Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
He thinks I hurt her.
And he is definitely not wrong in a sense.
“What are you implying?” Molly steps up into his space. Eyes colder than ice.
“Mind your business, pest.”
I stand from the chair, moving Molly out of the way, getting up in Hudson’s face. “Do not speak to my sister like that.”
“Enough!” I look to my left to see Robert approaching us.
“There is no need to fight. We’re a team,” Coach Robert tells us.
“Not when he’s speaking to my sister like that.” I grunt.
Molly’s small hand touches mine for a second, giving me a squeeze. “While I appreciate the big brother act, I can handle myself.”
She can, but I’ve spent my whole life protecting her. I’m not going to stop now.
I finally nod and sit back down.
Aiden turns to Coach. “Any news?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Well, maybe if we knew what happened,” Hudson starts up again, and Molly practically growls at him.
“She fell. Want to know why? ’Cause we were arguing. But I didn’t push her. She was on the ledge, walking, and she fell.” I lift my hands and bury my head in them. “I couldn’t get to her in time.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Robert places his hand on my shoulder, and I’m surprised he doesn’t ask what we were fighting about. I’m surprised none of them do. Then again, they’ve always respected my space. “Accidents happen.”
But it was my fault.
I’m the reason she was there.
I’m the reason she fell.
And if I were a better man, none of this would have happened. She would have been okay if I had just stayed out of her life.
I’m not good for her.
Just then, the ER door opens, and a doctor walks out.
“Father of Josephine Moreau?”
Robert moves to him quickly. “I’m Josie’s father.”
I move closer to hear, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make out his words with the way my heart pounds in my chest.
The doctor nods to Robert before speaking. “Your daughter suffered a concussion. She also has a pretty nasty gash on her hairline. That’s where the bleeding came from. We ran a CT scan to check for any internal bleeding or swelling in the brain, and thankfully, everything looks normal.”
“She’s going to be okay?” Robert’s body trembles.
“Yes, she has sprained her ankle, and we do want to keep her here for observation due to the blood loss and concussion, but I expect her to make a full recovery.”
Relief floods me at first, but then it’s soon replaced with a thick guilt that chokes me from the inside.
“Can I see her?”
“Of course. She’s in room 505.”
“Thank you,” he says before he turns and nods a thank-you to us as well, then he follows the doctor to his daughter.
Now that I know she’ll be okay, I can’t stay.
“I have to go.” I head toward the door.
“Dane, wait.” Molly comes rushing at me.
“I can’t.”
67
JOSIE
I try to blink my eyes open, but my lids stick together, not wanting to budge.
What the hell is wrong with them?
I lift my hand, rubbing furiously, but as I do, a sharp pain radiates through my body. An audible groan escapes my mouth, and wow, I sound like I’ve died.
What the hell is wrong with my voice, body, and eyes?
“Don’t move. You have a head injury.” I feel like someone told me that before, and I didn’t remember. I also feel like my brain is floating like a balloon over my body, but that’s another story.
“You have a concussion.”
The voice sounds familiar, but it hurts to think.
I feel disoriented, and my head throbs. A concussion makes sense—my head does feel like it’s been hit with a sledgehammer.
I blink again, and this time, my vision comes into focus.
Instantly, the fluorescent lights sting my eyes, and I cringe, wanting to recoil and hide under a pillow.
“The light.”
My father is in the room, and the moment I speak, he switches off the overhead light.
Much better. While the room is still a sterile hospital room with white walls and no bells and whistles, at least I can see a bit.
The only light in the room is from the hallway, but it’s enough to see his face.
He looks tired. Dark circles paint the underside of his eyes.
It’s obvious I’m in a hospital, but why?
I try to think, and when I do, my brain hurts even more.
“What happened?” I ask. Maybe some guidance will help with the memories.
“What is the last thing you remember?”
“The game.”
No, wait, that’s not right. I remember the game. I remember watching Dane getting in it with a few players from the other team, and after the game was over—what? What did I do?
My dad asked me to give him his key.
“Are you okay?” My dad’s voice has me looking in his direction.
“Yeah, I was just trying to remember.”
“Take it easy. The brain is a complicated thing. After a concussion, simple tasks like even thinking too hard can cause confusion.”