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"We're just being besties," I laugh and cry simultaneously as Payton sets a bag on my hospital tray. I eye the bag, mouthwatering at the familiar smell. "Is that a pita?"
"Sure is," Payton beams. "I didn't spend all that time playing stupid in your office without learning your favourite lunch foods. Hospital food sucks balls, and I thought you might be hungry."
"I fucking love you.”
Holly and I are infamous for ordering pitas for lunch at our office. There is nothing better than grilled chicken, ham, onions and mushrooms sautéed together, with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, Swiss cheese, mayo and honey mustard, all stuffed into a warm, soft pita. It's our favourite.
My stomach gurgles as I gaze longingly at those beautiful pockets of food porn. I glance at Holly. She going to have to help me with this. Pitas are two-handers, and I only have one fully functioning arm. I might be able to one-hand this if I turn the wrapper into a holder. Nothing says true friendship like being hand fed.
"You're welcome. I thought I should ply you with food while I take your statement. You'll have to tell me everything that happened, even though I heard and recorded most of it over the phone. That was very smart, by the way."
Over the next twenty minutes, Payton asks me question after question about Randy and what happened this morning. It's therapeutic and cathartic, retelling everything that went down in our apartment. I'm surprisingly calm through the whole thing. I thought it would be a lot harder to describe what happened and how I felt having a gun pointed at me. In some ways, I think having a near-death experience has given me perspective and clarity. I’m sure the morphine helped too.
Randy was treated for his non-life-threatening gunshot wounds and taken into custody. Tyra's been at the police station all day, giving her statement and providing the police with as much dirt as possible on her former agent. According to Payton, he's going away for a long time. I certainly hope so.
I jump when I glance at the clock. The game should be starting now. I order Holly to turn on the TV so we can all watch. Taylor is at the game taking care of business because, you know, I was shot. I'll have to thank her later.
When the game lights up the screen, my eyes immediately start searching for number seventeen. It only takes a second to find him. I can't help but smile as I watch Ryan blaze across the fresh ice. He looks like he's floating effortlessly on his skates. For such a big guy, Ryan is surprisingly graceful.
"You should have seen him, Avery," Holly says, motioning to Ryan on the screen. "He was a wreck. I've never seen a man so distraught." I swallow hard, trying to imagine what I would have done if it had been him instead of me in the line of fire.
I can't do it.
I can't stand the thought of losing him. We're in this together now. Forever. And if and when he asks me again, I will marry that man.
Just as the game starts, a cacophony of voices and people swarm my room. My mom rushes to my side, eyes red and worried, followed by my stepdad, Simon, and Ollie and Ozzy trailing behind him. A few seconds after that, Martha Gunner sweeps in.
Mom and Martha take one look at me and burst into tears. Apparently, everyone who sees me today is going to cry their eyes out.
“Oh, thank god," Mom blubbers alongside Ryan's mom. Both have Kleenex and are blotting the moisture from their eyes. My mother is a petite woman with short blonde hair. She's one of those women who can pull off a pixie cut and look elfin-like. We look somewhat alike in colouring, but I must get my height and musculature from my father.
Ollie and Ozzy glare at me, their mouths pressed into thin lines, looking grim. Dad stands alongside them like a sentry, an older, more distinguished version of the twins.
I've thought of Simon Decker as my father my whole life since he and Mom got together when all of us were so young. He’s always been Dad to me, and Mom has always been Mom to Ollie and Ozzy. We’ve never known anything different and we’ve gelled seamlessly together as a family.
Over the next three hours, despite hospital regulations on the number of visitors you're allowed to have in one room, all seven of us crowd around the TV to watch game five.
Martha and my mom fuss and coo over me while reminiscing about Ryan and me. I giggle to myself when they pretend I'm not here and start planning our wedding. I feel slightly floaty, but that might be the morphine.
"You do realize I'm right here, right?" I deadpan. "And he hasn't even asked me yet."
Both women roll their eyes, ignoring me, and go back to discussing wedding details.
Holly, Ozzy, and Dad are glued to the TV, watching every minute of the game, dissecting and analyzing every play on the ice. At one point, both Ozzy and Dad insist Holly text Luke game strategy and offensive plays.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ollie sitting unusually silent, pretending to watch the game. I know he's pretending because I've been watching him my entire life and I know his tells. Right now, his attention isn't on the TV. It's locked on Payton.
Interesting.
I tuck that nugget of information away for another time and yawn. Getting shot is tiring, but so is being bombarded by a hoard of family and friends.
Dad cheers, and Mom shushes him.
"You're going to get us all kicked out of here!" she hisses.
Toronto just scored the go-ahead goal and are up on Columbus four-three with less than three minutes to play. The clock runs out, and Toronto wins, giving us the series lead. All we need to do is win one of the next two games, and we advance to the Conference Finals.
I look around the room and smile, my eyelids heavy. Maybe it's the drugs, but I'm blissfully happy. When Ryan gets here, everyone I love will be in this room. I glance from loved one to loved one and can't help thinking how lucky I am to have so many wonderful people in my life.
