Twenty-Six
Twenty-Five
Best Friend
Spencer
Why isn’t anyone telling us anything? Why are we just sitting here? I rake my hand through my hair and glare at the closed double doors. Jen rubs my arm, soft and steady.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetie. They’re probably just getting him stabilized. They have to get him out of pain before they can assess treatment. Or at least that’s what they do on TV.”
I know she’s trying to make me feel better by lightening the mood, but it’s not working. I can’t even sit still. I shoot to my feet and start pacing, running a path in the cheap linoleum. “Well, they could at least come out and tell us something.”
Dita and Parker appear, arms overflowing with bottled water. Dita hands me one. “Drink this. Is there anything I can do for you, boss?”
I grip the bottle, twist off the cap, and shake my head. “No. Thank you, Dita. You don’t need to be here. You either, Parker. Go enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
Parker rolls his eyes. Dita pulls out her phone, thumb flying over the screen. “Fuck that. Your friend just got seriously injured. You need to focus on that. Parker and I will take care of everything else.”
A surge of gratitude tightens my throat. I try to smile. She doesn’t look up, fingers still tapping as she talks. “I’m clearing your schedule for tomorrow. Parker will take any meetings that can’t be moved and will send you a summary.”
I glance at Parker. He nods. “You got it. I’ll let you know if anything needs to be followed up on, otherwise, I got this—”
A muscular guy in scrubs struts by, glancing at Parker, giving his barely there shorts and crop top a very obvious once-over, and winking. Parker breaks off mid-sentence and follows him down the hall, hips swaying.
I just shake my head and sit down again between Lexi and Jen. Instantly, they’re both rubbing my arms, silent and soothing.
I look at them, feeling a little uneasy about the comfort. “Why do you guys keep comforting me? He’s your friend. I should be comforting you.”
Anthony storms over, phone clutched in his hand, Chance hovering behind him.
Anthony waves his phone at me, looking tired and exasperated.
“Because he’s your friend too. And you clearly care about him.
Or do I need to remind you about your theatrics on the field?
” He gives me a look—one that brooks no argument.
I study the floor tiles and blow out a breath.
A man in athletic gear approaches. Anthony stands straighter and shakes the guy’s hand. “This is Franco Rizzaldi, he’s one of the team trainers,” he tells us.
He turns to Franco. “Have you heard anything?”
Franco nods. “A couple of us from the training staff rode in the ambulance with him.”
I shoot up. “I don’t care how you got here. How is he? What’s going on?”
Anthony raises a brow at me but keeps quiet. Franco huffs a laugh. “I’m not going to lie. It was a bad break. Broke the skin.”
Chance winces. My stomach drops, sour and cold. Anthony keeps his voice even. “What bones? Surgery?”
Franco nods. “It’s a tibia and fibula compound fracture. They’re prepping him for surgery now. They called in the best orthopedic surgeon in the state.”
Anthony nods, businesslike. “How’s his mental state?”
Franco grins. “You know how he is normally?”
Anthony smiles, just a little. Franco goes on, “Well, add in some good pain meds and he has nurses, doctors, even other patients in the ED cracking up.”
Anthony chuckles. “Sounds about Butters.”
Franco rubs his chin, thoughtful. “One thing though. He keeps asking for perfect.”
My heart skips, squeezing hard in my chest. Franco continues, “The doctors and nurses kept reassuring him they’re going to do their best to fix him up good as new, but they never promise perfect. But he kept shaking his head, insisting he wanted perfect.”
I swallow. Fucking hard.
“Finally, he said, ‘No, I want Spence. Spence is Mr. Perfect.’ Can, um, one of you get Spence?”
Everyone turns to stare at me, eyes wide. My face burns. I sigh. “That’s me. When can we see him?”
Franco smiles. “I’ll come get you when he’s out of recovery. It will be a while. Hang tight. I’ll text Anthony updates as well.”
Anthony thanks him and Franco heads off. The rest of the group is still staring at me, Anthony’s eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline, Chance smirking in the background. Fair—he did catch us tumbling out of that broom closet at their wedding, but still.
I try to speak, “Can we just pretend—” but a sudden, sharp “OUCH!” cuts me off.
Lexi’s doubled over, clutching her belly, breath coming in sharp bursts. Anthony and Chance are on her in an instant, voices overlapping.
“Guys,” Lexi gasps.
Anthony is frantic. “What is it? You okay?”
Lexi shakes her head, eyes wide. “Water just broke.”
Jen’s on her feet in a flash, all business. “Oh shit.” She points at Chance. “You. Go get a nurse.”
Chance bolts. Jen turns to Anthony. “You just help her with breathing.”
