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CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
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“Blake,”Mom’s voice hits me with her not-so-usual chirpy tone. She sounds like she’s trembling, her words shaking. “Your dad … they rushed him to the hospital.”
I stare at Amanda with the phone but not really seeing her. My mind goes blank as I stumble back a few steps.
“Mom—what happened?” The question feels lame and inadequate, but it’s all I manage.
“His breathing, it just … got so bad, so fast.” Her fear is tangible, even through the phone, and it wraps around me, cold and constricting. Mom never panics.
“Which hospital?” I’m heading to my bedroom before I know it. Amanda’s eyes widen as she watches me, reading the situation without a word. She sets her mug down with a gentle clink and stands.
“Memorial.”
“I’m on my way,” I say, the words automatic because what else can I do?
“Be careful.” Mom’s voice comes out as a plea.
“Always am,” I reply, but the swagger feels hollow, fake.
“I can get a ride home if you’d rather go alone,” Amanda says when I reach the living room. She’s biting her lip, no doubt wondering if she’ll be in the way.
“Yeah, I could take her back if you want me to,” Ryan says.
I don’t want to sound needy, but I want her beside me. I need her there. “I want you with me.”
“Okay, then let’s go,” she says, her voice firm and grounding.
And we move together.
Once in the car, I punch the gas pedal, and the engine roars to life beneath us. Amanda’s hand tightens on the dash, her knuckles white. Once we leave campus, traffic gets redirected as locals clog the streets, all moving at the lethargic pace of a lazy Saturday morning. But there’s nothing lazy about the storm brewing in my chest.
“Come on, people; get a move on it.” My voice cuts off, choked by urgency.
“I think the Christmas parade is today.”
“Jesus, I forgot about that.” I smack the steering wheel and glance down. That’s when I notice her shoes—the sleek clear vinyl strapped sandal with a stiletto heel. I had told her they were my sisters. In truth, they cost me some coin. Totally worth it, though. She looked like a damn princess in them with her dress. Wearing them with my sweats, not so much. “Did you want to go to your apartment and change your shoes?”
Her gaze drops to her feet and then back to the crowd before us. “No, we don’t have time. I’ll look ridiculous, but I’ll be okay.”
God, I love this girl.
“It’s a sexy ridiculous, though.”
That causes her to peel her fingers off the dash and settle in her seat. “Did your mom say what was wrong?”
“No, but it has something to do with his lingering cold. Guess that’s why they didn’t make it to the Gala.” I shake my head. “I probably should’ve gone to work this week. He must be pushing himself.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. You had finals, then the skills tournament…” Her voice trails off, and she remains quiet. What else is there to say?
We weave through traffic, my focus laser sharp. It has to be. There’s no room for error, not when I don’t know what is happening with Dad. Funny how I can dodge a defenseman twice my size on ice, but here, the slow-moving cars feel like immovable giants.
As the hospital comes into view, I slide into the parking lot, tires screeching against the concrete. I’m out of the car before Amanda but slow my pace so we can enter together. I need to calm down, but I can’t shake this ominous feeling that my life is on the verge of much unwelcome change.
The emergency room doors slide open with a whoosh, and we’re enveloped by the antiseptic smell of fear and illness. Nurses bustle past, their shoes squeaking on the freshly waxed floor, faces set in professional masks of concern. Somewhere, a baby wails, the sound echoing against the walls.
I hate this place. It reminds me of death and broken bones. Nothing but pain.
