First Chance Book 2
Author
Andrea Wood
Reads
93.6K
Chapters
25
Layla's life takes a dramatic turn when she finds her best friend, Natalie, unresponsive in their apartment. As Natalie battles for her life in a coma, Layla uncovers secrets that intertwine their pasts and futures. With the help of Liam, a band member with his own complicated feelings, Layla navigates a web of love, betrayal, and hope. As they confront their deepest fears and desires, they must decide what truly matters and who they can trust.
Chapter 20
Layla
Iāve just wrapped up an eight-hour shift at Bostonās trendiest local bar. Iām beat and all I can think about is crashing into my bed. Thankfully, I was on the day shift, so it wasnāt as hectic as the night shift usually is.
Nat is constantly on my mind. Over the past week, Iāve only heard from her once.
She promised to keep in touch when I dropped her off. This is the longest weāve been apart since we were born.
I know this is a big step for her. The members of āSteeleās Armyā are intimidating, and while she puts on a brave face, I know she can only keep up the act for so long.
I couldnāt help but nudge her into this. After five years of watching her hide behind a shell, I couldnāt stand by as her best friend and enable her.
She deserves so much more than what life has thrown at her. I know my parents, especially my father, feel a deep sense of guilt.
I also know that Nat has never blamed my dad for the tragedy. I never needed her to say it; weāve always been a family.
The accident broke my dad. He killed his best friend, his brother, and his wife.
After that day, he couldnāt look me in the eye. Thatās a big part of why I supported Natās decision to leave New York.
I was tired of my family not being able to spend more than ten minutes with me. They thought money could make up for their absence.
Do I like the money? Is it cold in Antarctica?
I appreciate not having to rely on student grants or loans to pay for college. I also like not having to worry about where my next paycheck will come from or how Iāll pay each bill.
I enjoy being able to help others who arenāt as fortunate as I am.
I walk into the apartment, tossing my car keys onto the kitchen counter. Too tired to cook, I pop some ramen in the microwave.
While my food cooks, I decide to go into Natalieās room. This week has been tough without her.
The apartment isnāt the same without her. Itās quiet without her music blaring at all hours. Itās just lonely without her.
Iāve probably slept in her room four nights this week, finding comfort in her blankets.
Our lives were destined to be intertwined long before we were born. Natalie will always be my other half. A part of me.
Sheās always said that Iām her sanity, her reason to keep going every day.
What she doesnāt know is that I feel a crushing guilt for what my father did. Accident or not.
If my dad had just suggested they take a taxi, her parents would still be here. She wouldnāt be as closed off as she is now. She wouldnāt be heartbroken, just going through the motions of life.
Sometimes I think she can see through me. See why I do what I do. She puts up a tough exterior, only letting me in.
I do the opposite. I let people in all the time. But only for a few nights of fun. Those few nights make me feel alive again. But I donāt deserve to feel alive.
So when the guilt creeps in, thatās when I kick them out of my bed. Honestly, they donāt deserve it either.
If I let someone in and told them how much I miss Natalie, how much I despise my parents, or how much these thoughts consume me, they would only look at me indifferently.
No one could or would ever understand.
I open her bedroom door and immediately notice sheās lying in her bed.
What the fuck?
Why is she here in her room?
She should be on a tour bus right now. How did she get here?
I walk over to her bed and start shaking her awake. She doesnāt respond. I shake her again, harder this time.
āNat!ā I yell.
āNatalie!ā
Her lack of response makes my stomach churn. To calm myself, I lay my head on her chest, just to hear her heartbeat. Itās slow.
I start screaming her name. Hoping, praying that sheāll respond or move. Her face is unnaturally pale.
I jump off the bed and pull my cell phone out of my pocket, frantically dialing 911.
Natalie, what did you do?
The dispatcher answers. I rush out the words, telling her my friend is unresponsive and her heart is barely beating.
She tells me sheās sending an ambulance. That everything will be alright.
Right now, Iām struggling to believe that everything will be okay. Iāve never seen Natalie like this.
What happened?
As the dispatcher stays on the line, she instructs me to check Natās pulse. To keep checking to make sure sheās still breathing.
Sitting beside Natalieās lifeless body with my thumb on her wrist, I glance at her nightstand and notice a piece of paper.
A letter. Addressed to me. Oh, Natalie. She did this on purpose.
