Stay With Me: A Best Friend’s Brother Small Town Romance (Sugarland Creek Book 2)

*Author’s Note: The following triggers are mentioned and shown on page in the prologue: drunk driving, death due to drunk driving, and witnessing death. If any of these make you uncomfortable, please skip to chapter one. You don’t need to read the prologue to understand the rest of the story as it’ll be talked about briefly in other parts of the book.

“What?” I snap into the phone, then roll over and flick on my bedside lamp. This better be good.

“Duuuuuuude,” Billy shouts over the loud music playing in the background. “Why aren’t you here? There’s so much pussy, man.”

Rubbing my eyes, I clear my dry throat. “Are you seriously callin’ me at three in the mornin’ drunk off your ass?”

I have to be up in three hours, and I only picked up my phone because I forgot to turn it on silent mode.

“I’ll come get ya!” he yells louder.

I stretch my arm to avoid my eardrum getting blown out. “Billy, no. You can’t drive. And I gotta work.” Ranch chores start before sunrise.

“It’s the last party before graduation! Live a little and come out to Miller’s! There’s like three kegs and a dozen bottles of liquor.” The slurring of his words gets worse as I sit up and blink until my eyes adjust to the bright light. “You gotta get over that stupid crush of yours anyway.”

“Not interested,” I say harshly. Not about the crush part, but the drinking and partying part. But I don’t say that. “Stay there, Billy. Crash on the couch or find a bed.”

“I gotta find me a lady first…” He cracks up at his own words. “There are so many options, bro. I’ll save ya one. You want a blonde or a brunette? I already called the redhead. She looks feisty. Rawr.”

Jesus Christ. I pinch the bridge of my nose and blow out a breath, trying not to lose my shit on his drunken, stupid ass.

Billy Hendersen’s been my best friend since kindergarten and has always been a decent guy, but after his parents split up last year, he’s been wild and reckless. After showing up late to football practice multiple times, he eventually got benched. Then he pulled three no-shows at his part-time job and got fired. Now he’s hanging on by a thread to graduate.

“No, thanks. Imma go back to bed.” Groaning, I fall back on the mattress.

“You suuuuck.” He shouts something at the party, and they all holler in return. “That’s it. I’m comin’ to get ya. I’m sick of your mopey sad, woe-is-me attitude. I’ll drag your ass out of bed if I haveta.”

When I hear keys rattling, I sit up in a panic. Goddamn him.

“No! Fine, I’ll come. Just don’t drive.” I grab clothes out of my closet and toss them on the bed. “And I ain’t actin’ that way, so shut the hell up.”

“Nah…you’re just sayin’ that. You ain’t gonna come unless I carry you out here. Which I’ll do because I’m twice your size.” He cackles to himself, and then I hear the sound of an engine roaring.

“Billy! Goddamn, I’m comin’!” I nearly shout. Everyone in the house is asleep and the last thing I need is to wake up my parents as I sneak out of the house. “Get out of your truck. Now.”

“Betta hurry up then…” His taunting voice is unsettling, urging me to get dressed and slide on my boots in a hurry.

“I’m on my way. Seriously. Stay there.” Once I grab my wallet and keys, I go downstairs and rush to my truck. I need to keep him on the phone so I know he doesn’t do anything stupid.

He revs up the gas as if this is a game. “Wanna race? If I get to your house before you get here, you owe me a hundred bucks.”

Fucking hell. “Dude, I’ll give you two hundred to stay put.”

“What fun is that?” I hear him shift into gear and my heart races at the thought of him driving not only intoxicated but in the pitch black. There are no lights on these country roads, and Miller lives on a small dairy ranch with dim lighting. I’ve gone to his parties several times, but everyone always crashes in the loft of the old barn. No one’s allowed to leave if they’ve been drinking.

“Where’s Miller?” I ask.

“With Sabrina.”

“Go find him for me,” I demand, hoping it’ll stall him a little longer as I speed over.

“I ain’t walkin’ in on them fuckin’. Noooo, thank you.”

