Kele Moon - Crossing the line

“You never told me that!” Henry gave her a horrified look before he turned back to her father defensively. “I swear, Sheriff, they never—”

“Take Powers.” Her father walked back to Henry and handed over Clay, who looked so sick he didn’t even care that he was in a house full of cops and piglets.

Her father took the stairs two at a time, and Jules ran to keep up with his long, powerful stride.

“Why the heck didn’t you tell Henry he was ill?”

“He didn’t want you to stop looking for Clay.”

Her father burst into Wyatt’s room. His eyes were so wide and terrified it scared Jules too. When he found Wyatt on the floor, he let out a low, primal sound of horror. “Oh God, Wy!”

Jules was already in tears. Her hands were shaking, and for one horrifying moment she had the thought of living the rest of her life without her twin. Her voice was a high-pitched screech of fear because she didn’t for one moment doubt the cruelty of fate that could yank the people she loved away from her.

“Shut her up.” Wyatt pressed both his hands to his head. “I’d rather be in a jail cell.”

“Jules, hush.” Her father leaned down and scooped up Wyatt, which made her brother groan in pain. “Just take a deep breath. We’re gonna take him up to Mercy. They’ll fix him.”

He didn’t sound very sure about it, because his voice was shaking, and Jules wasn’t inclined to believe him under the circumstances, because her father was always unbendingly confident.

“I’m coming,” she said quickly, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Wyatt was going to the hospital, she was too. “Is he dying? Please don’t let him die, Daddy.”

“Will you stop talk talking ’bout him dying? No one’s dying.” Her father sounded like an angry bear as he turned to walk out of the bedroom with Wyatt.

“Grandpa died! And our mama died, and if Wyatt dies, I’ll die ’cause—”

“Juliet!”

She let out a sob of horror as she followed him down the hallway. “I need to go with you. I can’t let him go to the hospital without me ’cause—”

“Then get dressed!”

Jules had never gotten dressed so fast in her entire life.

* * *

Henry offered to come with them, but there was no room in the sheriff’s jeep. So they made a very odd crew as Jules sat in the front set with her daddy, who was driving at least fifty miles over the speed limit to Mercy General with his sirens blazing. It seemed the noise wasn’t helping either Clay or Wyatt, who were both in the backseat with buckets in their laps and a green look on both their faces. Every once in a while, one or the other of them would lean over and throw up, and every time they did, her father would stomp on the gas harder.

The nerves had Jules talking a mile a minute. She was worse than Wyatt at the moment.

“What does a concussion mean? Does it mean he’s broken his head? I know something’s wrong with his head. I can feel it.”

“Something like that.”

Jules let out another screech of horror.

“Dang it, Jules, it’s not that bad. I’ve had a concussion before. Do I look dead?”

Something about that scared Jules even more, and she let out another sob.

“Jules,” Wyatt groaned from the backseat. “If I promise not to die, will you stop howling?”

Jules sniffed and turned to look at him. “Maybe.”

“I’m not gonna die,” Wyatt assured her. “I promise.”

She sniffed again as she studied her brother, with his bruised face, sitting next to his longtime enemy. Wyatt was the world’s worst liar. If he promised something, he always meant it. She felt a wave of relief wash over her almost instantly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Wyatt agreed as he fell back against the seat. “She’ll be quiet now.”

“She ain’t been quiet since we left.” Clay’s hand was on his head, and his eyes were closed in misery. “It’s worse than the siren.”

“As long as you promise,” Jules reiterated.

“I promise, Ju Ju. I ain’t dying. It’s gonna take more than this.”

That helped even more, and Jules took the first clear breath since her father’s reaction to Wyatt on the floor had terrified her. “He’ll be okay. That means I’ll be okay.”

“Twins are weird.” Clay grunted, sounding truly mystified.

“Boy, you got not idea.” Her father sighed. “I still ain’t figured the two of them out.”

* * *

The doctors said later that it was a real special trick for Clay and Wyatt to give each other matching concussions that were serious enough to earn them both an extended stay at Mercy General’s pediatric ward.

Wyatt was sort of thankful for the head injury, because if not, his father would’ve surely shot him for putting Clay Powers in the hospital for four days. As it was, all his father could do was throw up his hands in defeat and keep his head low every time he walked by the nurses’ station.

He was so embarrassed and angry he threatened to take Wyatt out of all his classes and force him to spend his spare time mopping up the sheriff’s office. By some miracle, Wyatt had a Jules moment and suggested that instead of taking him out of classes, which he’d need if he was going be sheriff one day, he ought to just put Clay in the classes so they could fight on padding.

After all, it wasn’t their fists that caused the serious injuries—it was the concrete.

His father told him if he hit Clay again, he’d be grounded until his wedding day.

Wyatt didn’t see what the big deal was. It seemed like a sporting injury to him, and his father didn’t lose his marbles when Wyatt broke his arm in judo. Jules had dislocated her shoulder in karate two months ago, and she got a new video game console for her room.

Wyatt already decided the fight didn’t count. Fights with friends were okay. He fought with his friends all the time in boxing and karate.

“Are ya ever gonna accept my apology?” Wyatt asked, giving Clay a look across the breakfast table. “It’s been five days.”

