Demanding Ransom (5 page)

Trav eyes me cautiously. “Come on, you’re
riding with us.”

“How’s your leg?” It’s the first thing Ran has
said to me since the ambulance pulled up to the house and it completely catches
me off guard. Especially since he’s not looking at me, but still has his eyes
fixed on my brother as he pierces the fleshy inside of his arm with the tip of
a needle.

“Better,” I say, pressing my hands onto my
thighs—a little too hard because I feel the pull on the injury
underneath. “Thank you. You guys did a good job with it.”

“You liked the balloons?” It’s strange how it’s
almost as though I can hear the shape his mouth makes as he speaks. Like I can
sense those curved lips breaking into a flirtatious smirk just from the sound
of his controlled, low voice.

“Yes,” I say, choking on the words because my
heartbeats and my syllables are trying to inhabit the same space in my throat
and there’s not enough room for both. Trav eyes me over my brother’s head and
huffs out a slight laugh of air. “I liked them a lot.”

“I got that impression when I saw the one
tacked to your bedroom wall.”

My palms drench with sweat and I gasp. I close
my eyes tightly shut to keep them from popping out of my head completely. Why
is this guy so forward? Trav doesn’t do me the honor of hiding his laughter
this time and his shoulders roll repeatedly.

“You don’t have much in your room, Maggie.”
Ran’s back is still to me, so I allow myself to explore every angle of
it—every pull of his navy blue shirt over the muscles that are so evident
underneath.

“No. I don’t really live there. I’m supposed to
be away at school, but I came back for Mikey’s game,” I explain. “Then
everything sorta got turned on its head.”

The irony in my statement isn’t lost on Ran and
he chuckles faintly. “Well then, I’m glad my gift could serve an alternate
purpose as temporary room décor while you’re visiting.”

Trav shakes his head and rolls his eyes,
catching my gaze. It appears he thinks we’re pretty entertaining, which says a
lot, considering their line of work.
 

“I’m not visiting. I’m taking the semester
off.”

Ran lifts another bag to Mikey’s mouth and
collects his vomit like it’s no big deal while he rotates at the waist to face
me. “Then you’ll need some more decorations. I’ll see what I can do about
that.” Aside from just having nice lips, he has nice eyes, too. More than nice.
Entrancing, with their light blue hue rimmed with dark, thick lashes.

“Do you give gifts to every girl you transport
to the hospital?” I’m stunned by my confident question, but decide to own it
while his penetrating stare is locked with mine. “Or just the ones who nearly
bleed out on the way there?”

“No.” He shakes his head and a lock of chestnut
hair falls onto his forehead. “Just the ones that pay me lots of compliments.
You gave me three. That was deserving of a balloon bouquet.”

“And what would four have gotten me?”

Trav is talking to someone on what looks like a
walkie-talkie, and Mikey is either completely drugged into unconsciousness, or
lulled into sleep from exhaustion, so it suddenly feels like it’s just Ran and
me in the vehicle, despite the drone of noise and the physical bodies around
us.

“Four would have gotten you flowers. Five might
have gotten you a chance to lick my lips.”

I choke. “I didn’t say I wanted to lick your
lips!” My volume is too high, so I try to pull it back down by speaking through
gritted teeth. “I just said I
liked
your lips. And I don’t even remember saying that—you could have made that
up for all I know.”

“Oh, you said it. And you have to admit that
you at least thought it.” He folds his arms across his chest. “And right now
you’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

“No.” I toss my head back and forth violently.
“No, I’m not.”

“Maggie, you and I both know that it’s nearly
impossible not to envision the subject matter of conversation.” His unbearably
long lashes flutter as he blinks and his eyes hold mine. His fixated stare
would be intimidating if he wasn’t so intriguing. “Puppies.”

“Excuse me?” I cough.

