#ONMYWAYTOYOU #BONUSCHAPTERS — THIRTY-EIGHT HOURS

Whenever somebody asked him about it, Asher would tell people that the worst moment of his life lasted for thirty-eight hours.

Streetlights from outside filtered through the windows behind him as he paced along the right side of the room. It was almost a suite, larger than a typical hospital room, with a small sitting area, a couch, a table, and enough space for someone to move around without constantly bumping into something. But only two people were allowed inside at a time, which meant the room had spent most of those thirty-eight hours feeling strangely quiet and impossibly full.

“You can sit down,” Allison said into the silence.

“What?”

“I said you can sit down,” she repeated. She was holding a magazine in one arm, her other hand occupied with the cup of tea she got from the nurse's station. She’d offered her brother one, but he’d refused. “I don’t think Blake’s gonna mind, Ash.”

At the mention of his name, Asher’s eyes automatically panned toward the middle of the room, toward the person he’d been pointedly avoiding acknowledging since they’d come in.

He refused to look at Blake’s face. He only checked the monitor, watching the numbers and lines with a kind of obsessive attention, the slightest change in rhythm enough to send his thoughts spiraling, even though he had no idea what they meant. He figured if he kept looking anywhere but at Blake, he wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that his friend’s life was currently hanging in the balance, and that the only thing keeping him from falling completely into that pit of guilt and shame was the fact that his sister was watching him.

But eventually, his eyes drifted down. When he finally got a good look at Blake, Asher stopped, and Allison immediately realized that the only thing worse than her brother pacing was her brother not pacing.

The first thing he noticed was Blake’s hair.

Asher had endlessly berated him about it. Back then, he’d thought it was stupid of him to dye his hair. Now, it was the only thing giving color to Blake’s face apart from the bruises and wounds scattered across it, just as red, if not more.

Then he noticed Blake’s hand.

It rested limply against the sheets, a thin line taped down along his wrist and disappearing beneath the hospital blanket, wires branching from it and merging toward the machines beside the bed. Asher stared at the needle in his vein and wondered if Blake could feel it and how awfully painful it must be if he could.

His eyes moved lower.

The clothes he’d worn to the party, which took him an entire morning stressing over, were gone, replaced by a hospital gown. That immediately got Asher wondering where they’d put them. Blake was weirdly obsessed with his clothes. If he woke up and asked where they were, Asher needed to have an answer.

They probably had to cut them off him like they did with Dad.

Asher winced.

For half a second, the room disappeared.

The car was there instead. Burning. The smell of smoke filled his nose so suddenly that he almost gagged. He could hear the crackle of something catching fire, feel the heat against his skin, see the red smeared across clothes that were never supposed to look like that. He wondered if Blake's clothes looked like that, too.

His breath caught, and he blinked hard until the room came back in pieces—the hospital lights, the machines, Allison sitting across from him, Blake beneath the blankets.

Asher swallowed and looked away. He didn't want to remember his dad, or the burning car, or the thought of Blake being stuck in one, too.

“I should be doing something.”

Allison looked up at him. “The nurses said they’ll tell us if they need anything.” She gestured at the telephone beside the tiny fridge. “You need to relax and get some sleep.”

“How could you say that?”

“How could I not?” she said, then sighed, putting the magazine down as she made her way over to her brother.

“He will be okay, Ash,” she assured him.

Asher said nothing.

“The doctor said that when he wakes up—”

“If.”

“What?”

“He said if he wakes up.” Asher swallowed. “I heard it.”

Allison hesitated. “I’m sure he just misspoke. They’re not supposed to—”

“But he meant it.”

Allison wasn’t exactly the best model for the most outstanding little sister in the world. Hell, she probably couldn't even pass as a contender for the most outstanding teenager on this floor. She got kicked out of Norton at fourteen, while her big brother spent his entire student life collecting perfect grades. She never resented him for it. She's got the beauty, he's got the brains, she'd say. They were polar opposites in almost every way, and she would always tell him that she’d throw him under the bus in a heartbeat for a night with Michael B. Jordan.

Asher had always been better than her at everything, but when it came to feelings, Allison had always had the better hand.

Asher stood in the corner of the big suite, as if trying not to get too close to Blake’s bed, yet his eyes refused to leave his face. There was no emotion in them that anyone else could have read.

Anyone but Allison.

She’d seen that look before.

And she knew from a very young age that nobody is ever old enough for this kind of heartache.

. . . . .

Blake usually acts like he doesn’t need anyone, and apparently, that worked right up until he needed someone.

Asher was determined to fill the role as needed.

It was almost six in the morning, and it was still dark outside. Somewhere during the night, Asher caved and pulled a chair up beside Blake’s bed. He hadn’t left since. Allison managed to force him to eat two crackers after she threatened to tell the nurse they weren’t Blake’s family, which would have them indefinitely kicked out of the room.

“And I know they’re plenty suspicious already,” she’d said, looking at both of them and then at Blake.

