Rites of Passage (30 page)

I put a hand protectively over my side and that's when I feel it—a lump the size of an egg near my ribs. “Get Drill and Rev, but don't tell anyone else,” I say through clenched teeth. “Rubber bullet. I've been shot.”

THIRTY-ONE

“HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH, SAM? YOU NEED TO LEAVE.”
Jonathan's been at this for fifteen minutes in my hospital room but he won't give up. My ribs, though not broken, are pounding, and my throbbing head can't take much more. I glare at him from the hospital bed but don't bother to respond.

“You've got bruised ribs from a training accident. Your grades are slipping—”

My head whips around to look at him.

“Don't look at me like that. Of course I know your grades. I'm in charge of everyone. Not to mention you're my sister.”

“Oh, you'll claim that now, will you? If you could control your cadets maybe this wouldn't have happened,” I spit out, then instantly regret the outburst. My side throbs and getting frustrated has set off firecrackers in my eyes.

“That's enough, Recruit McKenna. He may be your brother, but he's still your colonel and you'll treat him with respect.” Drill moves slightly, coming into my peripheral vision. He hasn't left my side since it happened.

“The colonel might get respect, but my brother doesn't.” I continue to glare at Jonathan, daring him to do or say anything right now to piss me off.

Drill meets Jonathan's eyes and continues, his words cautious, guarded. “Right now, they're one and the same.”

I realize I've messed up. We've got to walk a fine line with Jonathan. If he's involved with the Society, I could be in more trouble than I thought. “Colonel McKenna. I apologize on behalf of my recruit. She's hurt and needs to rest. Can we continue this conversation later?”

Jonathan doesn't say anything, but he's looking at Drill, sizing him up and trying to figure out what's going on. All Jonathan knows is that I got hurt. I hinted that I had been kicked in the mud pit by a recruit brother. It could have easily happened and Jonathan doesn't care enough to ask too many questions.

“Did you call Mom? Let her know I'm in the hospital?”

“I did, but she can't come. She's got other things to deal with right now, Sam. She's headed to Landstuhl.”

I clench my hands beneath the blanket so I don't reach for Drill. Landstuhl is the military base in Germany where injured soldiers are taken before being sent back to the States. That means they found him. “Dad?” My heart pounds, tears sting my eyes. “When did you hear? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I heard right before the challenge. I didn't want to distract you. I was going to tell you after.”

“How is he? Is he okay?” I know the question is stupid. If he were okay, they'd just patch him up and send him back out in the field. Sending him to Landstuhl means he's hurt. Bad.

“We'll know more once Mom gets there.”

“You're kidding, right? Tell me what's wrong with him.” But now that I've said it, I'm not sure I want to hear. The look on his face—it's the same look people gave me at Amos's funeral.

“He was missing awhile. He's sick. He'll be out of the Army when he gets home.” He chokes on the words, looking for the first time in a long time like something's affecting him. “Can't be a Ranger with just one arm.”

Searing pain shoots up my side when I jerk back. My stomach heaves. I slap my hand down over my mouth and Jonathan pushes the trash can closer, sliding his arms under me to help me turn onto my side. I don't know if it's because of the pain or because of what he just told me, but I can't stop myself.

When I'm done puking, I glare again. “Get out.”

Jonathan nods. Guess he's happy for a reason to get away from me and back to his Society. “I'll leave. But you've got to, too. You've made your point. You can do it. But think about Mom. She's lost Amos, Dad's . . . What would she do if something worse happened to you? Go home.”

Leave? After everything I've been through? I can't. The weight of this moment presses down on me, making it hard to breathe. If I leave, Mom will be happy. I'll be able to help with Dad. But next year, when a new class of girls comes in, they'll be forced out, too. I won't let another girl go through this. If they fail to run me off, they'll have to stop.

It
has
to stop.

My head is swimming. Jonathan's face wavers in front of me and I'm not sure where to focus my eyes.

