Page 98 of Tight End

Scenarios tumble around my mind, each worse than the one before it.

My fingertips numb from pressing into the seats so hard.

It can’t end like this.

He has to pull through. After all he’s been through, after all he’s tried to correct in his life…it’s not fair for him to be yanked so viciously from it.

“You love him,” Jack says quietly.

I lean forward, my head in my hands. “I do. Not that it makes us right for each other. But fuck, I do.”

Jack rubs a hand down my back, his resigned sigh echoing in the small space.

“I hope you get the chance to tell him.”

“Me too,” I whisper.

I sit up straight against the seat. Jack turns the corner toward the hospital entrance and stops short. Police cars block off the road, flashing lights blinding me as Jack lowers his window.

Oneof the officers walks up to the window, barking about how nobody is getting through. Then he peers into the car, his jaw dropping when he sees us. “Oh, I’m sorry about that. Please go right ahead, gentlemen.”

Jack nods. “Thanks.”

The officer waves us around the barricade and the crowds of people horded around the top of the driveway. There are candles and flowers and pictures all around the perimeter. People hold up lighters, waving them in the brisk breeze, their faces somber. Some are tear-streaked.

Their expressions are like machine gun sucker punches right to my chest.

“It’s like he’s already—” I swallow hard but the words knot in my throat, choking me.

“Don’t say it,” Jack warns. “You won’t know anything until you get inside and talk to someone.”

We pull up to the revolving glass doors and I push open the truck door. I hop out of the truck on my good leg and pull my crutches from the floor of the backseat.

I don’t want to waste a single second.

Who knows how many more he might have?

“Sam, wait, let me help you,” Jack says.

I don’t. I can’t.

One of the crutches gets caught on the side of the door as I’m fishing it out. I give it a good tug and stumble backward a few steps as I pull it free. I stick them under my arms and hobble toward the door. I lean into the glass and give it a push, keeping it moving with my left shoulder. Once I’m inside, the smell of antiseptic cleaner immediately hits my nostrils. My gut churns, bile rising in the back of my throat when I see Allie’s tear-streaked face across the waiting room.

She runs over to me and hugs me tight.

My heart drops into my sneakers.

Please, no…

Chase is right behind her.

And in the corner is Martin, hunched over and hugging Jules tight.

“Is he okay?” I say, my voice hitching. “Tell me he’s going to be okay.”

They exchange a look and my stomach threatens to revolt.

Chase puts a hand on my arm. “Sit down.”

---