“Billy, stay there. Please. I’m already on my way,” I grit out between my teeth.

“You fucker! That’s cheatin’!”

Then I hear wheels squealing as if he’s driving on pavement and my heart drops to the bottom of my stomach.

“Try and beat me!” He antagonizes with a loud yee-haw.

I know there’s nothing I can say to get him to turn around at this point, and the only thing I can do is try to get to him before he crashes.

“Billy, no speedin’. I’m already on my way. Just turn around. Please, man.” I’m not above begging at this point.

“Don’t think so, bro. Prepare to lose your mon-aye!” He drawls out the last word with a laugh.

Before I can continue to reason with him, he hangs up the phone.

Goddammit.

I slam my foot down on the gas, hoping I can find him before he gets too far. It’s a ten-minute drive to Miller’s, but I need to somehow make it there in five.

As I keep an eye out for his truck, I call his phone, but it goes straight to voicemail.

I do it again, and the same thing happens.

All the blood rushes to my ears. I tell myself his phone just died, that he’s probably been on it all night. Too anxious to wait, I call Miller and am relieved when he answers.

“What’s up, Hollis?”

“Billy’s behind the wheel, and I’m on the way to your house now. I want you to keep an eye out for him in case he drives back. He needs his keys taken away.”

“Ugh, what the fuck? He’s wasted.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Hence my panic.”

“I’ll go outside now and look out for him.” I hear ruffling in the background as if he’s getting his shoes on.

“Great. I’ll let ya know if I find him.”

Once we hang up, I continue driving, confused as hell when I don’t come across any vehicles by the time I get to Miller’s. He’s standing on his porch with a few others when I approach.

“Did he show up?” I take the steps two at a time.

“No. You didn’t see him on your way here?”

I lift my cap and brush a hand through my hair, worried about where the hell he is. “Either he got lost or went the wrong way. I’m gonna keep lookin’ for him.” I backtrack down the steps.

“I’ll come with you,” he says, and we both hop in my truck. Considering how drunk Billy is, it’s possible he didn’t even go in the right direction.

We stay silent as I drive, turning in the opposite direction of my house. Miller tries calling him a few more times with no response.

“Maybe he pulled over and is sleepin’ it off…” Miller suggests, but it does nothing to settle the uneasiness taking over.

Flashes of Billy and me over the years surface. Memories of us causing trouble and messing around on the ranch have my chest tightening in fear. The thought of something happening to Billy has my palms sweating against the steering wheel.

“Over there…” Miller points ahead to headlights beaming on the other side of the road, and I lower my window.

“Shit. Is he in the ditch?” I squint through the pitch black, but there’s a faint scent of smoke in the air.

“Holy fuck, his truck’s flipped over!” Miller’s gruff voice is filled with panic.

As soon as I shift into park, we jump out and run over.

“Billy!” I shout, lowering myself to the driver’s side window. It’s shattered, but I can’t see inside.

“Turn on your flashlight,” I tell Miller.

“Is he in there?” he asks, pointing his phone toward me.

“Billy?” I poke my head in as far as I can. “He ain’t here.”

“What the fuck? Maybe he got thrown or climbed out?”

I pull my own phone out and turn on the flashlight so I can look at the passenger’s side.

“That window is shattered, too. He coulda crawled out of either one. Fuck!”

“Is that blood?” Miller’s shaky tone grabs my attention, the light pinned to the spot he’s referring to. A pool of red liquid.

“Shit. He probably smacked his head or cut himself. We need to find him. I’m callin’ the sheriff.”

“Wait, why?”

I wave out my hand as if it isn’t obvious.

“Dude, we’re underage. He’ll ticket everyone at my house.”

“I wasn’t drinkin’, and you weren’t drivin’. He ain’t gonna be worryin’ about that when there’s a missin’ teenager.”

He sighs but doesn’t argue. As soon as I get the dispatcher and tell her what’s going on, Wendy informs me she’ll send someone out. That could take ten minutes or two hours. Sugarland Creek’s a small enough town that there’s only a handful of deputies on staff.

