Breathing Lies: (The Breathing Undead Series, Book 1) Page 6

  “Or you could just not push me in,” I suggest, latching on to his arm.

  He chuckles but stops pushing on me and helps me sit upright again.

  I breathe in relief. Not that I believed he’d actually push me in. But just the idea that I could fall in has my heart racing.

  Standing up, he offers me his hand. “Let’s go up to the rope.”

  “Fine, but I’m not going to swing on it.” I put my hand in his, and he pulls me to my feet.

  “Hmm … that doesn’t sound very fun.”

  “I can’t do it. It goes right over the water, and I …” I toss a panicked glance at the lake. I really hate the water. It’s the main reason I don’t really know how to swim.

  “What if you just swung on it with me?” he suggests, squinting against the sunlight.

  I glance at him warily. “I could still fall off.”

  He shakes his head. “I’d never let that happen.” When I give him a skeptical look, he adds, “And even if you fell, I’d fall in with you and swim us to shore.”

  I flick a glance at the cabin. My mom will never let me go, but she’s not outside, so she won’t know …

  “Fine. But promise me you’ll save me if anything happens.” I stick out my pinkie. “In fact, pinkie swear you will.”

  He hitches his pinkie with mine. “I swear on my life I’ll always save you.”

  “So, you’re like my own personal superhero?”

  “Totally.”

  Grinning, we start down the dock toward the shore. Halfway down, Kingsley glances up at us. His gaze lingers on me, again making me question if he hates me.

  “I don’t think Kingsley likes me,” I say right before Foster stumbles on a loose board.

  “Shit,” Foster says, bumping his shoulder into mine.

  Coldness seeps into my bones as I trip sideways. I cry out in pain as my foot gets caught on a nail. Then I lose my footing, tipping over the side of the dock. I gasp right before I plunge in and the water rises over my head. A second later, my toes touch the ground, and I push up with all my might. But the force is only enough to get my head barely above the water, and with my sucky swimming skills—or lack of skills altogether—I sink right back down. The instant my feet touch the ground again, I push back up, and gasp for air as my head surfaces.

  “Help,” I gasp out, struggling to stay afloat.

  I get a brief glimpse of Foster and Kingsley rolling around on the dock, punching each other.

  What on earth—

  I start to sink again. I try to kick up again, but I don’t have enough strength.

  Where is Foster? Why is he fighting with Kingsley right now? Why isn’t he saving me like he promised?

  As I sink lower, I stare up at the sky, at the sunlight sparkling above the water, wondering if this will be the last time I ever see it. Then a shadow falls over me as my feet touch the muddy bottom. Then arms are wound around my waist and I’m pulled upward. A slamming heartbeat later, I burst through the water.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Foster assures me as he swims us toward shore.

  I cough. “Oh, my gosh, I almost …” I cling to him and stay that way until we make it safely to the shore.

  Foster crawls onto the dirt and smooths my hair out of my face. “Are you okay?”

  I flop back in the dirt, struggling to breathe evenly. “Yeah … I think so …”

  He leans over to examine me, blocking out the sunlight. “Thank God.”

  I stare up at the sky and drape my hand over my forehead. “I can’t believe I fell in. And stepped on a nail, too. My foot’s probably bleeding.”

  “I really need to teach you how to swim better,” Foster murmurs, scooting down to look at my foot. “I know you struggle with it, but maybe you can learn how to doggie paddle so you can at least stay afloat if something like that ever happens again.” He leans closer to my foot to inspect the wound.

  I turn my head toward the dock, and my gaze collides with Kingsley’s. He’s standing there with his arms crossed and the coldest look on his face.

  “Why’s Kingsley mad?” I tear my gaze off Kingsley and look at Foster. “And why were you two fighting while I was in the water?”

  Foster sits back, resting his hands on his knees as he glances at Kingsley. “I have no idea what his problem is.”

