Page 261 of Wrath

My stomach is nothing but knots.

“You okay?” I whisper as some people take an X-ray of his leg.

He shakes his head—this tiny movement. I notice that his eyes look weird. There are chills on his arms. Something dings, a machine, and someone pulls the mask off his face. Ezra never moves his eyes off mine as a nurse fits him with new oxygen tubing.

“You’re being so brave, angel.” I stroke his hand. “Everything is gonna be okay, I promise.”

“I wanna go home,” he says. His lips are barely moving. “Call Luke.”

I’m relieved when his eyes drop shut and a few of the nurses leave our area. A minute later, a tall, white-haired surgeon comes in. He’s affiliated with the Rose Bowl, he says. He stays on-call during the game in case a player gets hurt. The guy seems to be a fan of Ezra, so he’s pretty nice when he talks to me. He says basically that it’s an ankle fracture.

“Not so complicated till he moved and made it compound” —the man gives a look that’s almost like an eyeroll— “but it’s nothing we can’t fix. The X-rays don’t look too bad.”

Ezra’s eyes lift open just after the surgeon leaves our space.

“Mills?” he whispers.

Since there’s no one in here right now, I lean down and kiss his temple. “Yeah, my angel?”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tears are blurring my eyes. I wipe them and stroke his hair back off his clammy forehead. “You want me to get somebody?”

“No.” It’s whimpered. Then his lips are trembling. “Don’t leave. Please?”

“No way. I’m never leaving, angel. I’ll be here till you go. Then I’ll take you home and take care of you, okay?”

His eyes look so miserable. When nurses come back in to start the pre-surgery prep, he’s dozing again, so I tell one of them he’s pretty scared of hospitals.

“When he wakes up, somebody has to get me. And not make him wait. You know what I mean? It’s a big thing for him. Serious.”

She nods like she understands, and I can only pray she does. I text my mom and Carl and stroke Ezra’s arm while they bustle around him, doing things—I don’t know—to his body, putting on more wires and stickers.

His eyes peek open once or twice, and I say, “Just look at me, angel. It’s just me and you, okay? I’m with you.”

He nods once. One of the nurses pushes something into his IV, and his hand goes limp.

“We’re ready,” she says. “Time to wheel him back.” Her brows scrunch. “You are…? I don’t think I got your name.”

“Josh Miller,” I tell her.

I’m surprised when Ezra’s eyes open. “My husband,” he says, the words only slightly slurred.

The woman’s eyes pop open wider. “Oh, okay.” She smiles, looking mildly amused.

I laugh. Ezra’s eyes pull open again. He gives me this goofy little smile, and then they take him.

Six

Josh

We’re apart for a little over three hours. In that time, I talk to Mom and Carl, text with Luke McDowell, field a visit from Bama’s head coach, and receive Ezra’s luggage from the players’ hotel—plus a bunch of food that Luke and his man, Vance Rayne, had delivered. I get an automated-looking text informing me the surgery’s wrapping up and feel a wave of gratitude that Ez did okay.

I figure it’ll be a bit before they call me back, so I’m bringing the first bite of some yummy-smelling pasta stuff to my mouth when a nurse calls me back to recovery. I box the food up in a millisecond and sling all the bags I have over my shoulders. I can’t get down that white hallway fast enough.

My heart is racing as I step into the recovery room, and more so when I see that it’s partitioned by the same curtains that I think freaked him out before. But when the nurse ushers me into his space, Ezra’s still sleeping. He looks like Sleeping Beau on the bed, his head tipped back slightly with a towel rolled under his neck. His leg is propped on pillows, wrapped in what lookslike a mile of ACE bandages. I notice he’s still got the oxygen tubing on. His body—all except that leg—is swathed in white blankets.

“We brought you back before he’s fully awake, so I’ll be monitoring him as you wait here,” the nurse tells me.

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