SHOW ME HOW

Chapter 5

I had every intention of driving home and patching him up myself—but that plan crumbled the moment we reached the city limits. He lost consciousness, and that's when the weight of it all crashed down on me. What was I thinking? Bringing a boy I barely knew—a total stranger—into our home? Mom would absolutely lose it. Forget the cancer—she'd be the death of me first.

I needed another solution. Someone who could get him to a hospital or at least treat him without all the paperwork and questions. If I showed up at the ER with an unconscious guy, the staff would definitely call Mom. I'm there often enough—they'd recognize me in a heartbeat.

I pulled over, nerves buzzing, and reached into his jeans pocket for his phone. Calling someone—anyone—he trusted was the only shot I had. But what if I called the wrong person? Friend or foe—I had no way of knowing. Still, overthinking wouldn't save him. He needed help, and fast.

Just then, a phone vibrated. Not mine. I saw the faint outline in his pocket and knew it had to be his.

I gently shook him, voice soft but urgent. "Hey... your phone's ringing. Can you answer it?" I asked, half hoping he'd miraculously wake up.

Nothing. Not a stir. But his pulse was steady. He was still breathing. Still hanging on.

I studied his face for a moment—handsome, no doubt, with tousled dark brown hair and striking, sculpted features. In his unconscious state, he looked almost boyish... innocent. But I knew better. There was nothing innocent about him. Something darker lingered beneath the surface—something sharp and unreadable.

Even with every instinct telling me to be careful, I pushed the thoughts aside. He needed help—that had to take priority. I couldn't let myself get caught up in the distraction of his face, no matter how unfairly good-looking it was.

I turned off the engine, unbuckled my seatbelt, and leaned over him to fish his phone from his pocket. It wasn't easy—awkward angles and uncooperative denim—but just as I managed to tug it free, the ringing stopped. Four calls, gone. I glanced at the screen: ten missed calls already. And of course, it was locked with a passcode. Perfect.

Panic tugged at the edges of my thoughts. This wasn't just a stitch-up situation anymore. Whatever was happening to him ran deeper, and I could feel my nerves start to fray.

Then the phone lit up again, buzzing in my hand. Another incoming call—this time from someone named Casey. The name rang a bell. I was pretty sure that was someone he hung out with.

I tapped the answer button and held the phone to my ear, waiting in silence for whoever was on the other end to speak first.

"Hey, I heard what happened. Where are you? Are you okay?" a voice rushed through the speaker—anxious, familiar, and unmistakably worried.

"Hello?" I said nervously, my voice barely steady.

Before I could get another word out, Casey jumped in.
"Who is this? Where's Lorenzo?"

"It's... Devin," I replied, hesitating for a moment. "He's right here—sitting next to me."

"Then why do you have his phone? And if he's right there, why isn't he the one answering?"

"He can't talk right now—he's either unconscious or asleep, I honestly can't tell," I blurted, trying to get the words out before he could cut me off again. "But please, can you come get him and take him to the hospital? He needs medical help—urgently. He's hurt, he's lost a lot of blood, and I think that's why he blacked out."

"Wait, what? What do you mean he's unconscious and bleeding?" Casey snapped, his voice rising with panic.

I could feel my patience thinning. I was doing my best to help his friend, and all I was getting in return was suspicion and attitude.