Page 130 of What About Us

But do I immediately pull out of my parking space?

No.

Because that would require energy, so I grab my phone and power it on for the first time since I arrived at the hospital twelve hours ago and see that I’ve missed some texts from Xander.

Xander: You forgot your emotional support water bottle. Be sure to drink water today, Red.

Xander: Did you eat lunch?

Did I? No. Because I never took a break long enough to go hunt down a bottle of water or eat something. I haven’t had anything since the yogurt before I left the house this morning, and my head is screaming at me.

Xander: I miss you. Come home.

I smile at that one. It came in about an hour ago. Rather than use up the energy to type, I call him.

“Tell me you’re almost home,” he says into my ear, and his voice alone makes me want to cry.

“I’m sitting in the truck at the hospital,” I reply softly.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Just a shitty day. I’m okay. I’m hungry as fuck and really crabby, though.”

“Do you need me to come get you? I can be there in twenty.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m coming now. I apologize in advance for all the mean things I might say tonight out of hunger and exhaustion.”

He snickers in my ear, and it makes me smile a little. “You’re forgiven in advance. Come on home, I have lasagna in the oven, and I’ll run you a hot bath.”

“Oh, you’re my favorite boyfriend.”

He laughs again. “Better be the only boyfriend.”

“Duh. Okay, I’ll see you in a few.”

I hang up and blow out a breath before I put the truck in gear and pull out of the parking lot. I know that days like today aren’t normal. It was extra busy, and there was a dementia patient who had fallen and hurt his hip, and I had to work with him while he kept asking me when his parents would come pick him up.

God, it about broke me every single time.

Because I can’t help but wonder if that’ll be Xander someday. Will his memory get worse and worse as he gets older? Will there come a day when he looks at me and his eyes are empty because he doesn’t remember who I am?

It would fucking kill me.

I know he’s okay. He has pockets of memory issues, but aside from missing a word here and there, he’s fine.

But what if he gets hurt again? He has every intention of going back to hockey, for God knows how many more years, and if he continues to sustain concussions, his memory could get worse and worse.

And that terrifies me.

But I also don’t want to be the asshole girlfriend who tells him to give up on his dreams. I’m never going to do that, and if the doctors say he’s fit to play, then who am I to say otherwise?

It still scares me, though, and because of the rough day at work, I feel extra emotional tonight.

I finally pull into the driveway, and Xander’s already waiting for me on the porch. He’s standing there, barefoot, his hands tucked in the pockets of his blue jeans, wearing a blue flannel over a black T-shirt.

And just the sight of him immediately settles my nerves.

As I pull to a stop, Xander rounds the back of the truck and opens my door for me, holding his hand out for my bag, which I pass to him.