Asher had rolled his eyes and shoved the crackers into his mouth before downing a glass of water.

It was enough to keep him full.

Behind him, the TV murmured, and he tried to listen while watching Blake, waiting for any kind of change, any sign that he was going to wake up.

He never got to do this the last time he was put in this situation. He just woke up one day in a hospital bed with a dead dad and a crying sister. It was a lot for a twelve-year-old to handle.

Blake was the same as he had been. His eyes were closed, lips pursed, but his eyebrows were ever so slightly furrowed, and Asher thought about how Blake absolutely hated being stuck somewhere this boring.

He tried to make a joke in his head, but it didn’t land because Blake wasn’t awake to hear it, or make it.

“You’re being real fuckin’ annoying,” he said. “I have better things to do, you know.”

The steady beeping continued. Asher stared up at the IV bag hanging above the bed, watching the drops fall one by one as he tried to drown out the sound.

Allison had left him alone a couple of minutes ago. She said she was hungry, and maybe she was, but Asher had a feeling she thought she was doing him a favor.

He didn’t need any favors.

If anyone deserved to be done any favors, it was the man in the hospital bed, and that wasn’t him.

“Since you always go on and on about how you’re better than everyone,” he leaned closer, whispering, “I’ll give you ten bucks if you wake up before Cam and Bryce.”

He felt guilty the moment he said it, then remembered Blake wouldn’t even blink and would probably follow that up with the most outrageous, offensive joke mankind has ever heard of. Asher smiled to himself. 

He knows everyone sees him as the moral anchor of the group, but truth be told, he’s always been envious of Blake’s irreverence. He sometimes wishes he was more carefree and cared less about inhibitions.

Of course, Blake would have to wake up to hear him admit that out loud.

. . . . .

Logically, Asher knew that the crash wasn’t his fault, but guilt didn’t care about logic.

“I should’ve been the one driving that night.”

The rustle of the newspaper halted. Allison seemed to be going through the entire catalogue of this hospital’s library, and Asher would’ve been amazed by the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in what she was reading if he didn’t think the rustling was annoying.

He half-expected her to tell him to stop, but Allison didn’t say anything.

“I was a lot less drunk than all three of them. If I’d just gotten off my ass and driven the damn car, then Cameron wouldn’t be in a coma. Bryce would still be making his stupid jokes with Ian, and Blake…”

“Would be okay,” Allison finished for him. “Is that what you think?”

Asher looked at her.

Yes, his eyes said. Of course he would be.

“You don’t think he would’ve definitely squeezed his ass into that car if you were the one driving?” she pointed out. Asher caught her glance at Blake for a second before she turned back to him. “Really? The man whose first words in the morning are always, ‘Where’s Ash?’”

Asher almost huffed. “He doesn’t…”

“Oh, he does.” She shook her head. “You’re his best friend by all means necessary, if we’re being honest here.”

“Don’t let Bryce hear that.”

“Oh, he has more important things to worry about.”

For the first time that day, Asher laughed, and neither of them noticed Blake’s finger twitch beside the blanket.

Asher and Allison talked for a little while after that.

Nothing particularly important. A few more jokes, some pointless complaints about the hospital food, and a brief argument over what Blake's first words would be when he wakes up. For a while, Asher let himself get distracted by it. He even forgot to watch the monitor for a few minutes at a time.

But as quickly as the sun began to rise, that momentary relief disappeared.

The sky outside the windows slowly turned from grey to dark blue, then lighter still, the first hints of morning creeping between the buildings. The hospital remained the same. The machines still hummed. The monitor still beeped at the same steady rhythm. Blake still hadn’t moved.

Allison eventually fell asleep on the couch, the newspaper she was reading slipping sideways in her lap. Asher didn’t wake her. He knew she needed it.

And once again, he was left alone with the silence.

He knew he should’ve felt better.

Blake wasn’t showing any signs of waking up, but he wasn’t showing any signs of getting worse, either. The doctors hadn’t come rushing in. The machines hadn’t started screaming. Nothing had changed, and for now, Asher supposed that was a good thing.

But when his eyes drifted back toward the bed, the same guilt began creeping up his chest.

He looked at Blake’s sleeping face, at the bruises he still couldn’t bring himself to properly look at, at the wires and tubes keeping track of things Asher didn’t know how to understand.

He should’ve driven that car.

The thought settled into his mind and refused to leave.

He tried to push it away. Tried to tell himself what Allison had told him.

He should’ve driven that car.

The thought lingered in his head like poison, repeating itself until his eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

Asher’s head fell back against the chair, his eyes closing as the monitor continued its steady rhythm beside him.

He should've been there instead.

. . . . .

The sunlight spilled through the window and landed straight across his face. It pressed hot and bright against his closed eyelids, turning everything behind them a hazy orange. Asher winced, trying to turn his head away, but the movement pulled at the stiff muscles in his neck, sending a dull ache down his shoulders.

