Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
As other players enter the shower, I note they keep their distance. I lift my face to the cold stinging needles and will myself to calm down. But all I can think about is how weak Aiden was when he wished me good luck this morning before I left the hospital. His cough was worse, he had the shivers and he couldn’t even stand because his blood pressure was bottoming out. It was utterly terrifying and yet that kid smiled at me as I walked out the door to the arena. I think about how Lilly looked, like she was going to break into a million pieces and how Steven had that thirsty look of a man teetering on a bender. I couldn’t do a damn thing to help any of them and I was a complete fucking failure tonight.
With the freezing water on my face producing near numbness, I’m shocked when something erupts from my chest. A horrible bark of pain, which I immediately try to suck back into my lungs, but it comes out again, and again, and again, and I can’t stop it. Huge, wracking sobs take my body hostage and while I can’t feel the warmth of my tears as they’re washed away by the chilly spray, I know I’m crying my eyes out while my teammates must be watching on in horror.
“Boone,” someone says. I’m not sure who.
“I’m good,” I mutter, rubbing my hands over my face while the water pelts me. I pinch the bridge of my nose and grit my teeth.
No one says another word and I don’t look at any of the other players as I turn off the water and wrap my towel around my waist.
I snag another towel on the way out and put it around my shoulders, wiping my face and hair. My eyes stay pinned on the ground as I pad back to my cubby and I note the bench I’d tossed is back in place.
My gaze lifts and several of the guys are there, in various states of undress. Camden, Drake and Coen are in low murmured conversation. Stone moves to his locker on the other side of them, a towel wrapped around his waist, same as me.
Van sits on the bench, reading something on his phone. Glancing up, he asks, “Anything I can do?”
I shake my head as I get dressed. “I’m good.”
“You’re not,” Drake says, turning my way. I’m not sure if he’s talking about me throwing the bench or because he witnessed my shower breakdown. Or maybe he just looks at me and knows.
Regardless, I’m not going to argue. I’m nowhere near good but I don’t want to talk about it so I ignore the comment and concentrate on putting on my suit. I’m heading straight to the hospital as I assume Lilly’s still there, but I’ll call when I leave the arena.
“Is it Aiden?” Coen asks.
And somehow, the entire team is standing there. I glance around and it’s three guys deep surrounding me, every single one of them in a semicircle, including the coaches, equipment managers and trainers. All pressing in on me, empathy on their faces.
Not one of them cares in this slice of time about losing the game.
Losing the playoffs.
Everyone wants to know about the little boy I brought into their lives a few months ago who belongs to the woman I fell in love with.
“He’s not good,” I say, my voice cracking. My nose stings and I force back the tears with a hard swallow before explaining about the fungal pneumonia and how he’s getting worse.
They could ask questions. Fuck knows I had a million myself when I first learned about it, but instead, it’s Coach West who asks the one question. “What can we do?”
My head slowly turns, looking at all my teammates rallying around me. “Pray. If God is your jam, we’ll take the prayers. If not, just send good energy or vibes or whatever.”
Coach West nods his understanding, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “We’re here when you need us.”
My teammates murmur assurances, I get some fist bumps and back pats, and then they all melt away to go do their thing. They have a game loss to grieve too.
Drake sticks a hand out and I clasp it, allowing him to pull me into a half hug. “Can we visit him?”
“I honestly don’t know.” I have no clue if the fungal pneumonia makes him a higher risk for other infections or if the fact he’s already infected means it doesn’t matter if others come in. “I’ll find out.”
“He’s made an impact on a lot of us,” Coen says. “Just keep us in the loop and let us know what we can do.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah… I will. I’m heading to the hospital and I’ll send out an update after that.”