Within two minutes, Chance is back, nurse and wheelchair in tow. They load Lexi up and start down the hallway. Jen waves them off. “Go. I got him. We’ll update you on Butters.”
They’re gone, a blur of panic and excitement.
Jen turns to me, grinning. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Across the waiting room, Dita calls out, “And me. I fear we lost Parker to Doctor Muscles, though.”
I laugh, for the first time all day. “Thanks for sticking around.”
Dita smirks. “Are you kidding? And miss this show? I’m just waiting for Jen to go into labor, too.”
Jen cackles. “You know damn well I have several weeks to go.”
Dita shrugs. “The whole office is aware. No offense.”
Jen shoots me a look. “Have I mentioned that I like her?”
I try to give her my best smile, which probably still looks like a grimace. Jen holds out her hand, fingers wiggling. “Come on. That chair is killing my back. I need to walk and it’s going to be a while before we hear anything.”
I take her hand, standing up. I look back at Dita, who’s settling deeper into her chair. “Go,” she says. “I’ll stay here in case anyone comes out.”
Jen squeezes my hand. We start walking, the fate of my friend?
Special friend? Honestly, aside from defining our sexual relationship, I’m realizing exactly what Ryan is—my best friend.
We hit the gym together, order take out, stream movies, he cooks in my kitchen.
And yeah, we fuck. A lot. Even if we weren’t, I’d still consider him my best friend. I won’t be telling Jen that, though.
Regardless of what I call him… his fate is hanging somewhere behind those closed doors.
We wander aimlessly for a while, the hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant beeping of monitors filling the silence. It’s strangely comfortable, a reprieve from all the chaos. Jen hooks her arm in mine, steering me gently.
“So, is there anything you want to tell me?” she asks, voice low.
I should just tell her. She’s been onto us since the wedding, and she’s basically my only real friend—outside of Ryan, now.
I should be able to tell her. But it’s not just my secret.
I’d never out Ryan, no matter how convinced Jen is that she’s right.
“Nope. Nothing new or interesting,” I say, shaking my head.
Jen hums. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just lie to me, but Spence, I want you to know that you can share things with me without betraying anyone.”
I sigh. “Jen—”
She cuts me off. “You don’t need to provide specifics to share things you’re feeling. I’m a good sounding board.”
I stop and meet her eyes. “I know you are and I appreciate it, but there’s nothing to share.”
She halts, releases my arm, and turns to face me.
“Stop gaslighting me, Stark. There’s an NFL player on pain meds lying in a hospital bed asking for his ‘Mr. Perfect’ and you—” she gestures up and down my body, “—are a mess. For someone who almost never shows an inkling of emotion, you seem to be pretty affected.”
I just blink at her, mouth half open.
“Fine. I’ll drop it. For now,” she says, sighing. “Let’s head back and see if there’s any word.”
I swallow, nod, and let her loop her arm through mine again as we head back to the waiting room.
Hours pass. The adrenaline wanes, replaced by exhaustion and a dull ache behind my eyes. I send Dita home after her third yawn. Chance comes out a couple times, updating us on Lexi—she’s doing great, but still has hours to go.
It’s been four hours when Franco finally reappears. I’m up before he’s even fully in the room.
“Did everything go okay? Can we see him?” I blurt out.
Franco smiles, steady and reassuring. “Yes. Surgery went incredibly well. Surgeon said he was lucky. It could have been worse.”
Jen moves to stand beside me. “Well, that’s a relief. What’s the rehabilitation time?”
Franco blows out a breath, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Well, like I said, he was lucky it wasn’t worse. That, paired with him being young and athletic, should reduce his rehab time. But—”
“But it’s career-ending, isn’t it?” Jen asks, blunt.
I snap my head toward her, stunned she’d say it out loud.
Franco’s shoulders sag. “It’s too early to tell, but this injury has ended a lot of promising careers.”
My heart clamps tight. “Fuck. Does he know that?”
Franco hums. “They’ve gone over the surgery with him, including the metal rod and pins in his tibia, and the rehab plan. He’s so out of it, though, I don’t think anything is really sinking in, you know?”
Jen nods. “Yeah. One thing at a time. How loopy is he?”
Franco grins. “Let’s just say they have him on the good stuff and when they told him they put a rod in him, he said—and I quote—‘Wow. Couldn’t even buy me dinner first?’”
Jen nearly doubles over laughing. I can’t help it. My mouth twitches into a genuine smile. First one all day.
“Can we see him?” I ask.
Franco nods. “Yes, he’s out of recovery. He’s asking for ‘perfect’ again, so we should probably go. I can take you up to his floor now.”