Page 38 of Intersect

“Doubt it,” he says, retrieving another stack of miscellaneous cards and photos, “but you seem to remember my life back then better than I do, so you tell me.”

My smile fades as I pick up a picture of Nick and Ryan. “You really were almost identical.”

“Yeah, even my father confused us occasionally.”

Was I really at fault that night I confused them? I know there wasn’t a bone in my body that thought I was kissing Ryan until the horrible moment when he said I wanted you first. But should I have figured it out sooner? Did Nick continue to blame me in some quiet corner of his brain?

He comes to a sudden halt, staring at something in his hands, a half-second of hesitation before he shuffles the paper to the back of the pile.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

He glances at me and away, handing the paper to me. “I kept the flyer from Ryan’s memorial service. I don’t know why. I can’t seem to get rid of it.”

I don’t want to take it.

But I find myself reaching for it anyway, and darkness closes in the moment it’s in my hands.

* * *

Even as Ryan’s coffin is being lowered into the ground, I’m thinking about the party.

Nick sits beside me, crushing my fingers with his own, his face pale, empty. On the other side of him, his mother is bent low, shoulders shaking.

I did this.

It was so simple, time traveling back a few hours the night of the party. I stood there watching Nick and Ryan beat the shit out of each other—because of me—and it felt like the world was caving in. And it was so unnecessary, when I had the power to fix it.

It never really occurred to me that I shouldn’t go back. I’d done far harder things with my mother over the preceding years. It was all so easy. Traveling back, convincing Nick to skip the party. And when I was in the treehouse with him, pulling his T-shirt over his head, it didn’t feel like an act. It felt like the night we should have had all along.

Until the next morning, when I heard Ryan was dead. That’s when I realized how wrong I’d been.

There’s no one I can tell. Not Nick, who would never forgive me if he knew. Not Ryan, who will never hear my words, my apologies, again. And not my mother, because she warned me. Time and time again she warned me that when you go to the past to fix things, you risk making them worse. And she was right. I should have just left it alone. I have done a terrible thing, and I will never, ever do it again.

17

NICK

It’s going to be okay.”

I’ve said this aloud so many fucking times, and I’m not sure if it’s for her or for myself. I just know that repeating it a thousand times still won’t make it true.

It’s been several hours now. Me with my useless words. The only response—that rhythmic beat of the heart-rate monitor, the constantly bleat of the alarm on the IV. I can’t get her latest MRI images out of my head. The tumor is swallowing her brain. The radiologist’s face as he handed me his report said it all.

She is heavily sedated…I know this. I’m responsible for it. But no one is even sure she’ll regain consciousness and Jesus, I need to see her open her eyes. I need to know she’s still with me.

I squeeze her hand, tell her again that she’s going to be fine. I’m grateful she can’t hear the lack of certainty in my voice.

How did I exist without her? That two months ago I didn’t even know her seems impossible to me now. And if she doesn’t come back…I can’t even think about it. I was such a dick the other day, when she suggested we sleep together. So appalled and so desperate for it at the same time I could hardly put two coherent words together. If I’d realized how little time we actually had left, I’d have given her everything. I just didn’t know.

The staff mostly leaves us alone. None of them approve of the fact that I broke up with Meg and am now clearly with my patient, but they seem to sense I’m too close to the edge to be pestered. I should have handed her case to someone else a while ago, but no one is going to monitor her as carefully as I will. No one else will be as thorough as I’ll be, will refuse to leave a single stone unturned. I dare any of them to even suggest it.

There’s a timid tap on the door and then Sully, the only male nurse on the floor, pops his head in. “They sent me to deliver the bad news,” he says with wary eyes. “There’s a guy outside saying he’s Quinn’s fiancé. The hospital must have called…”

I don’t even let him finish the sentence. “No.” There’s not a chance in the world that asshole is getting anywhere near Quinn right now.

He swallows. “I checked her file—he’s still listed as her next-of-kin. I’m not sure what to say to him.”

My blood boils at the thought of Jeff in this room when he knows she wants nothing to do with him. “Tell him I said to go fuck himself,” I reply. “If he complains, let me know and I’ll deal with him myself.” Gladly. The only reason I’m not already out there is because I don’t want to leave Quinn’s side.