Chapter 17
LUCY
When I started this project,this research for my ‘self-help’ book, it hadn’t occurred to me that big swinging dick fuckboys had adorable little sisters.
It also never occurred to me that one might be kind enough to hold my hair back while I got seasick on a whale-watching tour. Tyler never left my side, not even when everyone ran to the other side of the boat to see a whale breaching, slapping his tail hard enough on the surface of the water to douse its admirers.
And it certainly never crossed my mind that I might be so worked up by an emergency in his family that, as I race across town to the hospital, I blast through several stop lights.
This is not going according to plan.
Not that I had a plan.
Actually, I’m not much of a planner, to be straight-up honest. I’m more a fly-by-the-seat of the pants girl. That’s how I ended up writing for a free weekly rag rather than something more high-brow like the daily San Francisco newspaper. I studied journalism but never did the internships and networking my more ambitious classmates did. I had a job tending bar and made pretty good money, as bartenders do. I didn’t want to give that up to be somebody’s gopher at a big newspaper just to get its name on my resume.
My bad.
Sure, I was making some cash while my interning classmates were dead broke, but a few years later, they have decent-paying jobs with benefits like health care and retirement. I, on the other hand, work for poverty-level wages—at least by San Francisco standards—with no health insurance or anything beyond the frequent pat on the back from my beloved boss. Oh, and the donuts too.
Too bad that shit doesn’t pay the rent.
So, keeping the cash-rich bartending job during college set me back behind my peers to a level I’ve been trying to crawl out from for the past several years.
Why does everybody but me have a goddamn ‘plan’?
Actually, I do have a plan right now, and it’s to get to San Francisco General Hospital in one piece. The last thing I want to do is get in a car accident so Tyler has two patients to visit.
I park in the labyrinthian underground hospital garage and start fumbling my way out of it to some floor, any floor of the hospital where I can ask where Ruby Brooks is, because I’m here to support her and her family.
I mean, I guess that’s why I’m here. Tyler helped me in my time of need. Of course I’d like to be there for him.
Hospitals freak me the hell out and I’m getting close to a panic attack wandering through endless white halls with no sign of life. Thankfully, someone who looks like an employee turns a corner and heads toward me. The nice lady takes pity on me but gives me directions so complicated I end up recording her on my phone, with her permission, of course, so I don’t miss a turn. I’m thoroughly confused but at least now know the general direction I need to head in, and I’m crossing my fingers her turn-left-turn-right instructions get me where I’m going.
And miracle of miracles, I find out what part of the hospital Ruby’s in. I find my way there and someone at the nursing station points me toward a dreary little room, where I find Tyler slumped in a chair with his head in his hands.
He’s wearing ratty sweats and Nike shower shoes, even though it’s chilly outside. His hoodie has a little rip in the side seam, and that’s when it dawns on me, he threw these clothes on to get out of the house and over here as fast as he could.
His anguish hits me in a way I don’t expect. A lump grows in my throat and my chest tightens, I think maybe because my heart is breaking a little for him. When Petal called me with the news that Ruby was in the hospital—that was all she knew, just that she’d been hospitalized, which Rake had somehow found out—I dragged my ass out of bed, figuring I’d stop by, offer some words of support, a rub on the back, and maybe a hand squeeze or two. I hadn’t counted on witnessing what can only be called pure, heartbreaking despair.
I want to rush to him and tell him everything will be all right, which is stupid because I don’t even know what’s going on, and at the same time I want to give him his privacy so he can feel as shitty as he needs to without worrying about chatting me up.
In fact, I back up out of the room as silently as possible, vacillating between bolting back to the parking garage, if I can find it, and heading home, or redoing my approach, walking noisily down the hall so as not to surprise him.
Instead, I back into a small table I didn’t notice on the way in, sending a sad-looking potted plant to its death, because after it hits the floor, in my attempt to catch my balance, I stomp all over the poor thing.
“Hi,” Tyler says after I startle the shit out of him picking up the plant and scooping the dirt back into its pot.
The look on his face nearly brings me to my knees. He is red and splotchy and as he clears his throat loudly, he grabs a tissue from the table that I didn’t trip over. With great embarrassment, he dabs at his eyes and blows his nose.
This is not supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to feel anything for this guy beyond the disdain that’s fueling my drive to use him as Subject A for my ‘bitch book’, as Michaela jokingly calls it. I wish she didn’t use that term because I am sure there are many women out there, like me, who need to be warned about the masculine charms of a certain kind of man.
Like a gorgeous pro athlete who looks around a party, trying to pick out the prettiest girl. Even when he claims to be looking out for the trouble-making girl he once dated, who he can’t get out of his life.
Cripes, what am I doing?
“Hey,” I finally say. “Petal called me.”
He gets to his feet in his should-never-leave-the-house clothes, looking even sadder than he did sitting down.
And it’s so fucking endearing my eyes get watery.
I point over my shoulder. “I’m… gonna go get us some coffee. I passed a… cafeteria kind of place on my way up. Would you… like some?” I stumble.
He nods like he doesn’t know what else to do.
I bolt down the hall and around a corner before he can see a tear dribble down my cheek. I wipe it away, then shake my arms out hard, as if that will chase away the unwanted emotions surging through me, pricking at my skin like some kind of warning.
