Page 105 of Ours to Lose
It had beenone gray-as-fuck day, the sky dreary and dark, a perfect match for my mood. Even rain would have been better than the endless clouds. They made it impossible to escape the gloom that had shrouded me since I left Aubrey’s apartment early this morning.
I’d planned to leave earlier and not stay the night, but every time I told myself it would be the last kiss, one kiss turned into two, which turned into more, our hands roaming, mouths seeking, bodies joining together in pleasure so strong, it drowned me.
I was still drowning.
Last night may have been our last together, but I’d been over my head in my feelings for Aubrey since the moment she first kissed me, and none of me wanted to come up for air. I’d rather my lungs burned forever surrounded by the thought of her than take another breath without her at the forefront of my mind. It didn’t matter whether I was in Philly or Colorado.
Letting her go was what I’d do to protect her.
Hanging on to the contentment she’d poured into my heart was what I’d do for me.
Even now, as I stepped out of the subway to meet Coach Dotson at the bar of his Center City hotel to discuss the job offer, I carried her with me. I wished I had something more concrete, a picture of us or a trinket of hers, but everything she’d given me had been from within.
Maybe I could get a picture with her before I left. I could ask my dad to have us take it so seemed like his idea.
Or maybe it would be okay if I asked. Friends took pictures together. They were allowed to hang on to memories of each other. To miss each other.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, which meant my reception had returned. Service had gotten better on the subway, but there were still dead zones, and it always took my phone a few minutes to bounce back.
I expected a text from Coach Dotson letting me know he’d be a few minutes late, but it was a voicemail.
From Evan.
He hadn’t called me once in the months I’d been back. Not to mention, I didn’t think he was speaking to me after our fight at the tournament.
My heart sped up as I played the message.
“Gabe—”His voice was panicked, the muffled yell of sirens screaming in the background.“Dad had a heart attack. He was awake in the ambulance, but they just took him inside, and I don’t know what’s going on. We’re at Philly Memorial. We were in the city for dinner, and he was fine, and then he collapsed and—I-I don’t know when you’ll get this. Just call me.”
The line clicked dead, and for the second time in my life, the world around me skidded to a halt.
The phone’s weight in my hand was all I could process as my heart beat faster and faster. Its pounding filled my ears like gloves on a bag, the punches too quick to keep up with, as if each attempt to make sense of the message got knocked down before it could reach me. A buzz built in my head?—
And then, the world slammed back into motion. Car horns blared at a nearby intersection, and the first drops of rain splashed cold on my face. A bus rumbled past, its brakes squeaking as it slowed, exhaust fumes fogging my nose.
My vision came into focus on the building across the sidewalk where a hotel’s logo was fixed on the brick.
The hotel that held the man in charge of my future.
I stared at the logo a few seconds longer as my pulse pummeled my ribs, my throat, my ears. Almost at once, the racing dropped to a perfect calm, my body taking charge of the shock and putting my mind back into the driver’s seat.
I took a deep breath, forcing air into my lungs. More rain splashed my face.
Another breath, a final glance.
Then I turned the other way and ran.
Five minutes later,I burst through the emergency entrance of Philadelphia Memorial Hospital, drenched in rain and sweat. My shoulder screamed at how hard I’d sprinted, and I was still catching my breath when I stepped off the elevator to the cardiology unit and crossed into the waiting room.
Evan paced between two rows of chairs. He spun at the far end, saw me, and stopped short. His face was a wall of stone.
“He’s in surgery,” he said, voice rigid.
The words hit me like a battering ram—a single strike straight to my core.
They should have been reinforcement. Surgery meant Dad was getting help. It meant there was something they could do. That he’d gotten here in time.
Instead, those three words knocked me right back to Mom. To the standard procedure meant to buy her more time that became the start to an end none of us were ready for.