Clay shrugged, looking unconcerned with the time that passed as he ate his second serving of eggs. Wyatt didn’t know how Clay could eat like that while still recovering. Wyatt’s head still had him feeling queasy even after the hospital discharged them last night. Clay had a more severe concussion than Wyatt, and he was eating like they were going to run out of food.

“You want more?” Wyatt asked curiously, while having the off thought he probably ought to stop Clay before he got legitimately sick.

Clay didn’t respond, but he did stand up and walk back to the stove. He dished himself up a third serving of eggs Henry had fixed for them because his father had been busier than usual dealing with the fallout from the fight. The people from the state had stopped by last night, but largely due to Wyatt and Jules’s whining, his father told them Clay could stay there until he healed up.

“You don’t think the state’s really gonna take ya, do you?”

“Yup. Surprised they ain’t dragged me away already.”

Clay was talking. That seemed like a minor improvement since he barely responded to Wyatt’s questions despite the two of them being together nonstop for almost a week. They even got to share a room in the hospital.

“You can’t go. We’re supposed to be buddies.”

“I’d rather go with the state.”

“Nah, that ain’t true.”

Clay gave him a dark look that said in no uncertain terms that it was true, but Wyatt’s theory was if he kept reminding Clay enough times of their new friendship, eventually he would forgive him.

“I said I was sorry ’bout a million times.”

“Whatever.” Clay turned back and sat at the table with a fresh plate of eggs. “I ain’t gonna be your friend. No way.”

“You can’t just take off with the state,” Wyatt argued. “Dad said they could take you to another city and—”

“Sounds good to me.”

“What ‘bout Tabitha?” he couldn’t help but bark, because if Tabitha liked Wyatt half as much as she liked Clay, he’d do anything to stay near her. “You can’t just up and leave her.”

“Tab’s fine.”

Wyatt let out a growl of frustration. His father thought Wyatt’s mouth could make a saint violent, but he hadn’t spent a week hanging around Clay Powers day and night. He was not an easy kid to be best buddies with. “You’re an asshole.”

Clay’s head shot up, and it was obvious he heard some sort of violence in Wyatt’s tone. “You gonna start hitting me again?”

“No, but she deserves a better fella than you.”

Clay’s eyes narrowed at Wyatt. “I ain’t her fella.”

“You sure act like you’re her fella. I saw you hugging,” Wyatt couldn’t help but grumble. The headache that wouldn’t end was making him grouchy. “She’s sweet on you.”

Then the most amazing thing happened; Clay Powers laughed. A hard, genuine laugh that seemed so strange coming from the somber, intense kid Wyatt had grown accustomed to over the past few days.

“What, Conner? You want her to be sweet on you instead?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Maybe.”

Clay stopped laughing. He looked shocked at the admission.

“Maybe you could help me out,” Wyatt mused thoughtfully when Clay didn’t have a response. “Tell her something good ’bout me.”

“Why would I do that?” He was looking at Wyatt like he’d grown two heads. “I hate you.”

“Naw, we’re best buddies,” Wyatt reminded him. “We’re supposed to help each other out and tell each other things. I told you a secret. Tell me one.”

“No.”

“You ain’t exactly easy to be best buddies with, Powers.”

“That’s ’cause I ain’t your buddy.”

“Sure you are,” Wyatt said confidently. “Now are you gonna tell Tabitha something good ’bout me or what?”

Clay was focused on his eggs rather than Wyatt’s romantic crises. Wyatt didn’t think Clay understood the gravity of the situation.

“I’m serious, Powers. I got to go steady with that girl.”

“Forget it.” Clay finally huffed, as if willing to do anything to shut Wyatt up. “Her mama would never let her hang out with a piglet.”

“She would if you helped me out,” Wyatt pressed before he added, “I mean, that ain’t the reason we’re buddies, but I got to find a way to get her to like me, and you’re the best one to help.”

Clay rolled his eyes, looking disgusted by the entire topic.

“What?” Wyatt questioned self-consciously.

“Nothing.” Clay grunted as he went back to eating, the air of sadness around him nearly choking the air out of the room.

“No, tell me. What?”

Clay lifted his gaze to Wyatt and seemed hesitant before he shrugged. “I’m pretty sure she already likes you.”

“Really?” Wyatt grinned triumphantly, but then he really took a moment to notice how miserable Clay seemed, and he couldn’t help but try to reach out to his friend. “Hey, I know you’re down because of your mama, but I ain’t got one either. That’s why we’re good buddies.”

Clay sighed tiredly and reminded Wyatt for what had to be the millionth time. “We’re not buddies.”

Wyatt knew with absolute conviction Clay didn’t mean it. They didn’t suffer through two very painful concussions together to walk the other way once they’d healed up. Those were battle wounds. It was like surviving a war together. Wyatt just chose to forget they’d been on opposing sides. He knew Clay was supposed to be his best friend. It felt like destiny.

Just like he knew he was supposed to grow up, be sheriff, and marry Tabitha McMillen.

September 1992

Tabitha missed riding the bus with Clay.

Even after he got stuck in the foster system, he still bused to school. Probably because most of his foster families didn’t want to spend any more time with him than they had to. Now the start of ninth grade had him in one of those in-between stages where no one wanted him, and he was back living with the Conners.

So Tabitha was riding the bus alone because the sheriff always dropped the twins off before school, and Clay along with them. The last time he was with the Conners, it took them months to find him a new place to stay, so it looked like Tabitha was going to be busing alone for her first many weeks of high school.