Page 129 of Bleacher Report
My brow furrows, and I move closer—just as her hands tremble, the stack of plates tilting in her grip.
Then she sways.
“Ma!”
I barely catch her before the dishes hit the floor. They clatter onto the table as she slumps into me, her body heavy and unresponsive.
“Mom, come on. Stay with me.”
Her head lolls. Her eyes flutter.
“Peyton!” I yell, heart hammering, and then I hear her footsteps pounding into the kitchen. “Bethany, call 911!” I bark, already lowering her gently to the floor, cradling her against me like I can hold her here—like I can will her to stay.
Because if Bethany’s been right this whole time, then this isn’t just a faint spell.
This is something we can’t ignore anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Five
PEYTON
The hospital hallway is full of the sounds of machines beeping and nurses walking around. It’s been almost eight hours since we showed up at the hospital this morning.
Everything smells like disinfectant and overused hand sanitizer. The overhead lights buzz faintly, and somewhere behind the next set of double doors, someone coughs. I sit in the plastic chair outside Carly's room, a paper cup of water cradled in my hands.
Hunter steps out from her room, keeping the door open so that he can see her, his expression unreadable. His shoulders are tense, eyes rimmed red but dry. He walks over and sinks into the chair beside me, elbows on his knees.
"She's resting now," he says softly. "The fluids are helping. They’re keeping her for observation overnight."
I nod, swallowing hard. "Did they say what caused it?"
Hope blooms that Bethany was wrong in the bathroom and that it was just stress related.
He runs a hand down his face. "Combination of things. Low iron, dehydration, and overexertion. The cookie drop-offs, the old folks home event, caroling last night... She just overdid it. Her body couldn't keep up."
I let out a breath. "But she’s going to be okay?"
Hunter hesitates.
"The cancer’s back."
His voice barely makes it out—raw and splintered. The weight of those words seems to drain what’s left of the fight in him.
I blink, not sure I heard right, but this is what Bethany warned me about. “What?”
He nods once, a jerky motion. “She didn’t want me to know. Said it would distract me. But the tests…they confirmed it.”
The paper cup crumples slightly in my hands. “God.”
“Yeah, God,” he exhales. “I don't know what to do, Peyton. I can’t leave her like this. And if I don’t force her into treatment, I’m not sure she’ll go."
I reach out and pull him into me. His arms wrap around my shoulder as we comfort each other. "Then you make her go,” I mumble against his chest. “You’re her son. She listens to you."
He pulls back, his gaze searching mine. "And the team? Practice starts back the day after tomorrow. If I don’t show up..."
"Call Coach Haynes. Explain the situation. Ask for a few days.”
“He might bench me for a game since I’m not there to practice with the team, but you’re right. I should call."
