Page 42 of Fighting Fate

Before I know it, our margarita night is winding down and all I want is to cap the night off with a shower, even though I miss my nightly baths dearly. Back home, it was my favorite routine—homework, a relaxing bath, and then slipping into bed with a romance book.

The sound of the shower kicks in, the warm water working its magic on my tired dance-sore muscles. As I stand under the steam, my phone pings on the bathroom counter. Without another thought, I open the shower door, sneak to the sink, grab my phone, and make a mad dash back to the shower—phone and all.

Kill me, why don't you?

Leaning my head against the tiled wall, I unlock my phone to find a few new messages.

Luke

Better wish me luck.

Mom

Hey, sweetie, how's everything? Call me when you get the chance.

Miles

We just freaking kicked Thunderhawks' ass. Did you see my last throw to JJ? And #50 thought it would be cool to kick me in the freaking head without a helmet?

"Wait, he got kicked in the head? Is he okay?!" I questioned aloud in concern.

Milli, he's fine. He's texting you, isn't he?

"Yeah, I'm sure he is," I answer, feeling a bit relieved, but a pang of guilt strikes me. I hadn't watched a single second of the game as I was immersed in my girls' night. Despite that, I need to make sure he is alright without appearing overly concerned. Miles has a habit of accusing me of babying him at times, but honestly, the guy has given me more than enough reasons to worry about him.

When he fell off our four-wheeler, when he broke his thumb playing badminton (don't even ask how), or that time he came running into our house in tears after a tough day with chemo.

"Milli, Luke, Milli, Luke!" someone yelled from downstairs. I thought it was Mendy, our nanny, returning for something she forgot. But then I heard it again, sounding more urgent this time. I quickly left my book and jumped out of my chair. Opening my bedroom door, I heard the cries growing more frantic. "Milli, Luke, where are you? I need you."

It was Miles.

I shut my bedroom door and dashed to the big staircase, looking down to find him. His face was worried, and there was blood on the tissue he held against his nose. It was his first day of chemotherapy, something he talked about the night before. I thought we might not see him for a while, as his parents and nurse said he might not feel well for a few days. But seeing him with his voice weak and his eyes asking for help was really scary.

Without thinking twice, I rushed down the staircase, taking two steps at a time until I was in front of him.

"Milli," he said, sounding strained. "I-I don't feel good," he continued, reaching out to me with a shaky hand.

I quickly grabbed his cold, sweaty hand with mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm here, Miles. What can I do for you?" I asked softly, feeling sad to see him hurting.

"I don't know," he said, his nose still bleeding. "I suddenly got dizzy, and then my nose started bleeding."

"Okay, let's clean you up and get you sitting down," I told him, leading him to a nearby couch. I grabbed a bunch of tissues from the coffee table and started wiping his nose.

While I helped him, I noticed how much weight he'd lost in the last few weeks. His cheeks, which used to be round, were sunken now. His eyes seemed tired and puffy, and his skin was pale and almost see-through.

"Thank you, Milli," Miles said, sounding a bit stronger.

The memory lingers as I return to the present, my phone chiming with new messages. The vivid recollection leaves me with goosebumps and a racing heart. That night had been one of the toughest, a memory etched deeply in my mind.

Shaking off the powerful flashback, I refocus on Brooke's message. She and Payson decided to hit a party. I don't feel like joining, but I send them well wishes and turn my attention to texting Miles.

Milli

Wait, you got hit in the head, are you okay?

Miles

Yeah, all good, Baby Sutton.

---