On the Edge of Love (CarlxAlan)

Chapter 39: Carl

The front door had barely clicked shut when I leaned back against it and smiled.

My heart was still pounding. The warmth of his hug clung to my hoodie like something sacred. I kept replaying the way he looked at me—like he meant every single word he'd just said. Like the fear hadn't won. Like we had.

He was ready. He chose me.

And I'd never felt so seen in my life.

I went upstairs, not bothering to turn on any lights, just sort of floating. My bedroom felt different now. Brighter, maybe. Or just a little more full. I lay back on my bed and looked up at the ceiling, still grinning like an idiot.

I didn't even notice I was asleep until my phone rang.

It was Elie.

I almost didn't answer. I figured maybe she wanted an update, maybe she was being nosy. But something in my gut twisted when I saw her name light up my screen.

I picked up.

"Hey," I said.

There was no greeting on the other end.

Just a breath. A trembling, shaky breath.

"Elie?" I sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Carl," she said, her voice cracking. "It's Alan."

The name knocked the air from my lungs. My smile fell.

"What about him?" My hand gripped the edge of the mattress. "What happened?"

"There was an accident. Right after he left your place. A drunk driver—he... Carl, he's at St. Vincent's. He's in surgery, and it's bad."

My blood went cold.

I was already on my feet. I didn't remember grabbing my shoes or my keys, just that I was suddenly outside, sprinting to my car. I left my phone call still open on speaker as I tore down my street, speeding through stop signs and yellow lights.

I had to get there.

This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not after everything.

Not after he finally let himself believe we could have a future.

I couldn't stop shaking. Every second the car took felt like a second I was losing him. I replayed the last twenty minutes in my head over and over—his voice, his hands in mine, the way he hugged me like he didn't want to let go.

He said he was ready. He said he wanted this.

And now he might never get the chance to have it.

By the time I reached the hospital, my throat felt raw. I stumbled into the emergency entrance, blurting his name at the woman at the desk.

"Alan Rowe—he just got brought in, he—there was a crash—please, I need to see him."

The nurse's expression shifted the second I said his name.

She stood, motioned to someone behind her, then came around the desk and touched my arm lightly. "He's in emergency surgery right now. His family's already here. You can wait with them."

I followed her without even blinking. The hallway was long and fluorescent and cold.

And then I saw them.

His parents. Elie. A few other friends. All of them silent, tense. His mom had her face buried in his dad's shoulder. Elie looked like she'd aged a year in the span of thirty minutes.

"Carl," she whispered when she saw me.

I sat down hard beside her, out of breath, legs shaking.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice barely working.

"He was driving home," she said. "The other car ran a red light. Hit him on the driver's side. They had to cut him out. He wasn't awake when they brought him in."

I couldn't feel my fingers.

He was just here. He had just been here. I could still smell his shampoo on my hoodie.

This wasn't real.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. No one spoke. The waiting room was a silent purgatory, lit too brightly and far too cold. I didn't know what time it was. I didn't know how many people had come and gone. I just kept staring at the swinging double doors, willing someone to come out and say he's okay. He made it.

When the doctor did walk in, I could tell before he opened his mouth.

His face was pale. His shoulders slumped. And he wasn't holding any kind of chart.

Alan's mom stood.

The doctor took a breath. "I'm very sorry."

Her knees gave out. His dad caught her. A noise tore out of her throat that didn't even sound human.

I couldn't breathe.

"We did everything we could," the doctor went on. "There was too much damage. Too much internal bleeding. His heart stopped on the table and we weren't able to bring him back."

I didn't feel my body fall. I only knew I was suddenly on the floor.

There was no sound in the world loud enough to match what I felt.

No word big enough to hold the pain that split through me.

He was gone.

Alan—my Alan—was gone.

Not later. Not someday. Now.

I didn't cry at first. I couldn't. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I sat there staring at the ground while the world crashed around me.

He said he was ready. He said he wanted us. He walked out of my house with hope in his eyes.

And now he'd never come back.