CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LINA
G rant seriously meant what he said, because there hasn’t been a second where he hasn’t been next to me, unless he wasn’t allowed to be.
I still feel a bit out of it. Tired. Confused. It’s a more intense version of the brain fog I’ve been feeling for the past few weeks.
Set up in an ER bed, Grant doesn’t ask any questions as he sits in the uncomfortable-looking plastic chair next to me. All he does is watch. Listen when the doctors come in.
He even asked if I wanted him to call my friends. I told him not yet. It’s barely morning. They’re probably still asleep. In reality, I probably won’t let him call them at all.
From what the doctors have been telling me, they’re doing a pretty basic workup of lab tests, IV fluids, and some preliminary scans.
In the moment, I’m sure the seizure felt a lot more serious, but right now, it seems like they’re doing run-of-the-mill protocol.
I wish Kara was here to decipher all of it, even though I know she’d be worried, and that’s what I don’t want.
“Any chance you could be pregnant?” one of the nurses asks as she takes my blood.
I cough, surprised. “No.”
“It’s really important that we rule out any possibility of you being pregnant since you have to have a CT scan.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
She looks back and forth between Grant and me.
“Listen, unless there is a possibility I’ve been carrying a baby for well over a year, I promise you, I’m not pregnant.”
Great, just what I wanted. For Grant to know when the last time I had sex was.
She backs away while jotting something down on my chart. When she sets it down, I read it over.
Pt was alert and insistent that they are not pregnant. Claims last sexual activity was over 1 year ago. No urine samples need to be drawn at this time.
Grant snorts under his breath after the nurse leaves, but he doesn’t say anything. Not right away.
“They have to ask,” he says eventually. “Even if it’s obvious.”
I nod slowly, my head still feeling like it’s floating a few feet above the rest of me. “I know. It’s just weird. Being asked that while I still feel like my brain’s buzzing.”
“They said it’s normal.” Grant glances at the monitor again, as if he understands what any of it means. I’m not sure if he does or not. “You might be foggy for a while.”
“I know.”
Silence settles again. Not heavy, just careful.
The IV pump clicks softly in the background. I stare at the ceiling, then over at him. “You’re still here.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah. Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. At practice. Or asleep. Or anywhere but a hospital at six in the morning with a girl who passed out on the sidewalk.”
Grant leans back slightly, crossing his arms. “You scared the shit out of me, Lina. Don’t expect me to pretend I’m not worried about you.”
That makes me blink hard. He doesn’t say it in an accusing way, but it hits me anyway. Right in the ribs.
He keeps picking at the corner of the blanket on my bed like he’s trying to smooth it down.
Like it’s something he can fix. He seems to be that kind of guy. I’ve picked up on the fact that he likes being a helper. In nearly every interaction I’ve had with him, he’s been helping me in some capacity.
The first time was him helping me away from the glass I dropped, and then when I was puking in his backyard, and again with him fixing our laundry room shelf.
It’s the whole reason why, when I started feeling weird while I was running, I immediately went looking for him. Maybe I didn’t realize I was doing it. Normally my pride would be too strong.
But I knew something was going to happen to me—maybe not to the extent that it did, but still. I knew he would be waiting for me like he has been every day the past couple weeks. I knew he would know what to do, even if I didn’t.
Now, his arms are crossed against his chest, causing his biceps to flex against his Dri-FIT t-shirt, and his face is stern. He doesn’t look angry, just worried. Somehow, even with his furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes, he’s an overwhelmingly calm presence next to me.
A few minutes pass before a different nurse comes in. “Alright, I’m going to take you down for a CT now.”
I look toward Grant on instinct. I know he probably can’t come with me.
“I’ll stay here,” he says as the nurse approaches with a wheelchair.
She plants the chair next to my bed and puts the brakes on. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness rushes over me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I had a seizure less than an hour ago or the overall exhaustion catching up with me, but I don’t trust myself to get in that chair.
The nurse waits a beat before stepping over, but right as she goes to offer me a hand, Grant steps around the bed and says, “I’ve got her.”
He picks me up in one fluid motion, transferring me into the wheelchair with the utmost ease. As he sets me down, he bends with me, making it so his head is practically resting on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whisper, barely audible.
All I see is the smile on the nurse's face as she wheels me out of the room. “He’s a sweet boy.”
“Yeah,” I easily agree. How could I not after everything he did for me tonight?
