Page 105 of First Love, Second Draft

“Huh?” Gracie swiped the moisture that had gathered on her cheeks. Both the doctor and her dad were staring at her.

“Something wrong?” the doctor asked, then immediately winced. “Right. Stupid question.” He stood and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Your dad’s in good hands. I promise. We’re going to do everything we can to—”

“She’s married to the pitcher,” her dad interrupted. “That’s why she’s crying.” He gave a weak laugh that led into several coughs.

“You’re married to Noah Parker?” The doctor’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. “No way! That is so cool. Wait—what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at the—oh, right. Of course.” Two red splotches flooded his cheeks. He cleared his throat and patted her shoulder again. “How about I find a nurse to bring in that morphine?”

“Thank you,” she mumbled as the doctor rushed past the curtain and she moved over to help her dad readjust his oxygen mask.

His coughing spell subsided just as a commercial break started. “You need anything before I step out?” Gracie asked.

“New body?”

“I was thinking more along the line of some ice chips.”

He held her gaze. Patted the space next to him. “Stay. Watch the game with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You’d deny a dying man his last wish?”

A commercial for chicken wings filled the screen. Why couldn’t his last wish be a bucket of those? “I need to call Mona. Tell her what’s going on.”

“Call her from right here.”

Before she could come up with a good excuse, the announcers were back on the screen, surrounded by a flood of noise. “What a night for a ball game,” one of the announcers said as the camera swooped over the stadium with an aerial view. “Game Seven. Seattle and St. Louis. Listen to those fans.”

Gracie’s legs shook. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Racing from the room, she darted down the closest stairwell, out of the hospital, and didn’t stop rushing until she’d crossed the entire parking lot and a black metal fence blocked her from going any further.

Too much. She clung to the rails and gasped for air. This whole thing was too much. Dad. The game. The hospital.Noah.

She dug her phone from her purse and tried calling Mona. When the call went to voicemail, Gracie hung up and tried again. Then again.

“Where are you?” Gracie yelled after the fourth attempt went to Mona’s voicemail again. She sent three back-to-back text messages toCALL ME!then reached for the fence rails. Tried slowing her breathing. Tried pushing down the panic.

“God, I can’t do this,” she whimpered. “I need someone.” Where was her sister? Where was anybody? “I can’t keep doing this. Not by myself.”

I never said you had to.

“What?” Gracie twisted. Who’d said that?

She peered across the dark parking lot, not seeing anyone beneaththe pale splotches of security lighting. A motorcycle backfired and rumbled down the street a block over. Otherwise, silence. Until her phone pinged with a message.

Mona:What’s wrong?

Finally! Gracie texted back.Call me!

Gracie stood still and waited for her sister to call. Another text pinged through.

Mona:Can’t. What’s wrong?

“What’s wrong is I need my sister to call me,” Gracie muttered, texting furiously.Dad’s dying! CALL ME!

Nothing came through for several seconds. Not even the little bubble dots to show her sister was responding. Finally, after a good three minutes, Mona called. “Is Dad okay?”

“When does the worddyingever mean that someone is okay? It means they’redying! And where are you? I can barely hear you.”

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