Free Seconds Before Sunrise (The Timely Death Trilogy) by Shannon A. Thompson Page B

lot.”
    Jonathon leaned to look past Mr. Welborn. “Is he awake right now?”
    Mr. Welborn stepped aside. “Just woke up, Jonathon,” he said the boy’s name like it was a curse.
    Jonathon hung his head, and Teresa moved toward him. Their rigid movements amplified my nerves, but I fought the urge to step back. I was here to see Eric, not to worry about whatever family drama was happening.
    “You can go in and see him, Jess,” his father spoke to me like an old friend would. “He’s in there.”
    I hesitated , staring at the white curtains used for doors. Eric and I were classmates, but I still didn’t know what he would think about my visit. I looked at Jonathon and Teresa. “Don’t you guys want to see him?”
    “Believe me, Jess, ” Teresa began, opening the curtain. “He’ll be more ecstatic to see you than us.” With her free hand, she pushed me toward his room. “I have to talk to his dad anyways.”
    “Are you sure?” I wanted them to come with me. “I mean, if you want to see him—”
    “I’m positive,” she insisted. “Have fun.”
    She pushed me again, causing me to stumble, and I grabbed the doorframe as if I could still hold myself back, but I couldn’t. I was in his room, and there he was, lying in bed. His brown hair matted to the pillow like it hadn’t been washed in days, and his arm was wrapped. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a giant, black ring surrounding it, and his cheek was puffy and red. The rest of his face was blotchy and pale, but I had never been happier to see him before.
    “Jessi ca?” he croaked, sitting up. His eyes were glazed over. “What are you doing here?”
    “I—I—” I hovered in the doorway . “I’m not sure, really,” I admitted. “I heard you were in a wreck, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
    Eric’s brow rose, but it crumbled in seconds. I wondered if this basic expression caused him pain. He patted the bed.
    I walked across the room and sat inches away from him, and a rush of memories twisted through my mind. Last semester, we had sat on his bed when we worked on our project. He leaned against me that night, and I was nervous. This time, I was nervous for him. I didn’t want to hurt him.
    “I’m okay,” he said, managing a promising smile. “Except for the eye, that’s not so good.”
    “And the ribs, ” I reminded him.
    H e chuckled, wincing as his chest moved. “Those aren’t so great either,” he agreed, but his smile remained as if he couldn’t let it go.
    I wanted to smile back, but I couldn’t. I felt uncomfortably sick to see him in such a state, but I felt more selfish for being unable to control my emotions.
    His fingers tapped the space between my hands. “How’d you get here?”
    “Jonathon. We have art class together,” I said. “I didn’t know you were friends with him.”
    “And I didn’t know you knew him.”
    “Small world.”
    “Small school,” he retorted.
    “It is,” I admitted, hesitating to say anything else. It was too strange to look at Eric. I was used to seeing him in class, listening to music through his headphones. Now, I doubted he could even tilt his chair back without some part of him hurting.
    “I’ll be okay,” he whispered, and chills ran up my neck. He could read my body language better than anyone else I knew. “It could’ve been worse.”
    “It shou ld’ve been worse.” I relied on the information I had heard. He was lucky to be alive. My parents had done the same thing, and they weren’t. A part of me wanted to lecture him on his recklessness, but a bigger part of me knew the most important thing was that he was alive.
    I stared at my hands as I dug my nails into my palms. I heard the bed shift before I realized he’d grabbed my hand. He threaded his fingers beneath mine and pulled my nails out of my hand. When I looked up, he let go.
    “I hope Jonathon is the one who told you,” he said, but I barely heard him. My heart was pounding in my ears.
    “Kids