Page 107 of The Late Hit
With one last look in the mirror, I check out my outfit—denim shortalls with a multicolored pink plaid shirt underneath and my brown suede ankle boots. It’s cute and casual, making it look like I’ve got my shit together when, in fact, I’m severely hungover. My hands keep finding my hair, tousling the long blonde strands. My hands keep shaking, I’m so nervous.
“Brynn. Brynn,” Grant says, trying to get my attention.
My eyes find him in the mirror.
“You look fine. Quinton is going to be happy to see you. Now let’s go.”
Nodding my head in acknowledgment, I grab my keys and sunnies from the bowl on the table. I grab my purse as we head out the door.
The drive to the hospital is quiet. It’s awkward, neither one of us know what to say to the other after last night. I’m a little pissed at the way that Grant showed up and went all caveman. The only time I like for a man to go all caveman is when he’s about to worship my body, not throw my ass in a fucking freezing cold shower.
While I’m pissed at him, a part of me is glad that he showed up to knock some sense into me. Usually, it’s Quinton, but that just shows how good a friend Grant is. He risked pissing me off to get me to his best friend.
“Thank you,” I finally say, still not looking at Grant.
He grunts. And we’re back to awkward silence. “I’m sorry for being a dick about it,” he finally says as he pulls us into the hospital. Grant doesn’t find a parking spot but follows the driveway toward the main entrance, stopping under the overhang.
“You’re not coming in?” I ask, finally looking at him.
“Nah, you two need a minute.”
With a small, tight smile, I open my door and step out.
After speaking with the receptionist in the lobby, I’m told Quinton’s room is on the tenth floor, room 1004. I make my way to the elevator and wait for the doors to open. When they do, I step inside, and as the doors close, anxiety swells in my stomach. A bell chimes when I reach the tenth floor, and I step out once the doors open.
The floor is buzzing with nurses doing their morning checks. There’s a cart with trays of food that’s being delivered to each room. Slowly, I make my way to room 1004. A guy with a tray in his hand is about to knock on the door.
“Excuse me,” I say before he has a chance to know. The guy turns his head to me. “Do you mind if I take the tray in? He’s my boyfriend,” I supply when he looks at me with a questioning look.
He nods his head before handing me the tray. I give a light knock before stepping inside. Sunlight streaming in from the cracked blinds is the only light illuminating the room. Quinton’s lying in his bed, head toward the TV where I hear the NFL Network’sGood Morning Footballcoming from the speakers. He hasn’t noticed me yet, so I take a moment to take in the room. Q is in a medium-size room. There’s a small couch, chairs, and a counter with a sink, and his bed is in the middle. Tubes and wires hang all around him with a monitor next to his bed.
Slowly, I creep toward his bed trying like hell not to drop his tray, my hands shaking like crazy. “Morning, handsome,” I say as my way of greeting, pausing beside his bed.
His head whips in my direction, shock filling his face. “Brynn?” he questions, searching me from head to toe. “Damn, baby, I missed you. Get over here.”
I don’t hesitate, I drop the tray onto his rolling table and rush him. His arms open, and without hesitation, I dive into them, being careful not to wrestle him too much.
As soon as I feel his arms close around my body, I can’t keep the tears at bay. I know as soon as he feels the sobs rack my body because he’s pulling me in tighter.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” I cry into his chest.
Shushing me, he starts consoling me. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”
Looking up at him, I search his face for any hint of anger or resentment, but all I see staring back at me is love.
“I love you so much,” I say on a sob.
“I love you too, baby,” he answers, lips finding mine. “Are you okay?” Quinton asks when he finally brings himself to pull away from my lips.
“Am I okay? Quinton, you’re the one I should be asking that to.”
“I’m fine,” he answers. “A little banged up with a moderate concussion, but I’ll be back on the field in no time.”
Narrowing my eyes, I examine his face for any hint he’s not telling the truth. And of course, there isn’t one.
“But I’m more worried about you. Uhh, the guys might’ve filled me in on how you’ve been this week.”
“Traitors,” I say with a sigh. “But I’m fine. Really. I might’ve been in my head, like, really bad, over the last few days. I may have been suppressing those feelings with whatever I could get my hands on, but I’m fine now. I’m fine because you’re okay.” Lowering my head onto Q’s chest, I soak in his warmth before whispering the last part. “And my love didn’t kill you either.”