I grab a couple of larger flashlights from my back seat, then toss one to Miller.

“Let’s start walkin’ around and see if he passed out somewhere. He couldn’t have gone far with injuries. Hell, he could be bleedin’ out. We need to find him and fast.” The harder my heart pounds, the harder it is to get my words out.

“Billy! Billy! Where are you?” I shout into the distance.

I try his phone again to see if I can hear it ringing, but it sends me straight to voicemail again.

“Look on the other side of the road in case he crossed it,” I tell Miller. “He couldn’t have gone far.”

We shout his name, flashing my light between trees and up and down the ditch.

“Maybe someone picked him up?”

“Or maybe we’re going the wrong way,” I bite out, angry at the thought. If he was going back to Miller’s, then we’re headed in the right direction, but if he’s heading to mine, then he’d be in the opposite direction.

“Let’s head back to my truck and wait for the sheriff. Maybe he’ll⁠—”

I stop dead in my tracks when I spot something up ahead in the middle of the road. It’s too big to be a small animal, but it could be a deer. My gut tells me it’s not.

“Billy!” I yell, pointing when Miller looks at me. “That him?”

Sprinting with my breath caught in my lungs, I exhale when I confirm it is.

“Christ, Billy. Wake up.” I kneel beside him and Miller comes to his other side. Billy’s on his stomach as if he face-planted on the cement.

“Hold your flashlight up,” I demand so I can turn him over, then place two fingers on his neck. Blood covers his forehead and cheeks. “I don’t feel a pulse.” Then I lean down until my ear’s above his mouth. “He ain’t breathing.”

“Oh my God.” Miller’s whispered voice is filled with desperation.

“I’m gonna do CPR. Back up and keep the light on him.” Once my hands are in position, I start chest compressions.

After a solid minute and breathing into his mouth twice, Miller interrupts my counting. “Lemme take over, man. You’re gettin’ tired.”

“Do it fast and hard,” I tell him, then take the flashlight from him. “C’mon, Billy. Breathe, breathe!”

Miller does mouth-to-mouth before going back to his chest. After another thirty seconds, we switch again.

“I feel a pulse,” Miller confirms. “It’s weak, but I swear it’s there.”

I check for myself, and he’s right. It’s slow and faint, but his heart’s pumping and that’s all that matters.

When I put my ear to his mouth, I say, “He’s breathin’.”

Barely, but at least it’s something.

“Billy, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand,” I tell him, placing my fingers in his palm. But he doesn’t.

“Should we move him to the side of the road?” Miller asks as we continue to try to get a response from him.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to in case he has a neck or head injury. Billy? Can you move?”

No response.

I grab my phone and dial the sheriff again to give the dispatcher an update.

“I’ve let him know. He’s almost there,” she says after putting me on hold, and a wave of relief washes over me. “I notified the EMTs, too. You did the right thing. Hang tight, boys.”

“Stay with me, okay? Help’s on the way.” I take Billy’s hand in mine, waiting to see if he’ll squeeze or make any movements at all.

“Um…Tripp?” Miller’s shaky voice puts me on edge.

“What?”

“He’s uh…his lips are turnin’ blue.”

I place my fingers on his neck again and feel for his pulse. “It’s weak, but it’s still there.”

With my hands on Billy’s shoulders, I give him a little shake. “Keep breathin’, man.”

Miller’s face looks like he’s seen a ghost. “What if he lost too much blood? Or went too long without oxygen? He could be⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up, okay? He’s fine. He’s gonna be fine. Once the ambulance gets here, they’ll give him oxygen and fluids. He’ll survive this.”

He has to.

He’s my best friend—a fucking idiot—but my best friend nonetheless.

Finally, we hear the sirens and lights approach, followed by the EMTs.

We get out of their way when they place an oxygen mask over his face and put him on a gurney. The sheriff asks me to stay behind so he can get my statement, but I tell him he’ll have to follow me to the hospital because I’m not waiting.

