Page 34 of Off Court Fix

“You’re going to be alright, okay? Just…keep looking at me. Do you see me?”

Crosby’s voice returns to a somewhat more even level and I do see him, only he’s out of focus. His hair and top of head are all blurry, but I can see the stubble on his jaw so sharp if I had the energy, time, or oxygen I could count each and every follicle.

“Stay calm, okay?”

I’m calm—or as calm as I can be—because there simply isn’t another choice. Panic will move this process along in the wrong direction. I’m trying to hold onto the soft noise of waves crashing on the empty beach not too far in the distance. But what I hear instead is Crosby.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

I appreciate him trying to make this better for me, but I need him tohurry. It takes all the strength I have left in my body to smack my thigh, trying to rush Crosby, who uncaps the plastic covering of the EpiPen while he looks at the 1-2-3 instructions printed on the side. I slap my thigh again.

“Alright, alright.” Crosby places a hand on my knee and raises his arm, bringing the medication into the flesh of my thigh. The needle of an EpiPen is not small by any means, yet I don’t feel it pierce my skin and muscle.

But I do feel it working immediately. It’s a whoosh in my veins that sprints to my chest.

“Are you alright?” Crosby asks, his hand still on my knee, and I can feel his arm shaking. He leans over, bringing his face in front of mine, which is foggy at first but begins to clear as each of my breaths grows stronger. “Maxine? Did I do it right?”

I nod, or at least I think I do. Crosby appears unconvinced.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll call an ambulance.” Crosby reaches back into my bag, producing my phone, but I shake my head. He reaches for the half-demolished box. “It saysseek emergency treatment after administration.”

I shake my head again.

“For god’s sake.”

I take one more deep breath, feeling my lungs stretch. “I’m okay.”

“You’re notdead,” Crosby rebuts before sighing and grabbing my bag. He lifts it over his shoulders and slides the straps on like a backpack. “Can you stand?”

I try to answer, but the truth is even moving my mouth makes me dizzy.

My breath gets taken away from me again when Crosby lifts me off the path, my bare feet dangling over his arms.

* * *

After several hours of monitoring in the emergency room and being cleared, I’m finally discharged.

“I’ll let your ride know you’re ready to go home,” a nurse offers, placing my workout clothes on the bed that I had to remove when I arrived, along with an envelope.

I stand, tugging the gown closed in the back, even though no one can see it. “No,” I say, confused, but maybe I’m just foggy headed. I didn’t—much to the doctors’ and nurses’ dismay—call anyone to let them know where I was. “I’ll order an Uber.”

The nurse ticks her head while at the door. “He’s been waiting.”

“Who?”

“The man who brought you in.”

Oh.

I’m surprised because it had been a tense, quiet ride to the hospital from the club, with Crosby muttering and mumblingyou’ve got to be more careful,andwhat if I wasn’t there?

I like to think I would’ve been okay on my own, that after sitting on the pathway for an hour, I might’ve felt strong enough to stand, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thankful Crosby wasn’t around.

“When you leave, hang a right and take the door at the end of the hall,” the nurse says, pointing. “It will lead you to the far side of the waiting room. I’ll let him know you’re coming out.”

I appreciate the offer from the nurse so I can bypass more people and hopefully make it home before someone decides to tweet they saw me admitted to the hospital and it becomes a circus of a story. And worse, my father starts calling.

“Thank you.”

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