Page 132 of Colliding with Ten

“Hill, please.”

He sighed again. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”

I waited at the rest stop with the heat blasting because it was freezing. How could people live like this? My knee bounced as I watched the dashboard clock: 2:51, then 2:57. I was about to call him back when my phone vibrated.

“Erie County Medical Center,” Hill said. “That’s where they take players for head and neck injuries. Someone will meet you at the main entrance.”

“Someone? Who?”

“I don’t know. But they’ll be looking for your vehicle at the front doors.”

“Ayla.” His voice was serious. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Yes.”

Another pause. “And Ayla?”

“Yeah?”

“This conversation didn’t happen.”

The road narrowed as I got closer to the city, the highway turning into local streets. The intersections were empty, and I sighed when I saw the hospital lights. I pulled into the main entrance loop and slowed.

Someone stood inside the front doors. When he saw my Jeep, he stepped outside. His face was covered by the deep hood of his thick, fur-lined coat. This man was tall, broad-shouldered, and holding his hands in his pockets, just like Lennox would. My heart lurched, but the silhouette was wrong. When he pulled back the hood, he was African-American. I rolled down the window.

Jace Rockett looked at me with a serious expression. I’d seen him online in videos with Lennox and knew Jace made the room lighter with his easy grin and relaxed demeanor. But right now, he wasn’t that. I imagined he had the same look on the field when things weren’t going his way.

“Hey,” I said, trying for warmth. “Thank you for⁠—”

“What are you doing here?” His words were brittle, and I hadn’t expected that.

I opened my mouth then closed it, rethinking what to say. “I came to see Lennox.”

“At three in the morning?” He stepped closer to the window, breath coming out in small white clouds. “After two weeks of nothing.”

So he knew. Of course, he knew. Lennox and Jace had been friends since college. It wasn’t surprising he’d told him. Whatever I said now would decide if I saw Lennox tonight.

“I—”

“He’s a good person, and he’s my best friend.” His voice dropped. “I watched him walk around for two weeks like somebody had pulled the floor out from under him. He wouldn’t talk about it. I had to drag it out of him, and even then, he gave me the short version. He’s not the type to show others that he’s hurting.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished.

“Why’d you leave before he woke up and send him a flippant text?” He paused. “He checked his phone every rep at practice. You know how I know? Because I was standing right there watching him do it, and I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say to a man who wouldn’t admit what was wrong.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I looked at him and refused to look away. I owed Lennox that much. Maybe I owed him more, but this was all I had.

“So I need you to answer me. And I need you to be honest, because he doesn’t have the energy tonight to be lied to.”

“Okay.”

“Are you here because you care about him? Or are you here because he got hurt on national television and you felt guilty?”

The question was fair. The cold crept through the open window as I thought of what to say. “I care about him.”

“Then why’d you disappear?”

There wasn’t an easy answer. I was scared . . . it was complicated . . . I’m lying to my brother . . . The words were true but not enough. “Because I run. That’s what I do. When things get complicated, I run. I’ve done it my entire life, and I’m very good at it. It’s the worst thing about me.”