“I can't,” I manage, then close my eyes, moving slowly to roll onto my other side, facing the window, with my back toward Jonathan.

I don't bother looking at him again even though he stays a few moments longer. He bangs the trash can against the side of the bed when he picks it up but soon the door closes behind him and the smell of vomit recedes. The room is silent, and so is the hallway.

“Say something.” My voice is weak and shaking. It doesn't even sound like mine.

Drill pulls the little vinyl chair over next to my bed. When he sits down, he finally meets my gaze, his eyes full of pain. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I don't know.” I breathe the words out and hope inspiration will strike. When it doesn't I move my hand slowly, reaching for him.

He sighs, leaning into my touch and resting his head on the mattress near my side. Slowly and gently he moves his arm so it's hugging me around the waist. “When Ritchie told me . . .”

“I told the doctor he couldn't tell anyone what really happened. Not even my mom, though I don't know if that will work if she can find the time to call.”

Lifting his head, he nods. “Good. We'll keep it quiet. Let them know that you're not the kind of person who is going to run off and tell.”

I don't want to think about the Society. If they did it, and Jonathan's part of it, that means he let it happen. “It could have been an accident. . . .” I let my words trail off because I know how stupid they are. “Matthews and Evers were talking before we started. Kelly and Bekah wouldn't even look at me. You don't think they knew—”

“I don't know.”

I don't press it because the thought that any of them—Kelly, Bekah, or Jonathan—knew about this but didn't stop it is too much to take in. “What happens now?”

He tightens his arm, squeezing me in a small hug. He looks so tired. “Tim's on his way here. He called Jax—she's watching their emails. They'll take shifts staying with you. I'm heading back to campus. Huff and I need to put some feelers out, see what's going on.”

I don't want him to go. I don't care that his brother will stay here with me. I want it to be Drill.

“I know,” he says, even though I haven't voiced any of this to him. “I'll stay until Tim comes, okay?”

But Tim is here too soon. Within a matter of minutes, Drill stands, scooting the chair back where it was. Before he leaves, he moves in close, his words just a whisper of breath against my ear. “If you need me, call. I'll be here in a heartbeat.”

I nod, tears burning my eyes. I don't know if they're for me or Dad right now, but it doesn't matter. He kisses my forehead and I close my eyes, determined to remember the feel of his lips on my skin, the strength he's pouring into me.

“Stay safe,” he whispers. When he pulls away his eyes look watery, too. But Drill is Drill. He won't let them fall. “I'll be back soon.”

I try to give him a smile, something to let him know I'm okay. But all I can do is sit there and watch him leave.

 

Sometime in the middle of the night while Tim is here, trying to sleep on the stupid little chair they say turns into a bed, they come in and take my vitals and give me more pain medication. I can't get back to sleep, so I'm awake when Jax comes in after five to take her shift. Around six, after she's fallen asleep, they bring breakfast.

Jax is curled up in the chair and I let her sleep, even though her phone pings every few minutes with new notifications. I don't want to know anything yet.

Sunlight streams in the window above her head, haloing her in a soft gold morning ray, but she's got to be uncomfortable and sore as hell. “I can feel you staring at me.” She doesn't open her eyes but stretches out one leg, then the other.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

“'S okay. What time is it?” She reaches her arms up above her head and stretches like a cat.

“Eight. You missed a delicious breakfast of cold oatmeal and Jell-O.”

“I don't eat breakfast.” Her stomach growls and she grins. She reaches for her phone, her finger sliding over the screen, her eyes darting back and forth as she reads. “So. What's the word with you?”

“They're releasing me in an hour. I'm heading back to school.”

Her eyes lock onto me. “You're not serious.”

“I am.”

“You can't go anywhere near that school right now. They
shot
you.”

