Page 65 of The Fall
No, no, no, no?—
I’m in a hospital, but where the fuck is Blair? Did they pull him out? Did anyone else?—
My head feels like it’s being ripped in two. My heart monitor spikes, faster and faster, a staccato of terror, until it whines, high and steady and unending. A nurse, a young guy with long hair pulled back in a ponytail, strides into my room. “Calm down, Torey.”
Calm. How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm? Blair was right there, right next to me, and then?—
—his hand reaching for me, the blood, so much blood?—
“Blair,” I rasp. “Where’s Blair?”
“Deep breaths now.” The nurse’s voice is firm. “Dr. Granholm is on his way. Breathe for me right now, all right?”
I suck in air, shallow and stuttering. Where am I? I try to speak?—
“Torey, how are we doing?” An older man walks in—Dr. Granholm, I presume—wearing blue scrubs and a white coat. “You’re awake. That’s wonderful. Feeling a little anxious right now?” His face is kind as he stands next to my bed.
The nurse turns to fiddle with the monitor, silencing it. He checks my IV bags, then punches at the keyboard on the terminal next to my bed.
“Where’s Blair?” My voice is breaking apart. “Where is he? What happened?”
Dr. Granholm’s brow furrows. “Blair?”
“Blair,” I gasp, grabbing him. I’m desperate, so desperate. “He was right beside me, we were—we were—” The rest of the sentence dissolves. “Please, I have to know—” His coat is trembling in my grasp. “Did they pull him out? Did they? Is he—” Tears stream from the corners of my eyes. “Please, tell me?—”
If he doesn’t know where Blair is, then—then?—
No. I refuse to think it—but it’s already there.
The light fading out of those brilliant blues. Our foreheads together in that final, agonizing moment, his lips moving against mine, whispering his last words to me.
“Where is he?” I’m pleading now, my voice small and broken and lost. “Please. Please, I need him. Where is he?”
Dr. Granholm glances at the nurse. He turns to me, his expression carefully neutral.
That look does it. Then I know.
His voice is low and soft and soothing, and he lays his hand on top of mine. “Let’s focus on you for a moment, Torey.”
He’s too calm. Calm like everything’s under control, like nothing’s wrong, and that scares the fuck out of me, becauseeverythingis wrong.
“No, no, please. Please, I have to know. Where is Blair?” My voice is a broken whisper. “Is he— Is he—” I can’t say it. A sob wrenches from me.
“If you’re asking about Blair Callahan, the player from Tampa?—”
“Yes!” I want to shout, but all I can manage is a croak. “Please,” I beg. “Tell me if he’s alive.” I’m hyperventilating, choking on every shallow gasp.
“The Mutineers are back in Tampa. I’m sure he’s with his team.” He pauses, studying me. “I believe they flew back right after the game.”
“What? That’s impossible—he was with me—I—” My words stumble. “We were— We?—”
“Do you know him?”
Knowhim? He’s my everything. My partner, my love, my goddamn world. How can I even begin to explain what we are to each other? “He’s— We’re?—”
My thoughts crash into the next. I can’t breathe, can’t think. The beeping of my heart monitor ratchets again. “Where is he?” I choke out.
Dr. Granholm’s hand tightens around mine. “We’ve contacted your father,” he says instead of answering me. “We’re keeping him updated while he’s in Shanghai. And we’ve spoken with Dr. Jackson?—”
