Page 104 of False Start

Our mandatory mini-camp was right around the corner. A precursor to the preseason starting in earnest and the first time the veterans met the rookies. Coach Simmons held a pool party at his house as a sort of mixer before the first day of the camp.

Rob shrugged. “Could work. Not exactly romantic, but it sure as hell means you’re serious. Are you serious?”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, and I didn’t really blame him. My track record wasn’t great. But then again, I’d never wanted anyone like I wanted Kit.

THIRTY-FOUR

KIT

The heat smackedme in the face on the way out of the hospital. I stood at the entrance to the Emergency Room and closed my eyes before licking my lips, the sting of salt water hitting my tongue.

One.

I inhaled car exhaust and humid summer air.

Two.

A hot breeze coated my skin in perspiration. My pant leg clung to my shin. My brain pounded against my temple.

Three.

In the parking lot, a car honked its horn. An ambulance wailed. The automatic doors behind me whirred open and closed again. Someone sitting outside the ER asked another person for a smoke.

Four.

I opened my eyes, blinking against the sunlight. Blurriness faded from my sight, and I watched as a red sedan pulled up in front of the door. An elderly man eased his way out. The pink scrubs I’d worn this morning were gone, replaced by a drab blue set of Operating Room scrubs. There was a dot of blood on my knee.

Five.

I stopped myself from wiping the blood away. It wasn’t mine, and I sure as hell wasn’t going back into the lab to clean up. The grounding technique I’d learned in therapy after dad died did nothing for my nerves. The tightness in my chest grew, and my heart beat against my chest, a reminder of my dad’s heart attack. Would I die of a heart attack?

No. I had anxiety. I was stressed.

I pushed aside the feeling, the thoughts, and I barreled down the street before someone asked for directions or hit me up for money. Despite the heat, I kept up a brisk pace, eager to get home. Eager to get out of these scrubs. Eager to wash the blood off my arm and probably out of my hair. Eager to lie down.

The stress I’d built up over the course of a very long shift in the blood bank didn’t dissipate as I walked home. Instead, it built as I replayed the events of the day: the frantic call from the operating room that came just a little too late and the frenzied whirlwind as I issued one unit of blood after another. Blood, plasma, platelets, clearing out the stockpile kept in the lab.

My fingers shook as I fumbled to open the door of my apartment. Derek had finally come home three nights ago, but he had a date with Gavin that evening. And I’d been avoiding Trent’s poorly veiled requests to hang out, scared to find out where we stood without a rally and an empty apartment to keep us together.

“Hey.” Trent’s voice startled me as I walked into my apartment. He sat on the couch, phone in one hand. His face morphed from a friendly smile into a concerned frown. “Hey, are you okay?”

Relief flooded me as he stood, folding me up in his arms. He cradled my head as his other hand slipped around my waist. His quiet hushes broke through the pounding in my head. Icollapsed my head against his chest until the grip on my chest loosened.

“What’s wrong, Kitten?” he murmured into my hair, kissing the top of my head.

“I had a really terrible day,” I choked out, holding back sobs. “A surgery went sideways, it was really stressful, and I’ve got blood on me.”

Trent tensed. “Your blood?”

I shook my head, but he didn’t let go. “What are you even doing here?”

“I stopped by earlier to check on Derek and thought I’d stick around until you got home. I texted you, but you didn’t answer.”

My five-year-old phone burned through its battery before lunch, and I hadn’t had a chance to charge it. If I had, maybe I would have texted Trent and asked him to come over.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “It’s been days since I’ve seen you. It felt weird.”

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