Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
NOELLE
I’m not leaving him or this hospital.
No matter what he says. No matter how tired he looks. No matter how gently—or not so gently—he tries to push me away.
When Matt finally dozes off, his breathing uneven but steady, I slip out into the waiting room. My legs feel hollow, like if I stop moving, they’ll fold beneath me.
His mom looks up immediately. So does my dad.
I don’t bother sitting.
“Why is he doing this?” My voice breaks on the last word. “Why is he pushing me away like he’s already gone?”
Mrs. Stricker’s face softens in that way only mothers can manage—like she’s carried this fear longer than anyone. “Because he’s scared,” she says quietly. “He doesn’t want to see the finality in your eyes if this doesn’t go his way.”
I swallow hard. My future hangs in my throat.
“He’s tired,” she continues. “Exhausted from years of managing this. But I promise you something—” She meets my gaze. “I have never seen my son happier. Not when he won the state championship in high school. Not when he dated other women. Not when he won the Super Bowl with the Heavyweights.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“Why are you giving up?” I whisper before I can stop myself. “My mom wouldn’t have—”
I freeze. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
My dad steps forward, steady and calm. “Your mom would tell you the same thing Mrs. Stricker just did,” he says gently. “Give him room. He only wants your happiness.”
I shake my head fiercely. “I’m not letting him die. Not like this. Who can we call? Can he get another kidney? Can one of you—” My voice rises, desperate now. “Matt doesn’t get to die on me.”
I glance down at my ring. At my belly.
“Not when we have so many milestones left.”
We stand in silence, and my dad holds me, rubs my back, strokes my hair, and assures me that Matt loves me. I don’t know how much time has passed when the doctor approaches.
“Noelle, we’re not sure how long this will hold,” he says carefully. “And we’re still fine-tuning the medication. But his blood pressure is rising into normal ranges. We’re not quite there yet… but there’s reason to be hopeful.”
Hope.
The word nearly buckles my knees.
I hug my dad hard. “Call Greyson and J.D.”
Parker appears then, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide. “Can I see him?”
“Wash up,” the nurse says. “Mask up. I’ll sneak you in,” she adds. “If it’s all right with Noelle.”
When we reach Matt’s room, Parker drops his bag with a soft thud. I hold up a finger. To be quiet.
“Do you mind if I talk to him alone… if he wakes up?”
I nod. “Of course.”
Matt stirs, and when he opens his eyes, I hover just outside the open door, listening.
“You better not be missing school because of me,” Matt murmurs. “I’m not that important.”
“Oh, you’re important,” Parker says without hesitation. “I can’t imagine my sister if you die.”
The word lands like a punch.
Die.
Parker said it out loud. Maybe I’m the only one still pretending it’s impossible.
“I’m fighting,” Matt says quietly. “I just don’t know if it’s enough. Talk to me about school. I’m sick of talking about me.”
Parker sighs. “Well, I’m failing physiology. The athletic department assigned me a tutor. They want to make sure I can play in the championship game.”
“Okay?” Matt asks.
“The waitress from the pizza parlor. She’s in two of my classes and she sits in the front row. Passes me like she doesn’t remember me. Smartass. Kind of bland. Nothing special.”
Bland? Nothing special?
Is that really my sweet brother talking like that?
Matt huffs softly. “Sounds a little harsh.”
“She thinks I’m a dumb jock.”
“Honestly,” Matt says, “you sound like one right now. Want my advice?”
“That’s why I’m here talking to a half-dead man so he can’t tell my secrets.”
“Your dad doesn’t know you’re failing one of four classes?” Matt’s voice sounds like he’s finding his footing. Not quite as strained as four hours ago.
Parker mumbles, “No, and I don’t want him to find out.”
“Then suck it up. Do the work. Graduate. Not everyone makes it to the NFL—the average career is two years. Did you know that? Put in the effort with your pizza parlor tutor.”
I step back into the room, unable to stop smiling. “You haven’t talked that much since you told me you were dying,” I tease softly. “Which I didn’t listen to, so it doesn’t count.”
Matt reaches for my hand. “Come here. I feel better. For some reason.”
“Divine intervention,” I say, squeezing his fingers. “The doctors say your blood pressure’s improving. They might’ve found the right cocktail.”
I turn to Parker. “And you—check your attitude. Don’t be a Brooks. Be Parker. You’ve got so much love to give.”
He nods quickly. “I’ll call everyone.”
After he leaves, Matt runs his hand over my belly. “We’re getting so close to meeting our son.”
“He’s been tossing and turning. He may be a platform diver.”
“He’s telling you to go home and get some rest. Little buddy is smart.”
The doctor steps in again.
“Did you tell him the good news?”
“I did, but I’m sure he wants to hear it from you.”
“If your numbers stay up for two days,” the doctor says gently, “we’ll let you go home.”
Home.
The word barely registers at first. I look at Matt then—really look at him—and for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel like he’s slipping through my fingers.
The gray tint that haunted his skin has softened, warmth slowly returning to his cheeks.
His eyes lift to mine, tired but unmistakably present, holding me like he’s anchoring himself here.
His breathing evens out, his shoulders sinking into the pillows instead of fighting them, and something tight and crushing in my chest finally loosens.
“Home?” Matt asks, with a lift in his voice.
“Yes,” the doctor confirms. “Your blood pressure is the only concern now. Every other marker looks excellent.”
Matt’s fingers curl weakly around mine. “You hear that, Butterfly?” he murmurs. “I’m still stubborn enough to stick around.”
I press my forehead to his, swallowing past the lump in my throat. It’s not a miracle. It’s not the end of the fight. But it’s hope.
It’s a start.
And for the first time since the ambulance doors closed, Matt is letting himself believe we get the future we’ve been dreaming of.