Ran smirks at me devilishly. “See, now you’re
thinking about cute, furry puppies.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So you’re not, not thinking about puppies?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m thinking
about how annoying this double talk is and that I’m glad I passed out so many
times during my
own
ride last month
so I didn’t have to endure it back then,” I defend in a rush of words.

“Lips.”

“Shut up!” I shoot my very best glare at him,
but Ran is totally unaffected. His lips spread into a slow, measured smile and
I think I even see his tongue run deliberately across the surface of the bottom
one. My stomach clenches and my breathing accelerates. “Are we almost there?” I
hate the shaky sound of my voice.

“You anxious to get to the hospital?” He cocks
his head to the side, his bottom lip now pinned between his teeth. It does something
strange and unfamiliar to my insides. “Didn’t spend enough time there last
month?”

“I’m anxious to get out of this ambulance and
gain some distance from you.”

“Won’t you miss this nice face?” He waves a
palm across his features. He’s so good looking that it makes nothing about this
conversation fair.

I scowl, but it’s hard to do when my eyes can’t
stop staring at his perfect mouth. “No, I’ve got that stupid balloon to remind
me of your goofy grin, staring at me as I try to fall asleep.”

“It’s not nice to belittle someone’s attempt at
friendship, Maggie,” Ran scolds. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to
graciously accept a gift?”

“My mother never taught me anything other than
how to be a deceitful, home-wrecking liar,” I spit.

Ran’s eyes flare open, then he immediately
recovers and they soften with empathy. If my own eyes hadn’t been so obsessed
with his mouth, I would have missed the brief moment that I caught him
completely off guard. The moment I caught myself off guard, too. Why do I still
hate her so much?

“Well, she might not have taught you how to
play nice, but I doubt she taught you to be a liar. From my experience, you
seem pretty frank.” Ran tilts his upper half toward me and I push back into the
wall to reclaim my personal space. “That might be who she is, but that’s not
who you are.”

“You don’t know who I am.” My voice falters,
the emotion heavy in it like it’s a physical substance.

“No, I don’t,” Ran agrees with a lift of his
chin. I glimpse the illuminated, red EMERGENCY ROOM sign through the front
window as the ambulance slows and settles at the entrance to the hospital. “But
I’m hoping you’re gonna give me the opportunity to get to know you a little
more.”

CHAPTER SIX

The annoying trill of video game sound effects
rattles into the sterile hospital room air. I’ve been clamping my jaw so tight
for the past hour that I don’t think I’ll be able to open it to eat tomorrow.
The tension started in my teeth and radiated into my skull, and is now completely
gathered right around my eyes, burning behind them.

“Kinsey, come give Michael a hug.”

A towheaded girl with iron-straight blonde hair
hanging to her waist edges hesitantly toward the hospital bed. She pauses for a
moment, and then swiftly dives in for a second-long embrace.

“And now your turn, Jefferson.” A boy that
appears identical, just a year or so younger, doesn’t look up from his handheld
gaming device as he brushes a shoulder into Mikey in an unenthusiastic attempt
to appease his mother. Our mother.

“Brittany and Valerie, you’re next.” Two
five-year-olds with strawberry blonde curls snuggle into Mikey’s side and give
the most impressive performance out of the four. “Very good,” my mother says,
apparently pleased with everyone’s compliant, if hesitant, cooperation.

“Michael, Sterling said to send his
condolences. He’s traveling in Spain again and won’t be stateside for another
week. He says he’s sorry you’re feeling so bad.”

“Feeling so bad?” I hiss over the top of my
celebrity gossip magazine, unable to put up with this ridiculous show any
longer. “Mikey has freaking cancer and was vomiting up ungodly amounts of blood
last night. I think the term ‘feeling bad’ expired when the doctors discovered
the massive tumor taking up residence in his brain.”

