Page 75 of Hat Trick Daddies

“I don’t know yet,” Nick says, his voice cracking. “But he asked for you. He’s been asking for you.”

I hang up without another word, jumping to my feet. Dad looks at me, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Brooks,” I manage, grabbing my keys. “He’s hurt. I have to go to the hospital.”

Dad follows me to the door, his brow furrowed. “Brooks? Is he the guy you’ve been seeing?”

I hesitate, fumbling with my coat. “Yes…no…Dad, it’s really complicated.”

“How complicated could it be?” he asks, but I don’t have time to explain. I dash out the door, my heart pounding in my chest.

The drive to the hospital is a blur of flashing streetlights and frantic thoughts. What if he’s seriously injured? What if I don’t get there in time?

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away, focusing on the road. When I finally pull into the ER parking lot, I barely remember the drive. My tires screech as I park, and I leap out of the car, running toward the entrance.

The cold night air burns my lungs, but I don’t stop.

The automatic doors slide open with a hiss, and the sterile scent of the hospital hits me immediately, antiseptic, latex, and worry all rolled into one. The waiting room is a sea of anxious faces, and I hurry to the front desk.

“I’m here for Brooks Bailey,” I tell the receptionist, my voice trembling.

She types something into her computer before nodding. “Room 214. Take the elevators to the second floor and check in with the nurse’s station.”

I thank her and sprint toward the elevators, my heart pounding with every step. It feels like it takes forever for the elevator to arrive, and even longer for it to reach the second floor.

When I finally step out, I find myself face-to-face with Nick and Tyler, their expressions as worried as I feel.

“We won’t all fit in there,” Nick tells me, his voice taut. “We can hang out in the hall.”

“Okay,” I agree, stepping through the door of the room Brooks is in.

As I step into Brooks’ hospital room, the sterile, white walls feel cold and unwelcoming. The beeping of the machines is rhythmic, but it doesn’t soothe me.

Brooks is lying in the bed, his leg propped up with a brace on his knee, and his face looks drawn and pale. The sight of him like this tugs at my heart.

“Ally,” he says, his voice low but warm, his lips pulling into a weak smile. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

I hurry to his side, my chest tightening. “Of course, I came. Are you okay? What’s the prognosis?”

His smile falters, and he looks away. “Not great,” he admits quietly. “The doctors said there’s a tear in the meniscus and a break. Might need surgery. They’re not sure if I’ll get back to a hundred percent.”

I feel a pang of guilt as I reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “Let me take a look tomorrow. We’ll figure something out. You’re not going through this alone.”

He looks back at me, his eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry, Ally.”

“For what?” I ask, taken aback.

“For making you feel like you couldn’t talk to me. We all miss you, you know. It’s not the same without you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. I squeeze his hand tighter and offer him a small smile. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve been…going through some stuff. But I’m here now.”

As we sit in the quiet room, the soft murmur of the machines filling the silence, my phone vibrates on the tray table.

I glance at the screen and freeze as I read Kenzie’s text.

>> Let me know if you need me there for support at your appointment next week!

My stomach flips as I hastily flip the phone over, but Brooks has already seen it. His brows knit together in confusion. “What appointment?” he asks, his voice steady but curious.

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