  As Foster stares at Kingsley, Kingsley shuts his eyes and shakes his head. Fosters sighs and mutters something incoherently under his breath.

  “Are you guys talking telepathically?” I joke.

  Foster smiles, but it looks forced. “I was just trying to decide if I should tell you some stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  He rakes his hands through his wet hair then sighs. “It was just so weird … When you fell in, Kingsley ran over and started punching me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think …” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

  “What is it?” I press. When he shrugs, I softly nudge him in the side of the leg with my foot. “Best friends tell each other everything.”

  “Yeah, I know, but this might scare you.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” I insist. He gives a pressing glance at the water, and I frown. “Well, except for water.” I sit up. “But I’m not afraid of Kingsley.” I sneak a glance in Kingsley’s direction.

  He’s still on the dock, looking at us miserably.

  Why does he look so sad?

  “You might be after I tell you this,” Foster mutters. “But I guess I probably should tell you.” He turns to me, blocking Kingsley from my view. “When you fell into the lake, he ran over and started punching me, and it was like he was trying to stop me from saving you.”

  “No way.” I shake my head. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m just telling you how it seemed to me.” He sneaks another quick glance over his shoulder at Kingsley then scoots closer to me. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but sometimes it scares me how much he watches you.”

  I wrap my arms around myself as goosebumps sprout across my skin. “He doesn’t watch me that much.”

  “He kind of does. And I heard my mom and dad talking about how much trouble he’s been getting into … They’re starting to get really worried about him. And so am I—”

  “Foster! Come help me set up this tent!” his mom shouts from the porch of the cabin.

  Grimacing, he stands up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go any closer to the water, okay?”

  Yeah, I have no problem with that.

  He waits for me to nod then jogs off toward the house, leaving his words echoing in my mind.

  “No, Kingsley wouldn’t try to intentionally hurt me,” I mutter to myself.

  But when I look back at the dock again and Kingsley is still staring at me, I can’t help wondering if Foster is right.

  Why would Kingsley be like that toward me, though? Because he doesn’t like me?

  I’m not sure, but maybe I should keep my distance from him from now on, just to be safe.

  Eight

  Harlynn

  The soft beeping of a machine tugs me from the darkness. I force my eyelids open, and bright light instantly stings my eyeballs. For a frightening moment, I think I’m dead. But then the light gradually dims and my surroundings slowly come into focus.

  An off-white ceiling, florescent lights, and plain white walls? Where the hell am I?

  I glance around. I’m in a bed with an IV tube in my hand, an oxygen tube is underneath my nose, and my finger is connected to a heart monitor.

  I’m in a hospital?

  Sharp images flash through my mind. Foster’s truck. Kissing him. A bright light. After that … nothing.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake.” A middle-aged woman wearing blue scrubs enters the room, carrying a clipboard.

  “Um, yeah?” I peer around the empty room. “Where’re my parents?”

  “They went to the cafeteria.” She approaches the bed. “Your poor mother’s been worried sick about you, refusing to leav
e your bedside even to eat, but your father finally convinced her to go. Figures you’d wake up the moment she left. Things usually seem to work out that way, don’t they?”

  I stare at her, confused, but she just offers me a small smile.

  “Let’s check your vitals, shall we?” She examines the monitor screen then jots down something on the clipboard.

  “How long have I been here?” I ask hoarsely, my throat dry and scratchy.

  “About a week.” She sets the clipboard down on a table and pours me a glass of water, adding a straw to the cup. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness most of the time.”

  “Really? I don’t remember that.” I take the cup from her and gulp down a long sip.

  “You were fairly incoherent. But you seem all right now. Your vitals look a lot better.”

  I drink the last of the water then hand her back the cup. “Why? What happened to me?”

  Her optimism goes poof. “You don’t remember?” she asks cautiously.

