Page 126 of The Strike Zone

She patted my knee. “I’m sure he’s going to be okay. These boys are resilient. Tanner got into enough scrapes when we were little that made me believe they’re all part cat with nine lives.”

I sniffed, drawing my arm under my nose again because I was still missing tissues. “Yeah, I hope so.”

“He will, you’ll see.” She smiled. “And once he’s better, maybe you and I could have a coffee, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

I was wondering what on earth Holiday Simpson would want to talk to me about when the door clattered open again.

“Doesn’t anyone walk in like a regular person,” someone behind me grumbled.

This time, we were joined by a woman I didn’t recognize, who immediately knelt in front of Ace, followed closely by one I did. One who had me sitting up straighter as the knots started twisting in my belly again.

“Scout?” asked Lowe, because obviously I was the first person she spotted. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…I…”

“She was filming with us, we brought her,” jumped in Tanner, before I stuttered any more, because there was no reason why Ishouldbe here, but Lowe seemed happy with his explanation and went over to join the rest of her friends.

The door was closing behind her, only for a set of fingers to grip the frame and push it back open. The knots in my belly became a ball, tangled and twisted. Tanner stiffened next to me. Of course, Coach would come, andof coursehe’d be accompanied by Penn Shepherd. I wasn’t the first person Coach spotted when he walked in, but I was a close second, and the glare of his eye told me I was exactly who he held accountable for Parker being in the hospital.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I was saved from my spiral of panic by the door once again opening, this time by the only person we wanted to see more than Parker.

“Doc.” Penn Shepherd crossed the room, his hand outstretched to shake. “How is he? What’s the verdict?”

“He’s out of surgery and in recovery. We need to monitor him for a little longer before he has visitors”—the surgeon peered around the room—“and I’d prefer you not all descend at once, but he’s going to be fine.”

The relief was as palpable as the sighs from everyone present. Parker was okay.

“Doc, was anything…um…removed?” asked Tanner.

She shook her head, and I swear I saw the tiniest hint of a smile. “No, Mr. King is still in one piece, but he’ll be out ofanykind of action for six to eight weeks.”

I stayed as still as possible, praying none of the boys, Radley, or Holiday glanced in my direction.

“I’m going to check him in post-op, but I’ll send the nurse in if anyone has more questions.” There were murmurs ofthanks, doc, and she was about to leave but turned back to the room. “Does anyone know if Mr. King volunteers with children, or any type of outdoor clubs?”

The boys all shook their heads.

“Hmm, strange, must have been the morphine. He kept babbling about how much he loves the Scouts,” she replied, before walking back out of the door.

There was absolutely zero chance that no one was looking at me; not the boys, not Coach, not my boss’s boss’s boss, not the owner of the New York Lions, or any of the other people in here I’d never met. I didn’t know if it was worse when Tanner tried to cover his laugh with a cough.

Probably, but I couldn’t see how.

Either way, getting up and walking out of the room to save face was the only viable option I had. I was barely down the hallway before the tears burst forth.

All the stress of the past few weeks—my job, the waiting, the sneaking around, the argument with Parker, his accident, the guilt, his drugged-up declaration of love—erupted out of me in huge, wrenching sobs. I sat there, crying until I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, and that I’d really need a tissue this time because there’s no way my sleeve would suffice, when a box of them was thrust under my nose.

Lowe shook it at me. “I think you need these.”

“Thank you.” I sniffed, pulling a bunch from the top. I was wondering if it was impolite to blow my nose in front of her before I decided I didn’t care.

“Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

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