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Pushing the door open, I gasp when I see her on the bed. Her head is wrapped in bandages, her legs are covered in casts, and her eyes are swollen shut.
Oh, Penelope...My heart drops as I near her side.
“Why did you deviate from your routine like that?” I choke on my words. “We were both going to be on that podium, and I was looking forward to talking shit to you…”
The sound of nearing footsteps make me look up, and I slip into her bathroom. Leaning against the tile, I watch as two nurses assess her status.
“Does she have any family here?” one of them asks. “Has anyone contacted her parents?”
“Her parents are deceased.”
“What about any other relatives?”
“Her older brother is upstairs speaking to the doctors about the care she’ll need over the next several years. Given the circumstances, I’m assuming that’ll last until the early evening.”
“What a tragic end to a beautiful career.”
‘End’ of her career?
I wait until they leave before slipping away to the gift shop. I pick out pink and grey balloons and flowers and take my time penning a short note inside a pretty ‘Get Well Soon’ card.
When I return, I set the gifts on the table and adjust the pillow behind Penelope’s head.
“I may hate you on the ice,” I whisper, “but in another life, I think we could’ve been friends.”
Her eyes flutter open, but only for a moment.
They close just as fast.
“How did you get in here, Miss?” A stern voice calls from behind. “I didn’t see you check in at the desk.”
“Sorry, wrong room.” I walk out before she can call security, rushing down the hall and to the elevator. The doors glide open, but I don’t step onto the car.
I can’t.
Travis is standing on it alone, his eyes bloodshot, his shirt and pants wrinkled. He’s holding a white bouquet while a “Family Visitor” lanyard hangs from his neck.
“Tati?” he asks, stepping off. “How long have you been here?”
“Not too long.”
“I was hoping to find you after the competition to see if you’d come out to dinner with me, but…”
“I know.” I swallow. “Well, I uh, I came here to wish Penelope a speedy recovery.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I rented out an entire floor at the hotel across the street. Do you want to stay with me tonight?”
Yes, please.“No. I need to go.”
“Wait.” He grabs my hand. “Did you get my voicemail this morning?”
“I did.”
“Do you plan on giving me an answer?” he asks. “Whatever I did, whatever happened, let me fix it so things can go back to how they used to be.”
“I can’t be with you anymore,” I say the words I’ve held back on saying forever, feeling an ugly ache in my chest with every syllable. “I just can’t.”
“We can at least be friends.” He cups my face in his hands and softly kisses my lips, driving my heart down a road it knows all too well. A painful dead-end.
