This is Surreal

Kelly

A guy in a blue jacket trots out of the glass doors of this place Tommy calls a hospital, but which looks like a resort hotel. He pauses at the top of the massive stairs, then smiles and trots down to open my door.

I'm embarrassed I was gaping, but thank him. The guy then trots around to meet Tommy next to the open driver's side. Tommy hands him the keys. The guy scans a little card on the key ring, checks a unit he's carrying that looks kind of like a credit card machine, then says, "Good to see you, Mr. Sandowsky. You'll find Mr. Moretti in suite 322."

"Thanks." Tommy's leading me up the stairs when the guy calls us back.

"I'm sorry, I'll need your guest to sign in?" he says, sounding nervous.

I take the unit the guy's offering, write my name on the digital screen, and hand it back to him.

"There was a man who was in the ambulance with Crash—I mean, Mr. Moretti. Do you know where they took him?"

The guy smiles. "He's in the room adjoining Mr. Moretti's."

I look back over my shoulder at the marble pillars, ten-foot glass doors, and the valet parking. At a hospital. "Tommy—"

"Don't worry about it. It's taken care of," he says, steering me up the stairs with a wave to the valet.

"But we can't afford this."

"You won't have to. Our insurance'll cover it. Don't stress."

"But—"

Tommy stops as we reach the top of the stairs. "Kel, there are a few perks to this thing we do now and one of them is special treatment when shit happens. So don't worry about it. Crash hurt Dan, so Dan's covered by the band's insurance and anything he needs as far as treatment or whatever will be handled. No cost. No fuss. Trust me, it's a good gig."

I fold my arms. "It just feels weird."

Tommy walks me through the huge front doors. "If we're going to hang out again, you best get used to that. This doesn't even scratch the surface of the weird we get now."

"I never said we were hanging out again," I say, ignoring the warmth in my chest.

Tommy frowns but keeps walking.

I let him go first so he won't see the ache painted on my face. Pretending I'm not ecstatic to see him is getting harder every minute.

*****

Crash

I wake in the middle of the night, confused about everything except the fact that I'm hung over.

My tongue is sticky and dry, a cotton ball that barely improves after I drink the water someone left on the bedside table.

Except leaning over like that makes my head lurch and my stomach twist, so I have to sit back on the pillows and hold the glass for a few deep breaths before I can drink more without anything coming back up.

When the roiling has passed, and my tongue feels a relatively normal size, I squint against a pounding headache and look around the room.

I'm in that ridiculous hospital where they took Tommy when he sprained his wrist. It's quiet and dark, though I can vaguely hear slippered feet outside the door, and a beeping machine down the hall. I rub my face and massage my temples. My head aches, and my stomach revolts. I have a vague memory of throwing up.

Kelly.

Heartbreak song.

Shit.

Tommy brought me a video. We argued. But things get fuzzy after that. Did I go after him, or stay home? I can't remember. I also can't shake a coil of nerves in my stomach. Like I did something wrong.

Hell. Did I do something? Will our publicist, Josh, be answering awkward press questions tomorrow?

I push upright again, looking for my phone. I gingerly turn my head to check the bedside table and the rolling table that slides over the bed and my lap.

If they put me in here, it's because they think the press is coming and they need me contained while they control the message. It's a technique I hate, but it works.

Some websites might already have something up. I can check. If I can find my stupid phone. Except I can't see any of my stuff here. Which is weird. Amber's usually got one of her minions all over details like that.

What happened?

I look for a call button instead. Maybe the nurse knows where my stuff is. But I can't find it. Are you kidding me? What if I was dying in here?

I'm about to push out of bed and risk bare-ass walking down the hall when voices rise next door. A deep, male voice, followed by a much higher, woman's voice.

"Nurse?" I call, wincing. The sound echoes painfully inside my skull. "Can you help me when you're done in there?"

The voices next door stop abruptly.

I'm about to call out again—because I don't have a lot of other options—when the door at the end of the room swings open. I'm vaguely aware of white tiles on the floor in the dim light, when a form much smaller than expected, and not in scrubs, takes two steps into the room and stops.

