Shifting Gears

19. PSA: Boys Cause Migraines

That evening, we had brought Clay to the hospital, meeting my parents there. The three of us, along with Audrey, paced in the waiting room. Reid had stepped out for a call. My mom's grip on my hand was turning it white, and it only got tighter when the doctor appeared in the room.

Everyone breathed sighs of relief when Dr. Brussel recited to us that Clay had strained a muscle in his shoulder, and had a very minor concussion, but was mostly wound up with tension and anxiety and it was affecting his health, causing this breakdown. The adrenaline from the fight had pushed him over the edge. "We're rehydrating him, making sure he's stable, but he'll be able to go home in about an hour."

My dad immediately started grumbling about the competition and how apparently physical harm wasn't the only thing he had to worry about with "those stupid bikes". He shook his head roughly, pulling at his thinning brown hair. My mom had released my hand, exhaling tension out of her body.

But she tightened her grip again as the doctor said, "It'll probably only be a few days of rest and he can be back out on the track again for that competition—it shouldn't stop him on his way to getting to the semifinals." Apparently the doctor was a fan of the sport, and knew about Clay.

"Absolutely not." My dad's words were firm.

I rolled my eyes. "Try stopping him." My frustration was more so toward my brother, who I only saw as cocky and irritating right now.

"Won't he be disqualified though?" my mom queried.

"Actually, no." All eyes shot toward Reid as he reappeared in the room. He cleared his throat and walked forward. "I just got a call from Phil. Apparently they talked it through and don't want to pull Clay out because of his potential that everyone sees. But, as punishment, he won't be able to be in the next race."

My mind quickly calculated—he'd won the first and got second next. Even if he missed the third, he was far enough ahead on points that he could definitely still swing a win on the competition.

Audrey breathed out, "Thank goodness."

My mom seemed glad for Clay, but also worried. My dad just shook his head again and looked toward the wall.

"That'll give him good time to rest," the doctor said satisfactorily. He turned back to my parents. "He'll be checked out of the hospital today, he'll be fine. He did, however—" the doctor glanced at me "—ask if he could talk with his sister."

My mom stood up, ready to come with me, but she stopped abruptly when the doctor added, "Alone."

She looked down toward me, frowning but not too surprised. She knew the relationship my brother and I had.

I gave her a tight smile. She might think my brother just wanted to talk with me because I was the close friend he needed right now. But I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves, as I followed the doctor down the bleak hallway.

Clay was awake, his bed propping him up. He looked much cleaner than he did earlier that day. There was no mud, his hair was clean and slicked back. The first thing I noticed other than that was the deep purple circle on his upper right cheekbone.

The next thing I noticed was his glare angled straight toward me. The doctor checked quickly on Clay, then closed the door behind him.

It was a typical hospital room. I was well acquainted with him. I spent most of what I remember of a "childhood" in one. A monitor beeped steadily and quietly in the corner, and blue sheets covered Clay on the white bed. I walked over silently and stood by the foot. There was a chair to sit in beside him, but I didn't want to be under his eye level.