Page 67 of The Has-Been

By the time we make our way back to the bench, the final buzzer is sounding, sealing our 4-2 loss.

And for some reason, I don’t think much of the score—not like I used to. Because as Aubrey and I walk back to the training room, I can’t help but think I’ve finally won.

All because Aubrey Vaughn actually touched me without acting like my skin was poison ivy.

When I walk out of the arena that night, I want nothing more than to crawl into my bed and go to sleep.

Aubrey and I were busy assessing cuts and injuries from the teamwide fight. Based on the boys’ moods, they are less than happy with the actions of their alternative captain, my dumbass best friend, who got himself escorted from the game. He’ll likely face a one or two-game suspension for his actions, and that’s honestly the least he deserves for throwing such a cheap fucking shot to begin with.

After locking up, being the last one to leave through the players’ entrance, I look up to find a figure waiting by my Jeep.

At first, I think it’s Reid, trying to find someone to talk to after his poor form tonight.

Hate to break it to him, but I’m not in the mood to talk to him, and he certainly won’t want to hear anything I have to say. But my steps slow before faltering altogether when I see it’s a much shorter and smaller form.

Aubrey.

“Hey,” I mutter softly as my heart starts racing just at the sight of her. She has her hair pulled up now, her face showing lines of tiredness, but I can’t help but stare and admire her. There is no form of Aubrey Vaughn that I don’t find attractive.

“Hey,” she replies delicately, her eyes dancing around the parking lot like they are too nervous to meet my own. “I was wondering if you want to go to the hospital with me? Thought it would be nice if we checked in on Tatum.”

I nod. I never would have thought about doing that. But Aubrey has always been one to put others before herself.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea. I can drive?” I offer as she lingers by the passenger-side door.

I know how much she hates driving at night, so she doesn’t argue when my Jeep unlocks.

Delleth Medical is only a few minutes from campus, and the drive is quick, with few stops at the traffic lights this time of night. But I can’t help noticing how much she fidgets as we pull in.

Her hands won’t stay still, messing with the zipper of her sweatshirt, then flipping her phone over in her fingers. When I park, and she starts to get out, I lay a hand on her leg before she can move. I ignore the fiery heat that shoots through me at the touch.

“Are you alright?” I ask, tilting my head to study her. She reaches for the door handle and climbs out, my hand sliding over her leg as she deliberately ignores it.

Can you blame her? You just told her a few weeks ago that you regret ever falling in love with her. I should be thankful that she’s still talking to me.

She answers, from outside, the door still open, “Yeah, just worked up from everything tonight.”

When I climb out and follow her in, she leads the way to the emergency room. She knows her way pretty well, never once stopping to look for the signs to the ER.

Maybe she’s been here for class or something, I think to myself as we approach the triage desk.

We ask for Tatum, and the nurse at the desk tells us to take a seat. For privacy reasons, they can’t tell us much, but they said they’ll notify his family—that maybe they’ll come out and update us.

We find seats in the overcrowded waiting room, nearly full of patients.

I lean in to whisper something to Aubrey, but my mouth snaps open as I take her in.

She’s pale.

Her usual tanned skin is nowhere to be found under the fluorescent lights.

I reach out and place a hand lightly on her knee. “Aubrey?” I ask.

Her eyes are wide, unblinking. I watch her throat bob as she swallows. I shake her knee lightly, hoping to snap her out of it, but it’s useless.

Sliding her legs slightly apart in the chair, I crouch and kneel in front of her. I lift her chin gently, bringing her gaze to mine. I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, so I recognize the signs immediately—and I’m certain that is what’s happening to her as I watch her chest rise and fall rapidly, clearly hyperventilating.

Panic attacks can be triggered by several things, I think, based on Jasmine’s and my conversation about them.