Page 142 of It Happened on a Sunday
“A brain bleed?” My heart drops to my fucking toes. “Sloane’s brain is bleeding? From the drugs?”
“My guess is that it’s from the fall,” she answers. “We wereable to drain it, and a new scan shows the subdural hematoma is clear. She hasn’t woken up yet, though, so all we can do is wait.”
“Wait?” Pauline reaches out and grabs my hand, then squeezes so hard I can feel her nails making grooves in my skin. “What does that mean exactly?”
“It means Sloane has suffered a serious physical trauma, and her body is deciding how and when to emerge from it. What happens next is entirely up to her.”
“That’s all you can tell us?” I demand.
Her steady gaze meets mine, and I can see her answer there before she says it.
Still, I pray I’m wrong, pray I’m just too freaked out to think straight, right up until the moment the doctor says, “Sometimes people wake up from this, and sometimes they don’t. For now, we’ll keep her as comfortable as we can, but we really are just going to have to wait and see.”
They only allow one of us to stay with her at a time, so Pauline and I take turns either sitting with Sloane or pacing the waiting room as the ER staff watches for any sign that she might be waking up.
But none comes. And twelve hours later, we’re still waiting.
Every minute that passes makes good news feel less and less likely, at least in my own head. The innocent hospital staffers I keep badgering continue to tell me that we have to wait, that she’s comfortable, and that’s all they can do for her. But when she looks so pale, so silent, so unlike her normal larger-than-life self, I can’t let go of my fear.
They move her to the ICU an hour later, where Pauline and I sit side by side, listening to the monitors do their work. Every beep has me looking up; every pause in her breathing has terror scraping my insides raw.
I want to be back in the emergency room or in a regular room, anywhere but in the intensive care unit waiting for Sloane toeither wake up or fuckingdie.
It’s nearly noon on Friday now, and I should be on my way to the airport to catch our 12:30 flight to San Diego. The conference championship will be played in the Lightning’s stadium, as they’re the top seed in the league. I need to be there if we have any hope of making the Super Bowl.
But since I’m not going anywhere until Sloane wakes up and tells me to stop bugging her, there’s no way in hell I’m making that plane. Or that game.
Austin may deserve a ring, but Sloane deserves a hell of a lot more. I called Vivian around seven a.m. and told her to relay the message to Coach that I wasn’t coming. Neither of them was happy, but I don’t give a shit. And it’s not like they sounded surprised.
Nothing in my life, nothing I’ve ever wanted, is more important than being here for Sloane right now. To hell with the playoffs, to hell with the Super Bowl, and to hell with my career. None of it means anything without her.
Marco is at the party venue reviewing the tapes—he finally convinced the manager to turn them over about two hours ago. G and Jaime are stationed at the door to keep everyone but medical personnel out of Sloane’s room, and Pauline is in the corner, reading to her from a romance novel Sloane apparently loves. She’s been doing it for hours, her famous voice filling the room as she recounts the trials and tribulations of the characters’ love story. We’re past the climax now as the hero and heroine charge toward their happily ever after, and I want nothing more than to be one of them.
It’s ridiculous to be jealous of a fictional guy, but I am. Because he always gets the girl. He always gets the happy ending. And I don’t even know if I’ll get a chance to say goodbye.
What if she stays like this, fading away a little more with each hour that passes? What if me sitting at her bedside, willing her towake up, is as close as we’ll ever be again?
The thought makes me want to crawl out of my skin. It makes me want to drop to my knees and beg whomever I need to to make Sloane better—or at least find whoever did this to her and wipe them off the face of the earth—though abuela Ximena would never forgive it.
I know Sloane didn’t do this to herself. Which means it was someone at the venue. Someone invited to the party by my team, maybe even connected to my team orme, is responsible for poisoning the woman I love. And I never even saw it coming.
I promised to protect her, promised to keep her safe. Instead, I led her straight into hell.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down at the message, just in case it’s from Marco. It’s my abuela, telling me that she and Lucia are in the waiting room with food for everyone.
My stomach turns at the idea of eating anything, but they’ve also got coffee, and I could use a hit.
“Hey,” I say to Pauline softly, interrupting the big reunion scene. “My family brought coffee and food. I’m going to go get it and be right back.”
She nods but doesn’t seem particularly interested in food or anything else.
“How are you?” Lucia asks as soon as I make it to the small waiting room off the elevators. She throws her arms around me and holds on tight.
I shake my head and hold her just as tightly. “There’s been no change.” My voice breaks, so I clear my throat and try again. “So far, the brain scan looks good, and so do the blood tests. But she still hasn’t woken up, so…”
“Here.” My abuela gestures to a couple of drink trays. “We brought coffee, smoothies, and sandwiches. What do you think you can get down?”