"Crash?"

No fucking way. Everything in my body lights up at the sound of her voice.

Her hair's down. I can't make out her expression. Her face blends into the shadows.

"Kelly?" In my shock, I say it too loud and my head punishes me with a sharp jab between my temples. I grab it and lean forward.

She doesn't move.

"You're really here?"

"Yes. When they took you, they brought Dan. And I wanted to stay and make sure he didn't need anything. So . . ." She trails off.

"Dan's here, too?"

"Yes, he hurt his back. You don't remember?"

"No. Should I?" My face hurts. Fucking Tommy.

She blows out a breath that's a little raspy.

"What—"

"Tommy came to see me today. Do you remember why?"

Shit. "No," I say. Silence stretches. "Kelly, I'm so—"

"Not right now. I'm not ready for that conversation."

I blink. I imagined this moment—this chance to talk to her alone for the first time—so many times. But never like this. And never where she wouldn't even talk.

Does she mean it? Then I remember this is Kelly. She doesn't even understand what mind games are. "Okay. Can you, um, remind me what happened today though? Did I do something?"

She sighs, then steps closer, but her arms are folded and she's not looking at me. She clears her throat a couple times, but when she talks, her voice is too light. Overly bright.

"Tommy showed up at my house this afternoon. I wanted him to leave, but someone saw him and took a picture. So I pulled him inside, and while we were catching up, Dan came home early."

My stomach sinks. Shit.

"Which is when you showed up at my kitchen door." Her voice goes even higher. "And then, just when Dan found two tattooed guys in my kitchen and accused me of sleeping with you both, you threw up on his feet."

I cover my face. "Kelly—"

"The best part, though," she says over me, and I wonder if she realizes she's inching closer until she's right next to the bed, "is that when Dan was, uh, rude about asking why you guys were there, Tommy got mad. I thought he would hit Dan, but, spoiler alert"—she sounds way too perky. And her voice is too high—"he didn't have to, because you tackled Dan and brought him down, tailbone first, on the kitchen floor. They had to backboard him. They did x-rays. He's cracked a vertebra. Hilarious, right?" She gives a nervous laugh.

She sounds like the day she found out her mom was dying. Kind of desperate, from the effort of holding back tears.

"See, the thing is, Crash, today's been a bit of a shock. And I'm in trouble with Dan. And you lied to Tommy, which is why he bailed on me. And you only came to my house because you were drunk, so—"

"No."

"—forgive me if I kind of don't know what to say right now, but—"

"Kelly, no."

"—I just—"

"Kelly—"

"Stop interrupting me!"

The dark becomes oppressive. But I can't let her walk away without telling her. So instead of interrupting her again, I put a hand on her arm.

She immediately yanks it away, like I burned her. But she doesn't run.

"I didn't come to your house because I was drunk."

"Then why? After all this time?"

"It's been a year," I say. She goes still, watching me. "I'd been fighting the idea of showing up for a week. For months. Yesterday was rough. Then Tommy showed me your song.

"I knew I had to tell you. But I'd been drinking. When Tommy went anyway . . . fuck, Kelly. I had to see you."

She blanks. She's never been comfortable with swearing—mostly because her controlling prick of a stepfather only curses when he loses his temper.

I force my hands to stay flat, relaxed on the bed.

"You came over because you couldn't let Tommy see me alone?"

"No!" I grimace and rub my head again. "Kel, it's been so hard not seeing you. So hard. I made myself do it because I knew it wasn't fair to you if I just showed up. But when he said he was going, I couldn't stop myself."

I lean forward. The perfume she wore today is mostly worn off, but this close I catch the faintest hint of sunflowers and sea salt. The smell of her.

It's still dim, but this close I can see her eyes—wide. With fright, or anger?

Can't look away. Can't move away. Wonder what's going on in her head, whether she's preparing to castrate me, or is as frantic as I am to find a way across the canyon of the past year.

"Kelly—" I whisper it, but as if it's a gunshot, she jerks back, out of my grip, her face twisted into a grimace that breaks my heart.