears off his face. I was the one who hurt her. I had to ask even though I didn’t have the right to know.

  “I rode to the hospital with her, but she was unconscious the whole time. I think they gave her something to knock her out.”

  “And the baby?”

  “I don’t know. He’s alive,” Jackson said.

  “Did you see him?”

  “No. They wouldn’t tell me anything. I waited until she got out of surgery, but they told me to go home. She’ll be out of it for a while.”

  “What about her parents?”

  “They are on their way.” Jackson stood up, and I scooted up the wall and held on to balance myself. He approached me but kept his hands to his side. I was ready to take off if he put his hands on me again.

  “You need to go to the police. You need to turn yourself in. They are looking for you anyway. This is bad. It’s going to be bad, but you have to do the right thing.”

  Jackson stared through me. He said the right things and always played the stand-up guy, ignoring his real feelings and helping me. I shitted on him and everything important to him. I took Carrington away from him. I hurt him. I needed to make this right.

  “Okay. I, umm, I need to change, and I’ll go.”

  “You can’t go in your room. The police took the keys and told us not to let anyone in except the police. I’ll get you some clothes.”

  I watched Jackson walk up the stairs. When he got halfway up, I said, “Jackson, I am sorry.”

  He nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

  He thought I was apologizing for what I did, but I was apologizing for what I was about to do.

  I headed straight for the front door, opened it, and ran.

  From what I pieced together, I’d left my father’s house and headed back to Tallahassee. My father’s speech rocked me—to hear him say those things messed with my head. I thought that if he heard my side and understood that for the first time in my life I was taking responsibility for my actions, he would come around. I had more faith in him than he had in me.

  He told me to fix the problem, and when I left, I made up my mind to give it all up. I would cut myself off from my family before they rejected me. The name and the money fucked up my life and made me hate myself.

  I thought back to the last few months with Carrington—she and I alone in my room talking and laughing—knowing that my name and finances meant nothing. She loved me, and she loved being with me. We planned our future and our son’s future together, and I fucked it up so bad. Everything was different now.

  I studied my bruised hands. Turned them over. I couldn’t imagine hurting her with them.

  I wanted to see for myself. I shoved my hands in my pockets and continued walking.

  I avoided campus, figuring if the police were looking for me, someone on campus would recognize me. I made my way to the hospital, which sat adjacent to campus on the opposite side from fraternity row.

  I walked to the coffee shop across the street from the hospital; I checked my pockets and found a twenty. I bought a large coffee and a paper and found a seat in the back and got comfortable. I waited until it got dark before I entered the hospital.

  Four hours later, I snuck in through the emergency room doors and headed up the stairs to the nursery on the third floor.

  I found the neonatal unit and looked through the window. A nurse and a doctor stood over a tiny little brown baby with a head full of light brown hair. Their faces were emotionless, and although he appeared small, they looked down at him calm and collected, not frantic.

  My heart crept up in my throat, and I stifled a sob. It started deep in my heart and threatened to come up.

  It hit me all of a sudden that the baby lying in the incubator fighting for his life was my son. I clutched my chest again—trying to keep my heart inside of my chest where it belonged.

  A short, older lady in pale pink scrubs came out of the nursery, and I turned to walk away. She touched my arm, and I turned back around to face her. If she kicked me out, or worse, detained me until the cops showed up, well, I deserved it.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “No, I—” I turned back to the window. “I’ve never seen a baby that small. Is he going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” the nurse pouted. “Too soon to tell, but he’s strong.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Unfortunately, his mother hasn’t been able to name him.”

  “Oh.”

  “You okay? You look a little green.”

  “No, I’m good. Just visiting a friend.”

  I headed to the bank of elevators. Her footsteps slapped against the linoleum floor as she continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

  Instead of getting in the elevator, I wandered down the hall to the patient rooms. The nursery and the maternity patients resided on the same floor on opposite sides of the hospital.

  I scooted down the deserted hall, relieved the nurse’s station at the end was occupied by one attendant, and her head was buried in a book.

  I found Carrington’s room, opened the door, and slipped in. I stood with my back to her. I hesitated before turning around, not sure what I would find.

  When I worked up the courage to turn around, I stifled a sound, but my heart pounded as I surveyed her beaten body. She slept, but her face and her arms painted a canvas of the hell she’d been through. Her beautiful skin was covered with black and blue bruises. Along her jaw, a cut disappeared under a bandage on her temple. Her arms lay by her side; black bruises and scratches covered them from her shoulders to her fingertips. On her right wrist, she wore a soft cast, and her left hand lay across her stomach, protecting her baby that was no longer there.