Page 96 of Attractive Forces
At Dunedin hospital. They found Aaron. He’s in surgery.
My father’s reply comes back immediately.
What about the game?
I stare at the words. Then I glance at the time on my phone.
It’s four hours until kickoff.
There’s no way I’m playing rugby right now. I can’t imagine leaving Jake to go to the stadium, pulling on my rugby gear, and running onto the pitch. Pretending everything is okay.
I glance at Jake. He’s tipped his head back to rest on the wall, his eyes closed. His hair is even scruffier than usual.
Being here won’t make any difference to Aaron’s outcome. But it will make a difference to Jake.
Which means I’m not budging.
Okay, it’ll suck to let my team down. But at the end of the day, it’s just a game of rugby. It’s just a bunch of guys chasing around a ball on a field.
There are more important things in life.
I take a deep breath as I type out my reply.
I’m not playing.
I send the message to my father, then a slightly longer one to Coach, explaining I won’t be able to make the game today because I’m at the hospital supporting my boyfriend while his brother is in surgery.
Then I switch off my phone. I really don’t want to deal with the flurry of messages I’m about to receive.
Time seems to be in suspension as we wait.
When my stomach starts to growl, I realize it’s long past breakfast.
“Do you want me to grab some hot drinks?” I ask. I’m not sure if anyone can stomach food, but a hot drink might be okay.
Jake’s mother has been staring blankly at the floor. She looks up at me. “That would be nice, thank you.”
I squeeze Jake’s hand as I stand. He tries to rustle up a smile but fails dismally.
When I return, I’m just handing Jake’s mother her coffee when two new people come into the waiting room.
My father and mother.
My stomach clenches.
Fuck.
My father makes a beeline over to Jake’s mum. “I’m so sorry about your son,” he says. “You are in my prayers. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, God is with you.”
It’s weird to see him in pastor mode, but this is what he does. Comforting families who are going through tragedy.
Jake’s mum gives a wan smile in return. “Thank you.”
Then he turns to me, and his pastor mask slips, and suddenly he’s a rugby father with disappointment running rampant on his face.
My heart starts to beat faster.
Jake’s family doesn’t need to witness this.
