Page 25 of Rocking the Receiver
The ride from Chelsea to Brooklyn takes forever. The city lights blur as we make our way to the hospital. My mind is racing with worry. My shoulder touching Elliot, I brief him on Sally’s Thanksgiving plans. For a split second, I again consider reaching out to Nathan or even his best friend, Virgil Blake. I’m pretty sure when I called her this morning, Sally mentioned he would be there, too. I do have his number for some reason, but I’ve only met him a couple of times during art shows.
Can’t do either. One thing at a time.
Elliot’s pinky rubs the back of my hand. Even with the small surface it covers, it warms my heart. I whisper a thank you, to which he nods.
Upon our arrival, I rush to the front desk and introduce myself. Silently, Elliot produces my ID that I don’t recall getting in the first place. “I’m here for Sally Mitchell.” The urgency in my tone freaks me out.
Am I overreacting?
The nurse directs us to the waiting area. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”
We sit down, the sterile smell of the hospital enveloping us along with the muttered conversations of strangers. I miss his touch, but his reassuring muffled words help. I like that he doesn’tpretend that everything’s going to be alright. Nobody knows that. Still, I’m grateful for his anchoring presence, making the excruciating wait a little more bearable.
Eventually, a doctor approaches to deliver more information. “There’s been a carjacking incident. Miss Mitchell is in a coma.”
My face falls.
“What?”
CHAPTER 12
SOMETHING ABOUT US
Elliot
Who would callfor hours daily to maintain the connection with his devastated long-distance non-boyfriend? Who would allow him to vent or make sure he’s listening when they babble about random topics in order to keep him company despite the distance? Who would be there for him, ready to hop on the next flight, even if it meant the possibility of jeopardizing their grades?
That would be me.
Before Thanksgiving, we favored texts to calls, but I quickly realized Rupert needed more support. Seeing him so affected by his friend’s accident rips me open. He sounds hollow, even more so when he mentions that she hasn’t come out of the coma.
Don’t get me wrong, I get it and would probably react the same way if I’d been that close to someone. Erecting walls to keep my secrets safe keeps people at bay, which, in turn, prevents me from building such relationships. I love what my brother and I have, but he’s family, so it doesn’t compare. We may text almost daily, but he isn’t privy to the real me, and it sucks. I’d hateto learn that he’s hiding things from me or lying by omission. Isn’t it ironic that it’s exactly what I do? And that’s not about to change anytime soon.
Somehow, Rupert and I managed to build some trust, and I’m glad that he eventually opened up to me, disclosing bits and pieces about his unique relationship with Sally. I’m envious of Tim, who had the opportunity to meet her several times. No wonder everyone believed their fake relationship, though.
I can’t confide in Chris, although he’s the prime witness of how Rupert’s zombie state troubles me. It’s a miracle that I stay focused in class and on the field. Guilt gnaws at me. I do what I can, but would simply prefer to be by his side. It won’t happen, not anytime soon anyway.
Meanwhile, Rupert put his life on hold to be there for Sally when she wakes up. Hardy was understanding enough to cut him some slack when Rupert told him he wouldn’t make it to their upcoming gigs. The Whiskey Barrels tweaked a few dates to accommodate their lead guitarist without harming their tour. Regardless, I’m in awe of his selflessness.
What I didn’t expect, though, is my brother barging in on me. Well, he didn’t show up unannounced. That’s not who he is. He texted me about his business trip to Texas Hill Country. I didn’t pay much attention to his plans, too preoccupied by practice, games, and the fact that I kept debating on booking a flight and showing up at Rupert’s doorstep.
I’d never expected to face Tim on such a short notice! I’m being an ungrateful jerk because I’m actually genuinely happy to be sitting across from him at Hand Wing Brewing Co. Needless to say, I’ve picked the burger joint on purpose, in hopes of meeting some of my favorite players. I followed the construction of ATEXStadium—home of my beloved Troopers—from day one. Being a UT Austin student definitely has its perks: The Troopers mentor our team and sometimes even train with us.
What’s not a perk, though, is that I can’t have a taste of the beer Tim ordered since I’m not even twenty yet. Chris, who tagged along, pretended he didn’t notice my irritation earlier while munching on my chicken sandwich. What can I say? I hate that I can drink in my own country and can’t do it here. Granted, I shouldn’t indulge in beer anyway.
“Huh?” I look up at my brother; the crease between his brows tells me that I’ve missed more than I thought.
He deposits his empty glass on the coaster to his left. “Where did your mind go again, bro?” His voice is laced with concern. I like that he never calls me “little brother.” Leaning towards the other side of the booth, his upper body almost touches the wooden table as he extends his arm and ruffles my hair. Such an unusual gesture… “Is the missed championship weighing on you? I’ve seen you play. You’re fast, assertive, and inspired.” I appreciate his effort, considering he doesn’t know the first thing about American Football. His attention turns to Chris. “You two are so fun to watch.” My roommate beams between mouthfuls his juicy steak.We would’ve been fun to watch in the postseason, too, I think bitterly.
Chris nudges my elbow on the table. His wide eyes are glued to a door that leads to a private room where football events are held for the happy few.
With my back to it, I can’t see what caught his attention, but he’s already babbling, “Oh, my God, Elliot…” His Adam’s apple gets stuck in his throat. He opens his mouth to continue, but someone behind me is faster.
“Hey, guys.” A hand lands on my shoulder for a split second, and I gawk at the massive frame of my favorite NFL wide receiver, who is now standing at the edge of our booth. He tilts his head in acknowledgement.
Does he remember our names?
His arms are crossed in front of his chest, which showcases his bulging muscles. “Ready for my TED Talk next week?” A chuckle follows.
