Page 53 of The Rookie's Sister

I stand, leaning down to brush a kiss across his forehead. The skin there is crepe-thin but still warm. “I’ll be back soon,” I whisper.

He gives my hand one more feeble squeeze before I slip out the door, his words ringing in my ears. Trust your gut. As I wander the halls in search of caffeine, it hits me. I don’t need coffee. I need answers.

Something about this miracle surgery doesn’t sit well in my gut. I wind through the labyrinth of halls, not toward the cafeteria, but down to the nurses’ station on Dad’s floor. Luckily, it’s the bubbly animal-scrub nurse from before manning the desk.

I paste on a friendly grin as I approach. “Hi there, I wanted to say thank you for the wonderful news about my dad’s surgery today. It means the world to us.”

She beams, cheeks plumping. “Oh, it was my pleasure! I’m just so glad Dr. Alden could fit your father in.”

“It really is incredible.” I lean in, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’d love to send Dr. Alden a little thank-you gift for making room in his busy schedule. Would you know if someone on staff helped make the arrangements? I’d like to include them too.”

The nurse tilts her head, tapping a pen to her lip. “You know, now that you mention it, I think the person who reached out to Dr. Alden said something about a charity event? For the children’s hospital, maybe? Does that ring any bells?”

Everything inside me goes still. Charity event. Like the one Xavier was helping organize last month. The one I teased him about over dinner recently. No. It can’t be...

As if on cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down to see a new message from none other than Xavier himself.

Hey you. Any update on your dad’s surgery? Let me know if you need anything today.

The words blur before me. I mumble some excuse to the nurse and hurry back upstairs, heart and mind racing equally fast. Back in Dad’s room I stand gripping the visitor’s chair, the crossword page crumpling in my fist. It’s suddenly hard to breathe around the knot in my throat.

Xavier must somehow have found out about Dad’s condition worsening. About the impossibly long wait for Dr. Alden. And he used his connections to clear the way, no questions asked. Out of the goodness of his heart. Oh, my fucking god.

I sink into the chair, knees jelly-soft. If this is true, it changes everything. Whatever mess happened between us, Xavier still cared enough to move mountains for my family. And I don’t know how to process the magnitude of that.

Dad snuffles in his sleep, dragging me back from the brink of a full meltdown. I smooth the wrinkled newspaper over my lap, staring sightlessly at the black and white squares. The not-so-distant memory of our last conversation plays on a loop in my mind.

Xavier’s unexpected appearance on my running path after days of tense silence. His searching eyes and hesitant smile. That question he posed, so softly it nearly got swallowed by the wind. What if this—us—were real? Was he seeking me out all those times? Is it me who’s been sabotaging this relationship from the get-go?

My pulse kicks just remembering the vulnerable hope etched across his face. Like I held the fragile future balanced in my hands. But the timing was all wrong. With dad’s relapse, the club pressuring Jeff—I panicked. Shoved it all into a box and walked away.

And now here Xavier is, weeks later, silently moving mountains for my family. Making the impossible possible, just because he knew I needed it.

The knot in my throat swells, emotion spilling over. Because Dad was right about another thing. Sometimes, you don’t get an unlimited amount of chances to be brave. And I’ll be damned if I waste this one.

I dash the tears from my cheeks, a new purpose steeling my spine. However terrifying and messy this gets, I owe it to myself—to Xavier—to find out if this thing between us could be real.

I glance at Dad’s sleeping form, remembering his advice. Trust your gut. Well, right now, my gut is screaming that I need to have a very overdue conversation with Chicago’s star wide receiver. Preferably sometime before hell freezes over.

TWENTY-FOUR

XAVIER

The soles of my shoes squeak rhythmically against the waxed linoleum with each anxious stride as I pace the sterile hospital corridor, every nerve in my body pulled taut. How long has it been since they wheeled Charles into surgery? Minutes? Hours? Time drips by agonizingly slowly in this place, like sap oozing down a tree.

I halt mid-step, raking a hand through my hair. Wallowing in worry won’t make the clock tick any faster. I force a deep breath into my lungs, but the inhale catches jaggedly in my throat. Damn this helplessness. I’m used to being in control on the field, directing each play, but here I’m just another spectator awaiting fate’s judgment.

At least Emma’s holding it together better than me. She’s sitting stiffly in one of the waiting room chairs, leafing through a dog-eared romance novel without really reading it. I noticed her arriving earlier but kept my distance, not wanting to intrude on her family’s privacy. But I can’t tear my eyes away for long. Every few minutes, my gaze drifts back to her silhouette, as if the mere sight of her could calm the storm raging inside me.

A swinging door swings open down the hall, ejecting a petite nurse in light blue scrubs. She totters toward us purposefully on soft-soled shoes. I halt, pulse thundering in my ears. This is it, the moment I’ve been bracing for. Beside me, Emma’s head snaps up, eyes widening. She tosses the book aside and jumps to her feet. I resist the urge to go to her and put my arm around her shoulders so we could hear the news side-by-side.

“The surgery was a success,” the nurse announces briskly. “He’s stable in recovery now.”

Sweet relief cascades through me, so overpowering I have to lean against the wall for support. Beside me, Emma drops back into her chair, pressing both palms over her mouth as she blinks back tears.

“Thank you,” she whispers hoarsely. I echo her gratitude, the simple phrase laden with days’ worth of bottled up fear and anticipation.

The nurse smiles. “Of course. We’ll continue monitoring Mr. Thompson closely over the next 48 hours, but the outlook is very positive. Dr. Alden will be out shortly to discuss the details with you.”

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