Page 145 of Six Years
“In case you forgot, which I wouldn’t put past you right now,” Sun starts, “We have no idea where he lives, Grey.”
I look at my sister. “You can see our house from his bedroom window. It’s, uh…” Jesus, think, Grey. You know how to describe a house. “It’s a white house, gray roof, and it has a red front door. They’re missing a few tiles on the stairs to the porch because they’re too lazy to have them fixed. And, uh, it’s basically straight ahead if you looked out of my bedroom window.”
“Grey…” My mother sighs.
Sun and Mom are the only ones who would ever be able to find that house according to my description, but I’d never ask either of them to go back near my dad’s house to look for Luan.
All of my friends grew up around New York, well Miles excluded. He sort of grew up in Malibu, but I’m pretty sure he lived on the other side of Malibu.
Or maybe he didn’t. When he came to visit a couple of years ago, Miles walked around El Matador Beach like he knew every inch of that place.
It doesn’t matter because even if Miles knew the whole country like the back of his hand, if something bad happened to Luan, or if he started to drink again, Miles would never be able to do anything about it.
Besides, the faster he can go home the better. Emory could give birth any day now.
“Did you contact Doro?” I ask, remembering that Luan’s most definitely with her.
“Who?” comes from almost everyone inside of this room.
“Luan’s best friend?” Shit, yeah, they don’t know that. “Where’s my phone?” I try to get up but I’m basically being—nicely—tackled down the moment I hint to move. “Woah there, friends, I have a broken arm, not a broken head.”
Neither of them laughs.
Too early?
I swear, you try to jokeonceand suddenly nobody finds you funny anymore. Luan would’ve laughed.
“You can’t go anywhere, Grey,” my mother says, putting on her new-found strict tone. “You were in acoma, you’ll be here for at least another week without seeing the outside world,” she adds in Korean.
“Because that’s such a punishment for him.” Sun laughs. “Grey loves being indoors.”
“This isn’t a punishment. Grey almostdied,” Mom says to my sister. “I am not putting his health behind finding his boyfriend, who’s most likely asleep at this hour. I bet Luan’s just as worried as we all were, and he will show up once one of us reaches him. We all had our struggles taking in the sight of Grey lying there all reckless, this wasn’t any less difficult for Luan. All of us have other breaking points, and his probably just snapped and he couldn’t sit around here any longer, thinking the guy he loves might never wake up again.”
“Or he’s drunk off his ass,” I mutter under my breath, but thankfully no one hears. “So, my phone?”
I have to call Doro, she’s the only one who’d know where he’s at.
Aaron lets out a deep sigh, one I most definitely don’t like. “Most of the phones were useless after the accident, yours included. You can try turning it on, if you can find your screen, or the other parts to your phone.”
Great. This is just great.
“I needonephone then,” I say, but even I can hear that I sound desperate at this point.
Sun opens her purse, pulls out her phone and then hands it to me. “Do you know her number by heart?”
I shake my head, but regret doing so immediately. Shit, why’d no one ever tell me waking up from a coma does all sorts of things to your brain? “No, but I can google Luan’s father’s business number. He owns Hayesland, so with a little luck, I will reach him, and he can give me her number if Mike doesn’t know where his son’s at.”
“Hayesland?!” Sun covers her mouth up with her hand. “Dad’s going to murder you when he finds out!”
“Well,” I chuckle, “it’s not like he was very fond of me before, so what does it matter?”
All of my friends know what actually went down, so I’m not surprised when the whole room quiets down and the only sounds being heard are thebeep beepsfrom whatever machines I am still hooked on to.
Using that silence to my advantage, I typeMike Hayesinto the google search bar, and lo and behold, his contact information is one of the first information about him that shows up. I know the phone number standing there isn’t his private one, but this might allow me to talk to an assistant, and they might be able to transfer me. Hopefully.
Instantly I click onto the call button. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take very long until someone picks up. Before whoever picked up could even introduce themselves, I’m already talking.
“Hi, this is Grey Davis, could you possibly transfer me to Mike Hayes?” I don’t think they will, not without any further explanations.
