Page 32 of Game Changer

The nurse rests a hand on my shoulder for a second. I barely feel it.

“Let’s go,” she says softly. “She needs you.”

I nod, but the truth is I needhermore, but Lily needs her most of all.

The moment I step into the room, my breath catches in my throat.

She’s barely recognizable.

Her skin is pale—too pale—like all the warmth has been drained from her. There’s a deep bruise blooming across her forehead, dark purple against her soft skin, trailing down to her cheekbone. A thick bandage is wrapped around her head, stark white against her hair, which is tangled and dull.

Tubes. So many fucking tubes.

A ventilator tube snakes from her mouth, forcing air into her lungs with a steady, mechanical hiss. Wires and electrodes are stuck to her chest, her arms, her temples, all connected to machines that beep and hum in a rhythm that doesn’t belong to her. An IV drips something clear into the bruised skin of her hand. The one Lily loves to hold.

Her right arm is in a cast, elevated slightly by a pillow, while her left is wrapped in gauze from elbow to wrist. The hospital gown swallows her small frame, but even through the thin fabric, I can see the way her ribs rise and fall too slowly, too carefully.

Her leg. Fuck, her leg.

A thick brace stretches from her thigh down to her ankle, holding her femur together. More bandages wrap around herknee, her shin. I can barely see the parts of her that aren’t covered in medical tape, gauze, or bruises.

She looks fragile, like one wrong move might shatter her completely.

But the worst part?

Her eyes. They’re closed, bruised lids taped closed, something about that fucks with me hard. Lily can’t see her like this. She just can’t.

I step closer, my throat burning, my fingers itching to touch her, but I’m also so afraid I’ll hurt her. I pull the chair closer to her bed, my fingers hesitating before I take her hand. It’s cold—too cold—but I hold on, anyway, because I don’t know what else to do.

“Hey, you,” I whisper, my voice rough, uneven. “It’s me. I’m here.”

The ventilator hums, the machines beep in a steady rhythm, but she doesn’t react. She just … lies there. Still. Silent. And that scares the hell out of me.

I clear my throat and try again. “Listen, I know you’re in there. And I know if you could, you’d probably roll your eyes and tell me to stop being so dramatic. But I need you to hear me, okay? You have to wake up. You have to fight.”

I blink fast, but the lump in my throat doesn’t go away. I squeeze her hand gently, careful of the IV, needing some kind of connection, even if she can’t feel it.

“Lily needs you, Linds.”

My chest tightens.

“Look, I know we’re not … us and shit, but you’re still my family. And more than that, you’re Lily’s whole world.”

I swallow hard and lean forward, my forehead almost resting against her hand.

“I don’t know how to do this without you. I don’t know how to be both of us. You’re the one who knows exactly how to fixher braids when she won’t let me touch her hair. The one who sings to her when she wakes up crying in the middle of the night. You’re her favorite person in the world. And I need you to come back to her.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “So, you fight, okay? I don’t care how hard it is. I don’t care how long it takes—you fight. You come back to her.”

I press a kiss to the back of her hand, holding it against my forehead, breathing her in, even though all I smell is antiseptic and hospital sheets.

“You’re family, one of my best friends,” I whisper. “And I’m not ready to lose you.”

Then I sit there, gripping her hand, listening to the machines keep her alive, praying she hears me.

By four a.m., there’s still no change.

I stand up and stretch my legs then set out to figure out how to take care of Lily best while Lindsey heals, and fuck … I have to contact her parents, right? She’d want that, wouldn’t she?

I stand, and as soon as my ass leaves the seat, Molly Sparks peeks her head in the ICU room that they moved Lindsey to just about an hour ago.

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