Page 48 of The Girl He Loves

I clasp my hands to my cheeks. “I’m sorry I accused you. I—”

Dax holds up his hand as he straightens. “I get it. Let’s get out of here. The pain meds are kicking in and making me tired.”

The doctor reminds Dax of his weight-bearing restrictions and his follow-up orthopedic appointment. He thanks Dax for his autograph. An orderly comes out from a room marked Storage holding crutches.

“Finally found some big enough,” he says and hands them to Dax. “But you still have to ride the wheelchair out of here.”

“Let me go pull up the van,” I say. “Come on, Tyler.”

“I’ll wait with Dax,” he says, and takes Dax’s hand.

I nod, cast Dax an uncertain look, feeling as if my apology wasn’t enough, and wanting to say more, but after a moment’s hesitation, I head outside to bring the van around.

We get Dax tucked into the minivan and Doug says to Tyler, “I’ll send your mom the video of your touchdown. Well done, kiddo.” They tap fists. Tyler beams.

Dax says, “I can’t wait to see the part where I go down.”

“It’s priceless, dude.” Doug gives Dax a slap on the shoulder, then walks away.

I pause, with my hand on the gear shifter, “Where are you staying?”

“Hotel on the beach.” Dax reclines his seat and closes his eyes.

“Where do you live right now?” I can’t believe I don’t know the answer.

“I was staying at my parents’. I haven’t looked into real estate since I wasn’t sure where I would land.” His voice is quiet as if he’s about to drift off.

“You can’t stay in a hotel by yourself.” I’m thinking through the options.

“Please don’t make my mommy come and get me,” Dax says with a laugh.

“You can stay with us.” Taking care of him would assuage me of my guilt to a degree.

“That would be awesome,” Tyler says.

Dax puts his thumbs up.

“Let’s go by your hotel and get your stuff,” I suggest.

Dax cracks an eye open. “I don’t have the energy to get out of this car but one time.”

“Is it a lot of stuff? I can go grab everything really quick. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

Still with one eye open Dax says, “You mean check out and stay with you?”

I nod and resist rolling my eyes. “Yeah, that’s what ‘stay with us’ means. Somehow I don’t think you’ll magically heal by tomorrow and be able to get on your bike and go about your business.”

Tyler adds, “In our house when you’re sick, Mom gives you the ironing board.”

Both of Dax’s eyes are open now and he looks over his shoulder at Tyler, wincing slightly from the move. “That sounds awful. Maybe you should [ital.] call my mom.”

Tyler laughs. “No, it means you can be on the couch with the ironing board next to you. It’s loaded with all your favorite foods, and you get all the TV you can watch.”

Dax smiles at me. “Sounds like heaven. Sign me up.” He falls back against the seat, then digs in his front pocket. The right leg of his jeans has been cut off at the knee and he looks like a hot mess. His elbow is scraped, there’s a tear in the right shoulder of his shirt, and dirt on that side.

From his pocket, he pulls out his hotel key and hands it to me. I stick it in the cup holder and head back across the bridge to the beachside.

An hour later, we’re back at my house with Dax tucked in on the couch. I had to cut his jeans off him entirely. He’s now wearing baggy athletic shorts and a clean T-shirt, and snoring softly.

After a shower, I get Tyler to bed. It not until he’s breathing evenly in a sound sleep that I take a deep, freeing breath. He’s okay. Dax is okay. Everyone is okay. My nerves are shot.

For what’s likely the tenth time, I watch the video Doug sent me of Tyler running to make a touchdown and Dax running backwards down the field cheering him on. My heart swells. His affection for Tyler is clear. I’m relieved because my attachment to Dax grows by the minute. And that comes with a fresh fear I’m not sure I know how to manage.

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