Page 102 of The Late Hit
But he doesn’t.
Grant is the first to see it, and he goes running from the opposite end of the field and sliding down next to Quinton. It feels like slow motion from that point on. Medical staff and coaches rush the field, but he still hasn’t moved. Nausea swims through my system and I feel like I’m going to be sick. My body collapses in my chair as I watch a medical cart navigate across the field as the staff works to load Quinton onto a stretcher before he’s rushed out of the stadium.
Gaze snapping from the field where I watch my lifeless boyfriend to the jumbotron, I wait for the thumbs up—the recognized sign that a player is okay.
“Come on, come on.”
But it doesn’t come.
The next few minutes go by in a blur. The team is huddled together, but I don’t watch. Cody is busy getting me out of my seat, pushing me through our row of people. Students move immediately when they see me behind Cody. “He’s going to be okay,” “he’s got this,” and other words of encouragement filter in as we pass by people. I don’t acknowledge anyone.
This is all my fault. Two days ago, I told my boyfriend I loved him. We made love that night, sharing tender kisses, and talking about the future, and we were happy, so happy.
Maybe everyone is right. Maybe Abigail Boyd had a reason to hate me. My love sends people to the grave.
Reaching the last step, we hit the concourse level. Cody’s arm wraps around my shoulder as he ushers us through the few fans while he thumbs through the contacts on his phone. Finding the one he wants, he brings his phone to his ear.
“Eric,” Cody barks into the phone. “I’m with Brynn.” He pauses. “Q’s girl. Where are they taking him?” He listens to whatever Eric has to say before thanking him and hanging up. “They’re taking him to General. I’ll drive you guys.”
“N-n-no,” I stutter. “I just want to go home.”
Those words cause Cody to stop at the gate.
“What do you mean?” Chloe asks.
Shock covers her face, and I'm not sure if it’s shock that I don’t want to go to the hospital or shock from what the hell just happened. Either way, I don’t ask. Cody looks down at me and searches my face for something. He must find whatever he’s looking for because he just turns us to the gate, shaking his head.
The drive to the house is quiet. I rest my head on the window, keeping my eyes locked outside. Cody keeps glancing my way, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows what I’m doing. I’m shutting down. He can see that I’m running. I might not be physically leaving the area, but my mind is on a one-way ticket to Bumfuck, Egypt.
Bon voyage, see ya never!
Punching in the code on our front door with more force than necessary, I blow into the house and head straight toward the freezer. Tugging the door open, I reach in and grab my bottle of El Jimador Silver. Closing the door, I turn on my heels and make my way toward the stairs. Chloe slides between me and the stairs.
“Move, Chloe,” I bite out.
“No.”
“Just give her some fucking space,” Cody snaps.
Both of them have a stare-off that I’m not even touching on right now. She drops her arm from the railing and I blow past her, taking the steps two at a time. Footsteps pound the stairs behind me.
I don’t stop until I’m flinging my body onto my bed, the bottle of tequila still in my hand. Cody sits down next to me, reaching over me to grab the bottle. My eyes shoot to him. If he’s going to tell me I’m not drinking, he’s got another thing coming.
“Relax, you’re not drinking alone. Now give me the damn bottle.” He wiggles the fingers on his outstretched hand. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a fucked-up way of dealing with shit?”
I hand him the bottle and watch as he unscrews the cap.
“No, because I’m great at dealing with hard stuff.”
The bottle pauses near his lips, and he shakes his head.
“Not what I was talking about,” he mutters. “See fucked up.”
Cody only takes one pull from the bottle, grimacing, before handing it back to me. He sits there and watches me take swig after swig, not saying a word.
I know where I should be right now. I should be sitting in a waiting room, making sure my boyfriend is okay. But that’s too déjà vu for me. It wasn’t that long ago that I was sitting in a waiting room, my brother and boyfriend in surgery. I can’t go through that again. The waiting. The unknown. The turmoil.
Instead, I’m cowering in my room like the asshole I am. But I can’t sit and wait for bad news again.
