“I decided I was going to tonight, right before Parker called.”
She doesn’t say anything, simply kisses my shoulder and clings to my arm a little tighter.
Five minutes later, a surgeon steps into the space, still in blue scrubs. Dax’s sisters suffocate any space between them and the doctor, pleading for their update.
“Oh.” Scarlett, presses a hand on her forehead. “He’s awake. He’s okay.”
Coach and Dallas both release deep sighs. Dallas instantly puts his phone to his ear. No doubt updating Skye and Parker. Coach pinches his lips, hanging his head. Blake turns out from the corner, she wipes at her eyes, and her shoulders slump, like a weight slid off her spine.
Griffin practically collapses in a chair; he tugs at the ends of his hair, too silent.
“He’ll need a lot of physical and occupational therapy for his hand,” the surgeon explains. “But the CTs came back clean, and there weren’t any fractures on the spine. He’s awake now. You’re welcome to go see him.”
The surgeon ushers all four sisters back. I’m envious. I get it, but I’m envious. I’m not sure I breathe as the rest of us wait. Honestly, I don’t even know if Dax will want everyone invading his space. It’s basically his worst nightmare. But when Scarlett comes out, she points at me. “Ryder, he wants to talk to you. Griff,” she says gently. “You’re next.”
Griffin nods, but doesn’t lift his head.
I press a kiss to Ava’s palm, then hurry through the door. It’s a bit of a maze to find the recovery room. Once I finally see Dax awake, breathing, bandaged, and bruised, I’m forced to press a hand against my chest when relief hits like a fist.
“Hey, Ryd,” he croaks.
I cross the room in four strides. I don’t pause to think if it’ll freak him out, I don’t consider his reluctance to have people invade his space, I say nothing and hook an arm around his neck. I hug him, gently as I can, and drop my forehead to the top of his.
“Don’t you freaking do that again,” I say through clenched teeth.
With his good hand, Dax pats my back. “I’ll try.”
I pull back, a little embarrassed by the thick lump in my throat. “You’re going to be good, they say. Extra sessions with Skye, probably.”
Dax looks exhausted. He drops his head back. “Could be the end.”
“No.” I pull a narrow chair to the bedside, sit, and lean over my knees. “Don’t go there. Not yet.”
Dax blinks a few times, but nods. “Not yet.”
“You’re a good friend, Dax.” I blurt it out before I change my mind. He looks at me with a bit of shock. “I mean it. I don’t tell you guys enough, and this is a rude wake up call.”
“Don’t tell Griffin,” he says, wincing when a laugh scrapes out. “He’ll tattoo your name on his chest or something.”
We both laugh. Dax holds his chest, but for a solid minute we can’t stop. Call it emotions, or a new openness, I don’t know. I’m simply glad we’re here.
“You’re a good friend, too, Ryder,” Dax says. “You never push me to be someone I’m not. I’ve always respected you, and I think I’m starting to understand you a little more.”
“How’s that?”
“Something happened with Ava, something big. I think it changed you and made you reserved. I get that.”
“You get it, huh?” I steeple my fingers in front of my mouth. I feel like he’s trying to hint he is reserved for a reason, but I’m not entirely sure. “Because something made you the same way?”
“You could say that. I started pulling back after we lost our parents and I became the caregiver for my sisters so young. I started realizing the world can suck. I’d rather be away from it. You guys have helped me want to be . . . a little more open, I guess.” He chuckles. “What’s your reason?”
I hesitate for a few breaths, then tell him. Start to finish, I tell him everything. Another piece of tension snaps, as though finally expressing the hurt frees something inside.
“That’s a lot,” he says. “You know, you could’ve told us about autism. It doesn’t change what I think of you, but it might’ve helped me be clearer if you needed me to be.”
“I’m not good at getting too personal with other people.”
“I can understand that too.” Dax sighs. “I’m sorry you lost so much.”
