Em:Thinking of you today. I hope Ginny is doing okay. No need to respond, I just know it must be hard to be here, and I want you to know you’re not alone.
I’d changed her name in my phone. She wasn’t trouble — not anymore. And maybe she never was to begin with. Or maybe if she was, it was the good kind of trouble, the kind that makes you live a little, that wakes you up from a lifeless survival, that makes you smile and laugh for what feels like the first time.
Her words made my chest ache, and the longer I stared at them, the more I wanted to punch myself right in the face.
She was there for me.
Even after all that was said, after I’d let her walk away… she was still there.
It’d killed me to be at the game and not talk to her, not run to her, not throw myself into her arms and take back everything I’d said before. But I could feel Coach’s eyes on me, could hear Claire’s warning ringing in my ear.
Combined with my nightmares of what’d happened to Ginny, they were powerful enough to hold my restraint.
It was the right thing to do.
Just because it killed me didn’t change that fact.
And that was what I held onto. I reminded myself how my parents depended on me, how Ginny needed me, how I’d worked so hard to get to the NFL, and now had to work even harder to stay there. I had a contract to secure, a life to set up, and I couldn’t throw it all away.
Every time I reminded myself of those truths, my heart would scream that it didn’t have to be all or nothing. It thrashed against my rib cage like a prisoner, raging over how I was hurting Emily, hurting myself, when there had to be a way to have it all.
But I just couldn’t see it.
Did you sleep in a garbage can?
My sister’s mechanical voice startled me in the soft hum of her hospital room, and I hastily tucked my phone away, finding her eyes open, the hint of a smile behind them.
She looked so much better than when I’d arrived after the initial scare. She was no longer intubated, her chest rising and falling on its own now, her skin more flushed with color. She was still recovering, and it wouldn’t be a quick or easy road, but she was back to talking.
Back to ribbing her older brother like it was her job.
“Might as well have,” I answered, running a hand through my hair as I sat back in my chair. “Took a red eye flight after the game last night.”
You didn’t need to rush back here.
“I wanted to.”
The way she was looking at me, I knew she’d flatten her lips or suck her teeth at me if she could. Instead, she stared a long moment, her eyes searching mine before she asked:
Braid my hair?
I smiled, chest aching as I stood. “I’d love to.”
A comfortable silence passed between us as I maneuvered to the side of her bed, careful of all the wires and tubes still hooked to her from machines. I untied her curls from the thick scrunchie it was currently tamed by, massaging her scalp as she hummed contently.
My fingers moved on autopilot, just like they had for years.
But my brain instantly ran to Emily.
I thought about the day I braided her hair, the day everything between us shifted. But maybe it had been before then.
Maybe it had been all along.
And now I’d lost her.
What’s wrong?Ginny asked when I was done with her hair.
I sat beside her bed again, trying to force a smile. “Just a little tired. I’m okay. How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?”