  I shake my head. “I remember being in a truck with my friend …” And making out with him, but I’m not about to tell her that. “Then there was a bright light. After that, I can’t remember anything except waking up here.” When she frowns, I ask, “Is it bad I can’t remember?”

  She forces a rigid smile. “I’m sure it’s fine, but let me just go get the doctor, okay?”

  She shuffles out of the room, leaving me with nothing but the beeping of the heart machine and my confusion to keep me company.

  I stare down at my hands, at my bandaged wrist.

  What happened to me? Why can’t I remember anything after when Foster and I kissed in the truck? Did I get hurt right after that? How? And where’s Foster?

  “Did he get hurt, too?” I mumble as I move to sit up, but my head gets yanked back by the oxygen tube. “Fuck.”

  My mom steps into the doorway and her hand trembles as she covers her mouth. “Oh, you’re awake.”

  “Calm down, honey.” My dad wraps his arms around her. “Take a deep breath. Air in. Air out.”

  She does what he says, taking deep breaths. Then she hurries over to my bedside.

  Her eyes glisten with tears as she smooths her hand over my head. “How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Do you need anything? Food? Water? Another blanket?” She pulls back, but only to pick up the buzzer. “You know what? I’m just going to buzz the nurse.”

  “She’s already been here. She just left to go find the doctor,” I tell her. “Mom, calm down. I’m fine.”

  She reluctantly lets go of the buzzer. “You’re not fine. You were hurt, and we thought …” She shakes her head, a sob ripping from her chest.

  “Hon, you’re scaring Harlynn.” My dad places his hand over mine, his eyes looking a bit watery, too. “God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Good hell, am I the only stable one in this room? If so, it’s a bit unsettling since I’m currently hooked up to oxygen.

  “We’re sorry we’re so emotional,” my dad apologizes to me, dabbing his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “We were just so worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

  My heart rate spikes. “I was in a coma?”

  “No, but you were in and out of consciousness. And every time you woke up …” He trails off, tears welling in his eyes again.

  “You didn’t recognize us,” my mom finishes for him as she sucks in a trembling breath. “But that’s okay. You recognize us now …” She pauses, assessing me closely. “Right?”

  “Yes, Mom, I know who you are,” I assure her. “And I know who Dad is. I know my name, my birthday, where I live … I’m fine. I swear.” I glance down at my arm, at a bandage wrapped around my wrist, and haziness floods my mind. How did I hurt it? “I’m a little confused about something … How I ended up in a hospital…”

  “You don’t remember?” my mom asks. When I shake my head, she looks like she’s going to lose it. “Doug, go get the doctor now.”

  “Don’t do that, Dad,” I say, but he’s already rushing out of the room.

  Sighing, I return my attention to my mom. “I already said the nurse went to get the doctor.”

  “Well, she’s moving too slowly.” She pulls up a chair, sits down, and then holds my hand. “I know you like to be tough, but you were in a serious car accident, and we need to be one hundred percent certain you’re okay. No sugarcoating your answers when the doctor asks you questions, got it?”

  “I’ll do my best, but … Wait … I was in a car accident?” My mind flashes back to the last memory I had. I was in Foster’s truck with him … “Where’s Foster?” I try to sit up, but that damn oxygen tube gets in the way again. “Goddammit, this thing is so annoying.” I reach to yank it off.

  “Don’t you dare,” my mom warns, capturing my hand. “You need to leave that on until the doctor takes it off.”

  “Fine.” I lower my hand to my lap. “Is Foster okay?”

  She pats my hand and smiles at me. “Other than a couple of bruises and cuts, he’s fine. But considering what happened … things could’ve been a lot worse.”

  I swallow hard. “What happened exactly?”

  “From what Foster told us, you two were parked out on the cliffside near the lake when someone crashed into the back of his truck.” She takes a shaky breath then scoots forward on the chair. “His truck was pushed over the cliff and it fell into the lake.”

  I can’t breathe …

  So much water …

  Help me …

  Warm lips on mine, feeding me air …

  I know those lips …

  “Harlynn, are you okay?”