“With a rubber bullet. I'm fine.” I push the blanket back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Lying still all night coupled with the painkillers helped me forget how much moving hurts. The shooting pain that lances down my side makes me glad I'm still sitting. I close my eyes to keep from getting sick, but that only makes it worse. “What's going on with your phone?”

“I get a copy of each email one of them sends.” She glances down again as a new message comes in. “Look, I know you're trying to show them you can take whatever they give you, but give yourself a break, Sam. What good is it going to do to go back injured and in pain? They'll just be on you even harder to get you to quit.”

She's right, I know, but dammit, I need to be there. “I've got to show them I'm not scared.”

“No one thinks you're scared.”

“They will if I don't come back.” When she doesn't look like she's going to budge I've got to think quick. “What are the emails saying?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Then why do you keep checking? What's going on that you're not telling me?”

“Dean and Tim are just keeping me updated.” Hearing Drill's first name disorients me for a second. She flicks through the screens on her phone again. “Your brother is on his way here. There's no sign of Evers or Lyons on campus. Matthews is prowling the deck.”

“You've got to get out of here. Jonathan can't see you. If he's part of it I don't want him to see you.”

She stands and stretches, reaching her arms above her head. “I still think you need to go home.”

“I'll make you a deal.”

“I'm listening,” she says hesitantly.

“I'll be extra-super careful at school, I promise, but you've got to do some recon. I need proof. If I don't stop them, who will? How long is this going to last, Jax? Five years, ten? Girl after girl after girl? I only have to survive three more months and then it's done. The ones who come after me will have it easier.”

She nods, her lips a thin line. “I don't like it, but I'll do it. These bastards deserve to pay.” She stands up and gives me one last look. “I'll see what I can find behind mystery door number one.” Then she's gone.

If we don't figure out who's involved, I've got no hope of staying. And my new goal, the one I've only just figured out, will be pointless if I can't stick it out long enough to see it through.

I've got to stay. Because it's not just about me making it through the year or surviving a dare anymore.

I'm bringing down the whole damn Society.

 

Jonathan signs my discharge papers, shakes the doctor's hand, and glares at me. “Do you need help?”

“I'm fine,” I say, holding my hand out to the wall as a guide until I get to the wheelchair they're forcing me to ride out in.

“We'll go back, pack up your stuff, and I'll take you to Tim Stamm's house until we can figure out what to do about transferring you to the public high school.”

“I'm not leaving.” I sit down in the wheelchair trying to keep the wince from showing.

“It's not safe for you here.”

“It was just an accident.”

He looks down at me for a second and I wonder what he's thinking. Does he know that I'm lying to him—my cadet colonel—an act that could get me kicked out of the DMA? “Dammit, Sam, this isn't a joke anymore. Forget the stupid dare and
go home.
”

“I know it's not a joke. But it would be nice if you'd believe in me. Support me.”

He bends down, his voice just a hiss of air in my ear. “I can't do anything without
proof.
Proof you don't have. Proof you'll never be able to get.” Then he stands up, speaking normally again. “Besides, you're just a girl trying to survive at the DMA. What you want to do is
impossible
.”

My heart thunders in my chest, shooting pain up and down my side with each pump. Did he just admit to knowing what's going on? “It's not impossible. Hard, sure, with people standing in my way. But I can do it.”

“This isn't like jumping into the river or doing a night hike or any of the other hundred dares we did over the years.” He pushes the brake down on the wheelchair and jerks roughly on my arm. “I wish you'd just drop it. Drop everything. This is too much.”

“I'm not trying to add to your stress, Jonathan. I'm not trying to ruin things for you, you know.”

“Trying or not, you are.”

I glance at my watch, the only jewelry I'm permitted as a recruit, so he won't see the tears in my eyes. “All I wanted was to be with you. To make Dad proud.”

“That doesn't mean you have to be here. Be a cheerleader, a track star. Succeed at something else. You don't have to take this from me, too.”

“All I've ever been is military. You, Amos, and Dad made sure of that.”