“How long have you two been together?”
My brain stalls, trying to think of an appropriate response. Of course, I know how this looks. Grant found me passed out. Called an ambulance. Rode to the hospital with me. Hasn’t left my side since.
“Oh, we’re not together,” is what I decide on.
I see her shake her head in the reflection of the elevator. “Could have fooled me. You would be crazy not to go for him.”
An awkward laugh bubbles in my throat.
“I’m serious,” she says. “Let me tell you, I’ve worked here a long time. I’ve learned how to spot the men who are here because they care, versus the ones who are here because they feel like it’s an obligation. And honey, he didn’t take his eyes off of you the entire time.”
“I’m sure he’s just worried,” I try to negate, but there’s really no use.
“Men don’t look at you like they’re scared you’ll disappear unless you mean something to them. So, be honest with me, what’s stopping you?”
I purse my lips. The real question is, what isn’t stopping me?
“We’re barely friends,” I tell her. “I can admit that he’s sweet, and he finds value in doing the right thing, but I don’t necessarily think that has a direct connection to me.” That’s what I’ve always boiled it down to in my mind.
She whistles under her breath while she wheels me into the CT room. “If you say so.”
While I’m being prepped for my CT, I make a mental note to ask for a copy of it to show Kara. She’ll love it.
I’m also trying not to think about Grant the entire time.
Turns out, that’s a lot harder to do when you’re trapped under a giant, whirling machine and alone with your thoughts for twenty minutes.
I know what he did was beyond chivalrous, and it’s clear that he’s working to prove that he’s more than the guy I pegged him for in the elevator.
The nurse’s question is what consumes my thoughts. What’s stopping you?
Everything. Absolutely everything is stopping me.
And it’s not like there’s anything to stop. Nothing has started between Grant and me. Nothing will.
I’m not an overthinker, though, and I refuse to become one while in the midst of having my brain scanned.
It’s just—how am I ever supposed to let someone get close to me when the only blueprint for a relationship I’ve ever had ruined me?
And that wasn’t love.
That was a crossfire dressed up as a homey fireplace. That was letting someone betray the deepest parts of me, slowly breaking off pieces until I was surrounded by shrapnel, not sure which parts were me .
So no, I don’t trust men who are kind just to be kind. I don’t trust soft hands that wipe my tears away, or patient voices of those who say they’ll stay.
Because I’ve been down that road before.
And I barely made it back.
A little while after my CT scan, a doctor enters my hospital room. He looks disappointed. I instantly notice.
The stitching on his white coat reads “Dr. Anderson.”
“Hi, Evangelina,” he says, pulling the clipboard out of its slot at the end of my bed. “Are you feeling any better?”
I nod. “A little jittery, but other than that, I’m okay.”
“Good. Good.” His head bobs up and down, looking optimistic before his eyes downturn again.
Grant must notice it too. “What is it?” he asks.
“Evangelina, I’m going to be honest with you.” Dr. Anderson sighs. “There’s a very good chance that today you were lucky. ”
I passed out and had a seizure in the middle of the sidewalk. How could that ever be considered lucky ?
Dr. Anderson takes a look at the monitors before continuing. “All of your scans came back clear. No tumors, no bleeds, no underlying conditions that would explain the seizure.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“It means your body is under extreme stress. Sleep deprivation, dehydration, overexertion. Your labs show signs of all three. Your off-the-chart cortisol levels were a cause for concern all on their own.” He sets the clipboard down gently, like he’s trying not to startle me.
“Sometimes, our systems shut down before we do. Your body hit its limit, and unfortunately, you can’t outrun your own biology. ”
“So this happened because I was tired?”
“Not tired,” he says, more firmly now. “ Exhausted . Dangerously so. Your body gave out because it didn’t have anything left to give.”
I glance over at Grant, whose jaw ticks at that.
Dr. Anderson softens his tone. “We’ll keep you here for the night to monitor everything, but for now, what you need is rest. No running. No exertion. Just rest. If you can’t sleep on your own, we’ll give you a light sedative to get you started.” He gives me a reassuring smile, then exits quietly.
The door closes with a soft click. For a second, I pretend like I don’t feel Grant’s eyes on me.
Eventually, he speaks. “You ran yourself into a seizure.” His voice isn’t angry. If anything, it’s too calm. Somehow that’s worse.
I don’t respond.