For a few seconds, he stayed perfectly still, his mind sluggishly trying to piece together where he was. He couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep, or how long he'd been out. Judging by the heavy strain behind his eyes, though, it hadn't been nearly long enough.

“You look hideous when you sleep.”

Asher’s eyes shot wide open, every trace of sleep vanishing at once. That voice couldn’t have belonged to anyone else.

He pushed himself upright, a groan catching in his throat as a sharp pain shot through his neck. It barely registered before his attention snapped toward the head of the bed, his eyes instinctively searching for the person he expected to find there.

Blake lay there wide-eyed and perfectly alert, watching Asher with a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He's awake.

He should've called someone, but Asher could barely move, let alone process where the telephone even was. Blake was awake. He was awake and talking, and Asher couldn't fucking speak.

A full minute later, of all things, all he managed was a soft, “H-hey.”

“Woah, language.”

Asher, suddenly hyperaware of his dry mouth, swiped his tongue over his lips. “Are you… I mean, are you hurt anywhere? Should I… shit, I should call the nurse. Uh. Wait, I don’t really-“

He wished many things as he reached for the button on Blake’s bed. He wished he’d taken a drink earlier. Wish he’d gone home and fixed himself a bit. And he wished Blake wouldn’t notice his hand shaking as he pressed the button as quickly as he could manage.

But it was Blake. And Blake wouldn’t miss noticing a butterfly flap its wings if it was in the other side of the building.

“Hey. Relax, soldier.” Blake tried to sit up, but the stitches and the bruising kept him from moving more than half his body. Asher’s arm quickly stretched to reach for him in case he fell, which was nearly impossible since he was practically glued to the bed.

After that, Asher just stared at Blake, who had no other choice but to stare back, taking in his friend’s current state. Asher’s hair was flat on one side, sticking up in odd places on the other, and there were faint creases from the pillow pressed into his cheek. He looked like he’d been dragged out of bed and dropped carelessly into the hospital chair.

Blake laughed, wincing in pain.

Asher had never been more glad to hear his stupid laugh than today.

“Someone should be here in a bit,” Asher assured, concern oozing from his voice.

“I’m okay. You know, it’s weird. My sides are killing me, my head feels like it’s gonna split open—is it split open? Oh my God, they didn’t shave my head, did they?” He reached for his head and sighed. “Oh, thank fuck. The crash was bad, but I would’ve rather died than be bald, honest to God.”

Asher laughed before he could stop himself.

“I’ve been awake for five, ten minutes, and my body is screaming at me, but you know, all I could think about is…”

Their eyes met.

Asher ignored it. Maybe his body was still trying to process the fact that Blake was awake, and his heart was simply taking the brunt of it.

“Ramen.”

“Ramen?” Asher repeated.

“A big fat bowl of ramen.”

For a second, Asher could only stare at him. The words barely registered. Blake was awake. He was joking, complaining, worrying about his hair and, apparently, ramen. He sounded like himself. He looked like himself. After days of waiting for any sign that he was going to wake up, hearing him ramble about something as stupid as ramen...

Was the greatest relief of Asher’s life.

The tightness that had been sitting in his chest finally loosened, leaving behind a strange, almost dizzying wave of reprieve. He swallowed hard, blinking a few times before he could trust himself to speak.

“Where are you going?”

Asher rushed down the hallway, nearly skidding to a stop when he spotted Allison. She was carefully balancing a full cup of hot coffee between both hands, her eyes widening at the sudden sight of her brother barreling toward her.

“He’s awake,” Asher blurted, urgently walking past her.

Allison looked taken aback, nearly dropping her coffee.

“What?”

“I have to head to the store.”

“Wait, wha—Asher!”

He was already halfway down the hall before Allison could catch up to him.

The trip to the parking lot felt longer than it ever had before. Asher didn’t remember it being this far. But he walked, he walked and walked until his footsteps felt like weights tied to his ankles, each one dragging him farther from the hospital room.

He took his car keys out of his pocket, his hand shaking as he tried to listen for the horn. The sun was bright overhead, glaring down at him until his eyes stung. He knew he had to do two things: get in the car, and find ramen.

Ramen.

Once he got into his car, Asher tried to remember what Blake’s favorite was, but his brain was fuzzy. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus past the blurry figures moving outside his windshield.

Where was he even gonna find ramen around here? Goddammit.

His nose twitched as he took a shaky breath, the familiar pressure beginning to gather behind his eyes. His throat tightened. He blinked rapidly, once, twice, trying to clear the sudden sting from his eyes, but it only made them burn worse. His lower lip trembled before he could stop it, and he quickly pressed his mouth into a hard line.

His heart felt lighter now, relieved in a way he couldn’t put into words, but somehow it was still heavy. Too heavy. Like all the fear he’d been carrying for days had finally found somewhere to settle now that he no longer had to keep himself together.

In the hospital parking lot, a steady, shrill beep of the car filled the quiet parking lot.

↳ BONUS CHAPTER 2