Meant To Be

Somewhere Only We Know

The waves did their best to break on our shore

It's nothing like fate, take a breath and then one more

Her daisy crown, her fingers linked us tight

Counting down the minutes, hoping we'd be alright

- Hold Her, from FOUR's fourth album, Already Gone

Something drops out of the pit of my stomach. Everything goes a bit blurry. Holland hadn't texted me all day, but I hadn't really thought anything of it. I knew today was a hectic travel day with a show at the end, time difference not withstanding. It's perfectly normal for Holland and I to go a day or two without contact.

We're both busy.

"We don't know how bad it is or anything," Maggie says. "He could be completely fine. Anya's just crying because she's dramatic and is being fueled by twitter."

"The video just looks really bad," Anya says. "And they canceled tonights show." She rubs her face. "And we know he's in the hospital, or was, but if was released, someone probably would have seen, which means he's been in the hospital for like, almost an entire day. That's not nothing."

"Video?" I say, before my brain catches up. "Wait, entire day?"

"I guess they kept it out of the news for a while," Maggie says. "We thought you would have found out when you were in class, but - "

"No, I always turn my phone off," I say, frantically pulling said phone out of my pocket. "I - "

I don't know what to say. He has to be okay. He has to.

I dial his number, standing up and pacing the kitchen. It goes to voice mail, so I try again. And again. And one more time, before stopping, phone dangling limply in my hand.

"I'm sure he's fine, he's probably just busy with other things," I say, voice numb. "I mean - we, we aren't really anything. There's no reason for him to - "

To think to call me. To have someone let me know what happened. To be thinking about me at all.

"I'm going to go to my room," I say. Maggie and Anya don't argue.

I sit carefully on the edge of the bed and open up my phone. It's not hard to find the video. It's shaky, clearly taken from a fan's phone. You can see Holland and the other boys, accompanied by security, waving to fans as they walk down the street. You can see the crowd get thicker, see Holland start to lag behind. Then - it's blurry and hard to see - but it looks like Holland falls behind for a second, just for a second, and then - and then there's a car, and someone's screaming, and you can't really see him anymore but it looks like he's on the ground.

I shut off the video and try to call Holland one more time. This time, when it goes to voicemail, I leave a message.

"Hi, Holland. It's me, Cass. Um - I don't want to like, bother you, but - I saw the video and just wanted to make sure you were okay. Okay. Um, yeah. Please - please call me back. Bye."

Then I put on my playlist of my favourite FOUR songs and cry myself to sleep listening to Holland's voice.

He has to be okay.

I'm woken up in the middle of the night to my phone buzzing. I'm half awake, startled, in that sort of mode I've cultivated from years of camping and hiking and school, just having to get up and go, just telling my brain to work.

Checking the time, I can see it's 2:30 in the morning, and checking my phone, I can see it's Holland's name on the call display.

Suddenly, I'm far more awake. Adrenaline and hope and relief and a thousand other emotions swirl around in my veins. I swipe and hold the phone to my ear, scooching back so I'm resting against my headboard.