Page 32 of Every Chance After

My phone buzzes in my hand again. It’s Colin, asking me to dinner at their house tonight.

A minute later, a text from Luke, inviting me to the bar later for half-price beers.

Mom must’ve sent out the family Bat-Signal.

I toss another ball for the dogs. Hannibal gets it first this time, promptly rolling around in a patch of grass as his victory lap.

It could’ve happened to anyone. There’s nothing to feel bad about.

I groan over Mom’s text while yet another comes in. Marty—my only sibling not in town. He joined the Peace Corps, currently doing humanitarian work in Haiti.

Hey, you okay? Mom sent an all-caps text for me to reach out. What’s going on?

A turtle prowls around my line, ready to steal my bait. Not that anything’s biting. I reel in an empty hook, debating whether to cast it again, and consider my family’s onslaught.

They mean well, and asking them to back off wouldn’t do any good. And maybe they shouldn’t. If one of my siblings had caused the accident, I’d be by their side, ensuring they were okay. I don’t let family down. Not like I used to.

Are you family?The nurse’s voice replays in my head along with my lie.Yes.

“Shit,” I mutter, getting up and calling for the dogs. Distraction is only temporary, and what’s the point?

I return all their texts, politely refusing their offers while reassuring them that I’m okay.

But I’m not. How can I stop thinking about her? And what kind of shithead would I be if I did?

Besides, I made a promise.

It’s midafternoon when I arrive at the hospital and snake my way to her room. The Valentine’s Day balloons and bouquets are gone, and the place is quiet. I steel my nerves with a deep breath, expecting the worst. The Sullivans will probably kick me out within five minutes, and part of me wants them to. If she or they don’t want me around, staying away will be easy. I promise myself to avoid confrontations, if possible. All I need is to see that she’s okay.

Finding Marina dressed and standing over an open suitcase on the hospital bed surprises me almost as much as finding her alone. Sunlight streams through the window behind her, dancing through the thin sundress she wears and delicately revealing her soft curves. Her long hair is pulled to the side, waving lightly down her chest. She looks… lovely.

It’s a relief, seeing her this way. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look normal—not lying on the ground or in a bed or bleeding or in pain.

But the pain is there. She winces with her movements, struggling to haphazardly fold the messy clothes pile with one hand while balancing a cane with the other. She closes her eyes to the pain, almost like she’s shutting it in.

A light knuckle rap against the open door brings her attention to me. A warm smile miraculously replaces her obvious discomfort.

“Tripp Grady Tripp.” She drops what looks like a bikini into her suitcase and waves me in. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Um, really?” I say.

“The guy who saved me and made me laugh while doing it? Of course.” She smirks. “Aren’t you happy to see me? Standing and everything?”

I nod. “Very happy.”

She smiles wide, her brow pointing with suspicion. “You don’tlookhappy.”

“This is how I always look,” I defend awkwardly, not for the first time. Once, Aunt Elena secretly organized an office pool where everyone took bets on their attempts to make me smile. She handed me the winnings at the end of the day because I never did. “I’d do a happy dance, but I don’t want to make you jealous.”

“Thatwouldmake me jealous,” she laughs, “but don’t worry. I’ll be dancing in no time. Promise.”

I stand on the other side of the bed, unsure what to do or say. I remember Dad in a room like this after his heart surgery, how full and alive it was with laughter and chatting. Gil was near-panicking over the crowded space. Circling his bed that day felt like healing for us all. He’d be okay, and we, his cheerleaders, would be there to ensure it.

There’s no cheer here except from her. Marina’s quiet room is weirdly devastating.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

She shrugs lightly—a move that makes her wince. “It’s just me.”

---