Page 90 of Fragile

Indie drove like someonepossessed to the hospital. Seriously, I’ve never seen her so road ragey before, but I’m grateful.

Or at least I was until two seconds ago.

“I’m sorry, I can’t give out information unless you’re family,” the receptionist, who’s only doing her job, tells us. I’m sure she gets this all the time, but I can’t help but snap.

“I’ve lived next door to him my entire life. He’s spent ninety percent of our childhood in my house, heismy family.” Tears sting my eyes as I try desperately to hold them back. I’m his family, dammit. In every way that matters, I’m his family. But the receptionist doesn’t know that, and it’s not her fault that she has to follow the rules.

She gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, honey. There isn’t anything I can do right now.”

Frustration wells up inside me, a tight knot forming in my chest. I glance over at Indie, who’s pacing back and forth, her anxiety almost palpable. The sterile smell of the hospital,the harsh fluorescent lights, and the murmur of distant conversations only add to my sense of helplessness.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep steady, going for gold this time. “Please,” I say, my tone softer now, almost pleading. “I just need to know if he’s okay.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate myself for it, because I need to be strong, but I can’t help it.

The receptionist’s expression softens, and for a moment, I think she might bend the rules, might just give me something—anything—to hold on to. But then she shakes her head, her professional mask slipping back into place. “I really wish I could help, but I can’t.”

Indie stops pacing and comes to stand beside me, her hand resting on my arm in silent support. “Let’s wait,” she says quietly.

I slump into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, my head in my hands. The minutes stretch into what feels like hours with no updates. He could be in surgery, he could bealone,and that thought is what has me sobbing into my best friend’s shoulder again.

“Quinn?” My brother’s familiar voice breaks through the haze of anxiety, making my head snap up. I blink through my tears and see him standing there, still in his jersey, mud covering ninety percent of him, sweaty and exhausted. His face is a mix of concern and something else—relief, maybe, or disbelief.

“Seb,” I say on an exhale, wiping at my face with the back of my hand, trying to pull myself together. He doesn’t hesitate; he’s by my side in an instant, dropping down to kneel in front of me. “They won’t tell us anything. We aren’t family.”

“He’s going to be okay, Quinn,” he says, though I’m not sure if he’s saying it to convince me or himself. “I know he will.”

“I can’t lose—”

“Don’t,” Seb cuts me off, taking my hand in his. “Don’t even think it. Miles is tough, he’s got this. He’ll be okay. We’re not losing anyone.”

I want to believe him, I really do. But the fear is still there, gnawing at me, refusing to let go. “Did you see more than me? I just saw him get hit.”

“I saw him go down too. He landed”—Seb swallows with a wince—“awkwardly. I think his arm might be broken, but I don’t know. He was out cold. They wouldn’t let me go with him.” His voice shakes, hanging on by a thread like I am.

My chest tightens. “Do you know who went with him?” I don’t know how much longer I can feel like everything is falling apart, it hurts so much. I lean into Indie’s side again and silent tears begin their descent once more.

“Team medic, I think.”

That does nothing to soothe the anxiety I feel. I haven’t seen the medic in here. Would he be waiting here? Would he be somewhere for family and friends? I have no idea.

“I need to move,” I say, standing and shaking out my hands.

Hours crawl by. My feet pound the floor as I pace back and forth, the repetitive motion sending dull aches through my legs. I clench and unclench my hands, shaking them out until a tingling numbness sets in. My cheer uniform clings to my skin, uncomfortable and sticky, adding to my frustration. Seb taps away at his phone, trying to reach the coach, but eventually, he lets out a sigh and shoves it back in his pocket. No doctors approach, no one offers any updates. The weight of exhaustion presses down on me, sinking me further into a restless, anxious state.

“Seb?” A guy in CLU training gear appears as he rounds the corner, his expression tense. The word "medic" is emblazoned across his hoodie, and I feel a small wave of relief wash over me.

“Jake, fuck, thank god you’re here. Have you been here the whole time with Miles?” Seb asks, standing to greet him.

He nods. “In the family waiting area, over there.” He points behind him. “I asked Coach to call Miles’s family because he’s had to have surgery on his arm. It was a displaced fracture so they went in to mend the bone. It went well, though.”

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, my heart thudding in anticipation.

Jake hesitates, a shadow crossing his face. “He’s got concussion too, but…I need to talk to his parents first before I tell you anything else.”

“Just his dad,” I correct, my voice dropping. “His mom passed when he was younger.”

Jake's expression softens. “I’m sorry. I know you are all close. You should definitely talk to his dad after he’s seen him.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘before I tell you anything else.' There’s more?” my brother asks, eyebrows drawn.

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