Page 91 of Fragile

“I can’t say right now. But talk to his dad.”

Anxiety swirls in my gut. What if he took something? He wouldn’t, right? He’s been doing so good. But then, when I think about how he was on the field, he wasn’t himself.

“Can we see him?” I ask, desperation seeping into my tone.

Jake shakes his head. “Not yet. They’re keeping him under observation for a bit longer. He’s stable but sleeping. They want to be sure before they let anyone in.”

“I’m calling Coach again,” Seb says, phone in hand.

He walks away, and I just stare at his back as he talks into his phone, head down.

“Coach says he’s called Mark, and as far as we know, he left hours ago so he could be here any time.”

He releases a ragged breath, and Indie takes his hand. “Let’s go get Miles some clothes to change into, maybe something goodto eat that isn’t hospital food too,” she suggests, giving me a look that says she’s taking him away for my benefit.

Seb nods, pulling her into his chest, holding on to her for dear life.

And then less than an hour after they leave, the one person who has the ability to make Miles’s world implode walks through the elevator doors.

Chapter forty-two

Miles

My eyes burn asI try to open them. Harsh, sterile light of the room greets me as I manage to blink once, a stinging pain shooting through my arm when I try to move. My head feels heavy, like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and there’s a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes. I blink to focus, but everything is blurry around the edges.

Where am I? The last thing I remember is the football field, feeling a bit dizzy, then…nothing.

I move to lift my arm, but a sharp pain stops me. Glancing down, I see a heavy plaster cast encasing it. Well, that’s new.

I shift slightly, wincing as the movement sends another wave of pain ricocheting through my head. The pain is relentless, a burning, searing ache that radiates from my arm and spreads like wildfire throughout my entire body. Every breath feels like it’s being dragged out of me, each one more painful than the last. I can’t escape it; no matter if I move or stay still, it’s there, gnawing at me, refusing to let go. My head pounds with every beat of my heart, a dull, rhythmic thud that makes it hard tothink about anything but the agony. My throat is dry when I swallow, my mouth a desert, and I’m terrified that if I move even an inch, the pain will swallow me whole.

“Jesus,” I croak, giving up and lying back down, looking up at the bleak white squared ceiling.

The door to the room bangs open, making me jump, and my dad storms in, his face twisted in anger. Behind him, I can hear the frantic shouts of nurses and doctors telling him to calm down, to stop, but he ignores them, his eyes locked on me.

“What the fuck did you do?” he sneers, his eyes bloodshot and full of fire.

I want to defend myself, but I’m guessing with the toxin screening, the docs found something in my blood. Something that definitely wasn’t amphetamines. Not even I know what it was, but I know it wasn’t my usual.

“Dad,” I begin, my voice weak and husky. I close my eyes, trying to block out his rage, but it’s impossible. It’s always impossible.

“Look at me!” he shouts, and I flinch, my eyes snapping open. “Look at me and tell me you weren’t on something.”

I know, he knows, we all know, I can’t do that. But hell, I can barely think straight, my head throbbing with every beat of my heart, but he doesn’t care. He never cares. I take responsibility for what I did tonight, but I can’t pacify him. Whatever I say won’t matter. He wants to hear me say it, that I’m finally the fuckup he thinks I’ve been all along.

“Mr. Cooper.” The doctor’s commanding voice cuts through the noise. “You need to leave now, or I will have security escort you out.”

For a moment, my dad just stands there, glaring at me, his chest heaving like he’s about to explode again.

“Mr. Cooper,” the doctor repeats, and my dad relents, spinning around and stalking out of my room.

The doctor sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before turning to me.

“Are you okay, Miles?” he asks, his voice gentle now. He grabs my chart and stares at the machines next to me while making notes.

I nod, but the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m okay, if I’ll ever be okay again. All I know is that my head hurts, my arm is broken, and the last thing I remember is playing in one of the biggest games of my life. And now…everything feels shattered.

“I don’t want to pressure you, especially after that. But I need to know how long you’ve been mixing amphetamines with cocaine.”

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