As I drive us into town, I call my brother Landen, then our parents. Miller walks home since he has a house filled with drunk teenagers and wants to make sure no one else drives.

After ten minutes of sitting in the waiting room, my brother and parents show up. I explain more of what happened, and then Billy’s mom and dad barge in.

The nurse at the front desk wouldn’t tell me anything, but they promised to call his parents so they could at least give an update.

“Marissa,” my mom calls, cautiously walking up behind Billy’s mom.

“Dena, oh my God!” Marissa cries into Mom’s chest as she wraps an arm around her.

“It’ll be okay.” Mom strokes her hand up and down Marissa’s back. “He’s a fighter.”

We wait for what feels like hours before a doctor emerges. William and Marissa walk over, desperate for good news.

Standing, I inch closer so I can overhear their conversation.

“Is he okay?” Marissa asks.

“Unfortunately, he lost a lot of blood. We don’t know how long he went without oxygen, so we did a PET scan after the CT, and the results are concerning. He’s on life support to help him breathe, but I’m afraid he won’t be able to survive without it.”

“What?” Marissa shrieks and my knees threaten to give out.

“He’s brain dead?” William stutters. “Is that what you’re tellin’ us?”

The doctor’s gaze lowers for a moment before they make eye contact. “I’m so sorry.”

My throat burns as I swallow down the lump that’s preventing me from inhaling. Everything freezes around me once I take in his words. His diagnosis.

It’s wrong. He’s wrong.

“He’ll wake up,” I say defiantly. “Billy will wake up, and he’ll be fine. Just watch.”

“Is it possible?” Marissa asks the doctor. “Is there a chance he could wake up and be okay? Maybe his brain just needs time to heal. It’s still early. Right?” Her anxious voice echoes across the room.

My parents approach me from behind as the floor threatens to flip me upside down. Dizziness and blurry eyes take over my senses, revving up my panic.

“There is always a chance. Of course, miracles do happen. But in Billy’s case…”

“Don’t say it,” I spit out. Billy isn’t a statistic. He’s going to open his eyes and prove the doctor wrong. I know it.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor murmurs.

“Can we see him?” William asks.

“Of course. One of the nurses will bring you back.” He nods once before exiting from the same direction he entered.

After a few minutes, a woman approaches and leads us through the emergency doors. She explains that he’s in the ICU and we need to prepare ourselves. Before I can ask what that means, I look through the glass door and see for myself.

He’s hooked up to machines and bandages cover his head where the glass cut him. We stand around his bed in silence.

“We gave him a dose of pain meds so he can’t feel anything. We’ll keep him comfortable until a decision is made.” The nurse’s reassuring voice does nothing to dim the ache penetrating my chest.

The decision is we wait until he wakes up.

“Thank you,” William says after she excuses herself.

Marissa takes Billy’s hand and cries, keeping her focus on his face. My parents stand next to me as I stare at my best friend, who’s never looked this quiet and calm before. He’s pale, but when I touch him, his skin is warm—a contrast to how he felt just hours ago in the middle of the road.

“How am I supposed to let you go?” Marissa sobs and my mother comes over to comfort her. William stands emotionless as if he can’t wrap his mind around what’s happening.

Me neither if I’m being honest.

After half an hour, the nurse returns and offers blankets to anyone who wishes to stay. There’s a couch and recliner on the other side of the room, but I won’t be able to sleep.

How can I when my best friend is dying?

A week later, hundreds of people show up at Billy’s funeral.

His friends and family give speeches, praising him for his kind heart and willingness to help anyone in need.

They speak about him as if he’s been gone forever.

But it’s only been seven days since I talked to him.

Six days since the doctors confirmed with a second PET scan that he had no brain activity.

Five days since his family had to make the hardest decision of their lives.

Four days since we stood around his bed and said our final goodbyes.

Three days since I held his hand during his honor walk before they donated his organs.

Two days since my first anxiety attack brought me to my knees.

But only one day since I relived that night, wishing I’d just agreed to come so he never got behind the wheel in the first place.

And with that comes a lifetime of guilt.