Get a grip,I want to scream.
This is anxiety. I’ve been here before.
I find a ladies’ room and splash water on my face, soaking my hair and shirt, and don’t even care. I need to get my shit together and calm the fuck down. I’m not going anywhere but back to Tyler to offer whatever small amount of support I can.
I am not a lame asshole who bails on people, even if the thought of doing so crosses my mind.
By the time I get two coffees, I am composed, ready to offer words of encouragement and wisdom. I earn my living with words. Of course I’ll think of something appropriate to say.
“Here we go. Black, just how you like it.”
Tyler accepts the coffee with a grateful smile when his attention snaps past me and toward the door where I nearly wiped out. I follow his gaze to see an older gentleman joining us. If I had to place a bet, I’d say this man’s got to be his dad, that’s how much they resemble each other.
Whoever he is, he’s just as handsome as Tyler, just an older, slightly pot-bellied, silver-haired version who’s actually more disheveled than his son.
“Dad, hey. What’s going on?” he asks hopefully.
His father stuffs his hands in his pockets like men do when they are uncomfortable and looks down.
Oh no.
Poor Ruby. Such a sweet girl and only twenty years old. I have so many questions. But this is a family moment and I need to keep my thoughts to myself. I probably shouldn’t even be here.
“Dad, what is it?” Tyler asks more forcefully, placing his hand on his father’s shoulder.
As he starts to answer, he notices me for the first time. “Oh. Hello. Do you work for the team?” he asks politely.
Okay. Tyler never mentioned me to him. Not that I’d expect him to.
Really.
“No, Mr. Brooks,” I say, extending my hand. “I don’t work for the Aftershocks. I’m Lucy Daley, the one who went to the game with Ruby last week.”
He squints at Tyler, then back at me. “Oh? Didn’t know that.”
Tyler waves his hands to get his father’s attention. “Dad. Please. What is going on with Ruby?”
Mr. Brooks nods like he almost forgot why he was there. “Right, yeah. Well, she’s gonna be fine.”
To say relief washes over Tyler’s entire being is an understatement. I’d say he even wobbles a little at the news. “She… she’s gonna be fine? Dad, what the hell happened?”
His father shrugs. “Doctor changed her meds, which threw her into hypoglycemia.”
Mr. Brooks turns to me with further explanation. “That’s when a diabetic’s blood sugar gets too low. We were at home watching TV when she passed out right there on the sofa.”
“Ruby’s diabetic?” I ask.
Is that why she didn’t want dessert last week?
“Type 1 diabetes, diagnosed a few years ago. She’ll be on insulin for the rest of her life.” His voice catches when he says that.
But Tyler’s not nearly as sentimental. “Dad,” he says, his tone razor-sharp, “you made it sound like Ruby was on death’s door. What the hell?”
Crap. Maybe this would be a good time to leave.
I actually inch toward the door, but Tyler takes my arm. “Wait,” he snaps, not taking his eyes off his father. “I may need a ride home.”
“Really? How’d you get here?” I look at Tyler’s dad. “Do you need a ride, too?”
They ignore me.
“Now, son, there’s no need to get worked up. I thought you needed to know your younger sister was in grave condition.”
Tyler sets his hands on his hips and I really, really wish I were invisible. I never liked it when my own family argued, and I certainly don’t need to witness another family doing their thing.
“Dad, you said it was bad.”
“Well, it was bad.”
“No, dad. There are different degrees of bad. Like Ruby has low blood sugar is one kind of bad. Lucy falling into a diabetic coma is another kind of bad?—”
“They’re all bad, Tyler,” Mr. Brooks says, getting louder.
Someone knocks on the waiting room door jamb. “Everything in here all right?” a wary nurse asks.
“Yes,” they bark in her direction.
Mr. Brooks and Tyler turn back to each other, and I shrug apologetically toward the nurse, like it’s my own freaking family.
“Dad, I seriously thought Ruby was in dire straits. You could have just said she’s hypoglycemic. I mean, you called me from the hospital, right? Had she woken up by the time you called?”
Now Mr. Brooks is on the defensive. “Yes, Tyler. She’d woken up by the time we got here because the paramedics gave her an IV.”
“Is there some reason you didn’t share that with me, Dad? Did you have to give me a goddamn heart attack, thinking the last time I saw my little sister was when I took her out for burgers last week?”
I look between the two of them, my head swiveling back and forth like I’m at a tennis match.
“Now, Tyler, no need to swear. I’m not one of your teammates, you know….”
They go back and forth like this, making no progress whatsoever in that way families communicate—or don’t—and I have to say I end up biting my lip because their argument is so classic.
They could go around and around for the next ten years and still not agree.
Families, yo.
Tyler huffs. “Whatever, Dad. What room is she in? I’m gonna go see her.”
Mr. Brooks shrugs one shoulder. “I wouldn’t bother. She’s asleep. I’ll take her home as soon as they discharge her.”
Tyler looks down at the floor, nodding, like he’s trying to muster all the self-control he can. He did the same thing at his game, I think when his team missed the goal net thing. Or whatever it’s called.
“Lucy, can I get a ride home with you?” he asks.
I nod eagerly, thrilled not only to be of service but also to separate these two, who are just wasting time trying to convince each other they’re right.
“Of course. If we can find our way back to my car.”