  I blink, yanking myself out of my daze. “Yeah …” I blink again as the broken images simmer and fizzle inside my mind. “How did I get out of the lake?”

  “Foster pulled you out and swam you to shore.” She offers me a weary smile. “I always knew I liked that boy.”

  Foster saved me again?

  Warm lips on mine …

  I know those lips …

  From somewhere …

  Somewhere faint and distant yet familiar…

  “I …” I rub at my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to rub away the confusion. “Who ran into Foster’s truck?”

  “No one knows for sure since the person who hit you took off. The police are looking into it, but it’s been labeled as a potential hit and run.”

  “Do they think it was an accident, or did they hit us on purpose?” I’m not sure why the question slips past my tongue. As far as I know, Foster has very few enemies. Well, except for Grey. But this is a little bit extreme for Grey and Foster’s rivalry.

  “We don’t know yet,” my mom utters, clutching my hand. “We’ll have to wait to hear from the police. Until then, we’ve been cautioned for everyone to be extra careful and report anything strange that we might’ve seen or heard.” She tightens her grip on mine. “The detective in charge of the case has requested to speak to you about what happened when you’re feeling up to it.”

  Images flash through my mind.

  A bright light. A loud crash.

  Warm lips on mine …

  My head starts to throb.

  My mom glances at the monitor as my heart rate increases. I tug on her hand, drawing her attention back to me.

  “I’m okay,” I lie.

  I’m not sure I am.

  I feel different inside. There’s a hollowness stirring inside me, a blankness of lost time.

  The corners of my mom’s lips dip downward even more. “I’ll feel better after the doctor checks on you.”

  Me, too. Then maybe they can explain why I can’t recall much of anything about the wreck.

  “When can I see Foster?” I ask.

  “I’m sure he’ll be by soon,” she tells me. “He stops in at least four to five times a day to check up on you. He’d probably stay here all the time if he could.”

  I nod, but my mind feels so foggy.

  Foster saved me. Foster, the guy I’ve been in love wi
th. The guy I kissed right before the accident.

  I wish I could remember …

  Why can’t I?

  Nine

  Harlynn

  The doctor, a thirty-something-year-old woman, shows up a little later to check on me. Her name is Dr. Paratellford, and her hair reminds me of blood.

  After asking me only a couple of questions and giving me a quick examination, she decides my memory loss is probably due to the traumatic event.

  “We’ve already done an MRI, and it showed no brain trauma.” She tucks a pen into her front pocket and adjusts the clipboard in her hand. “So, more than likely, it’s from the traumatic stress of the event.”

  “So, traumatic stress is causing the memory loss?” I ask.

  She nods, glancing down at my chart. “It’s not that uncommon, especially if you reached a state of shock before you passed out.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Harlynn did,” my mom tells the doctor. “She hates water.”

  I nod in agreement. “I do.” That much is still true.

  What I don’t understand, though, is why my memory blanks out even before Foster’s truck went off the cliff. Even the memories of making out with Foster are a bit hazy, as if they didn’t really happen. Everyone keeps saying it’s from the trauma, but why would I forget a memory that was so important to me? Or, well, it feels like it should be. Right now, I just feel… Well, like I’m floating around in a sea encompassed by fog.

  “We’ll keep her here for a couple more days for observation,” the doctor tells my parents. “But if everything looks okay by then, she’ll be able to go home.”

  My parents start asking her with questions about when they do take me home. During the chat my mom mentions Foster had to do mouth-to-mouth on me, that my lungs actually stopped seeking air.

  I died for a moment.

  Dead.

  I was dead.

  And now I’m here, alive, and all I feel is confused.

  After the doctor leaves the room, my dad calls the Avertonsons to let them know I’m awake, doing okay, and that they can come over to visit me. When he gets off the phone, he informs us that they’re heading over ASAP.