Our mother purses her perfectly outlined lips
and her golden eyes become slivers. “Now, Margaret. I understand that this is
all very upsetting—”

“Upsetting?” I chuck the magazine onto the tray
table in front of me and the pages flutter angrily. “Upsetting is sitting here
watching your children pretend to have any ounce of emotion for this stranger
in the hospital bed. Upsetting is listening to you call us Michael and
Margaret. It’s
Mikey
and
Maggie
.”

“Mar—Maggie,” she corrects herself,
smoothing her skirt down with her palms. “There are many stages of grief. Anger
is one of them. I think you could benefit from talking to someone. They have
fantastic programs here at this very hospital that will help you process all of
these confusing emotions you’re feeling.”

“Anger is not a stage, Mother.” I thrust my
weight upward and rock unskillfully onto my feet. When will the strength in my
leg come back? I could use a little more power right about now. “Anger has
become a lifestyle for me. Compliments of you walking out on your family ten
years ago.”

My mother pulls in a ragged breath through her
nose and I wait for it to come back out, but it doesn’t. “There are people you
can talk to about that, too, Margaret.” Her voice is tight and controlled. “If
money is an issue, Sterling and I are happy to assist in any way we can.”

“I don’t want your money,” I spit, locking my
right knee in place so my leg doesn’t give out from the prolonged standing. If
I fall on my face now, she’ll see just how weak I really am. “I don’t want
anything from you other than for you to leave—
again
.” I turn toward Mikey, who has his eyes closed. He’s probably
just faking it to avoid being yanked into our heated discussion, but I use it
to my advantage. “Mikey needs his rest.”

My mother collects her black Prada purse from
the bedside stand and scoops the hands of the twins into hers. Kinsey and
Jefferson rise to their feet behind her. “Please call me if anything changes.”

“You mean if he dies?” I see Mikey’s eyelids
flutter and think a ghost of a smile might have even crossed over his lips.

“Good God, Margaret! I would hope you would
contact me before it got to that.”

I shrug my shoulders to my ears. “I’ll be in
touch.”

She nods and her perfectly highlighted hair
doesn’t move. I’m sure the can’s worth of hairspray coating it is the reason
for that. On the outside, everything about her is perfect. “Get well soon,
Michael.”

When the door latches shut behind her and her
trail of little ducklings, both Mikey and I explode in an unreasonably loud
roar of laughter. Surely she can hear it down the hall, but I honestly don’t
care. In fact, the thought just makes me laugh louder.

“Get well soon?” Water fills Mikey’s eyes, and
he’s laughing so hard that the sound no longer comes out with the act.
“Seriously? Does she think I have a head cold?”

“I know!” I snort, sliding on the bed next to
him. “Call me if he dies.”

We both laugh until our sides ache, to the
point where we’re crying, not remembering what even triggered the tumultuous
laugh-fest. I pull myself closer to him and lower my head onto his chest. Mikey
pats my back affectionately, and even though he still smells like vomit, he
feels like home.

“I love you, Sis. I don’t know what I’d do
without you.”

Though the laughter-induced tears still brim in
my eyes, with his statement they immediately transform from joyful to pained,
even though it’s the same collection of tears.

“I love you, too, Mikey. I don’t know what I’d
do without you, either.” I grip him tightly around his waist. “Don’t ever give
me the chance to find out.”

***

“I think someone’s here to see you, Mikey!” I
shout over the hum of the dryer as the rumble of a motorcycle cuts off in the
driveway. Two more loads of laundry and I’ll be all caught up on both Mikey’s
and Dad’s. I finished my small load this morning and folded it back into my
suitcase so I can head back to Davis this afternoon. Though the semester is
nearly done, I’m itching to fall back into my college routine. Professor Long
said if I’m able to complete the research paper for his Anthro 101 course, he’d
give me a passing grade, despite my extended absence. My other professors
weren’t so generous, and I had to drop the rest of the courses two months ago
when the accident happened. But I’m grateful to at least have one college
course on my records. It makes this past quarter—and my life in general
lately—seem like less of a monumental waste.