Chapter Nineteen
Emily
“Emily? Did you hear me?”
I blinked.
The voice was near. It was beside me, perhaps. Or above me. It was somewhere close.
But I was under water, and it came from the surface, and I couldn’t find it in me to swim and kick my way up there, too.
I sat reclined on the green velvet couch Darcy had insisted on when we moved into our open-plan apartment — bright and airy but pieced together, like neither of us had quite decided to stay — a pillow tucked under my right arm, which was held stable by an ugly, rigid cast.
I stared at my knees like they were responsible for all of it, or like they’d have answers for how to go back in time and change it all.
Everything replayed in flashes, cued by the rhythmic beating of my heart.
Thump.
The tumble.
The crack.
Flash.
Collapsing on the field.
Training staff surrounding me.
Thump.
Walking off the field, feeling the weight of my parents’ stares.
Flash.
Braden’s golden eyes, the way he was already moving for me before I stopped him.
Thump.
Flash.
The tunnel. Bright lights. Cold air against my skin.
“Sit here.”
A bench. Ice pressed into my palm. My wrist already swelling beneath it.
“Don’t move it.”
Thump.
“Where does it hurt?”
“My wrist.”
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
A glance between trainers.
“We’re sending you in.”
Flash.
The car ride blurred. My parents’ voices didn’t.
“Baby, we’re here.”
“I’m okay.”
I wasn’t.
Thump.
The hospital.
Paper gown. Crinkling table. My arm propped like it didn’t belong to me.
“We just need a quick X-ray.”
“Hold still.”
Click.
Click.
Flash.
The screen turned toward the doctor. Not toward me.
His eyes scanning, dissecting.
“It’s a non-displaced fracture.”
Thump.
“And you’ve sprained the surrounding ligaments.”
Flash.
“How long?” I asked.
“Six to eight weeks.”
Six to eight weeks.
Thump.
Flash.
There it was again, that voice calling to me, asking if I’d heard whoever it belonged to. But I was still drowning in my new reality.
Six to eight weeks meant I’d be out until at least Christmas — likely until the new year.
That was my whole season.
Everything I’d worked for was slipping through my fingers and I couldn’t tighten them. I just watched it all unravel, powerless, hope-ridden.
My arm was in a cast, the pain from when they set my wrist still fresh in my mind long after that warm cast had hardened.
Six to eight weeks.
Six to eight weeks.
Six to eight—
“Emily.”
I blinked, finding my father bent down to one knee in front of where I sat on the couch. My mom was behind him, and I realized it was her the voice had belonged to. She wore her stress visibly like a scarf, like it was choking her out the longer I didn’t respond.
“Did you hear your mother?”
God, my father had always had the best voice. It was so deep, a low baritone filled with kindness. It didn’t surprise me that he was as successful as he was. With a voice and face and charm like his, I’d buy anything he was selling. I’d trust him with my fortune, if I had one.
“No,” I managed.
Dad tried to smile, the edges of his eyes crinkling just a bit. Those eyes were just like mine — dark and endlessly brown. “We’re going to stay a few days, all right? We can rent a house, take you there to care for you until we need to head back.”
For a moment, I let the warmth of his offer wash over me like waves over my feet on a tropical beach.
I imagined nodding and saying that would be lovely.
I thought of what it would be like for him to hug me and load me up in their rental car and drive me somewhere where we could be together as a family, where I could face my reality with people who loved me.
But it was just a moment.
Because in the next breath, I remembered who my parents were, who I was, and that spending more than an hour with them in any capacity would make all of us uncomfortable.
I saw it even now as my dad made the offer, how his face was tight with discomfort. I’d registered him on his phone earlier, likely looking at his calendar and trying to figure out what he’d have to move and how to make it all work.
That was Mom now. The second the words were out of Dad’s mouth, she was on her phone, her brows pinched and mouth in a tight line.
Maybe she was looking at her own calendar.
Maybe she was wondering how much of a pain it would be to change flights.
Maybe she was looking up rental houses where the two bedrooms were spaced out enough, where there was enough to do nearby that she and Dad could get away when they needed to.
They didn’t actually want to stay.
It was all out of obligation — parental guilt.
Just like always.
I swallowed, readying myself to perform as I picked at my nail polish and shook my head. “No, Dad, don’t do that. You guys need to get back to the city.”
“We can move things around,” Dad said, but I already heard it, the way he was leaving it open for me to keep arguing, to convince him.
“It’s really not necessary. I’m glad you came and I appreciate it, but you don’t need to wreck your calendars for this.” I gestured to my arm. “I’ll be fine.”
Mom and Dad shared a look — the Huxley Pause. They were having a whole conversation inside that look.
My stomach roiled.
“Honey, I think it might be nice to be surrounded by family right now,” Mom tried gently, but she’d already tucked her phone away, like she knew she didn’t need to change anything. I thought I saw the relief in her eyes, but didn’t trust my senses enough to be sure.
“I will be,” I said, and this time my smile was better acted. “I’ve got my teammates.”
As if I’d cued her, Darcy perked up from where she’d been in our kitchen brewing a pot of tea for all of us. She was still in her hair and makeup from the game. So was I.
For the last time.
An anchor settled deep in my gut at the thought, tears stinging my eyes.
“Of course,” Darcy said, bounding over to me with a smile. She looped her arm through my good one and rested her hand on top of mine. “We’ve got her. She will be well taken care of. And the team trainers said they’d be checking in on her, too.”
I nodded, bile in my throat as I managed another smile.
“See? All good. I know you guys need to get back. I mean, it’s why you flew in this morning and have red eye tickets tonight, right?
” I swallowed the hurt in that statement, that they’d flown all this way but hadn’t even committed to one full night in town.
They didn’t want to have to pretend any longer than I did.
“I’m sure there’s a lot waiting for you when you get back. And I’m okay. Really,” I promised.
Mom sighed, her hand resting on my father’s shoulder. “Well… all right. If you really think so.”
I nodded. “I do. It’s all good. You can still make your flight if you head to the airport soon.”
Mom was already in action, but Dad stayed put, his eyes searching mine. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t know what.
Me either, Dad.
After a long moment, he tried a smile again, but it was weak. “We’re just a call away.”
“I know.”
He paused, like he wasn’t sure I did know it, before he stood and went to help Mom gather their belongings.
It took less than twenty minutes for them to be out the door, a kiss from each of them on my forehead and a promise that they’d check in tomorrow.
Then it was just me and Darcy.
“Don’t,” I begged her as soon as the silence settled over us. I was already shaking my head, biting back tears, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. I didn’t know what I was asking her not to do. Maybe make any sudden movements, since I felt as fragile as a house of cards.
“I won’t,” she promised, laying her head on my shoulder.
My phone buzzed again from the kitchen island. It’d been buzzing since the game ended. There were missed calls from Claire, texts from Marcus, social media tags of well wishes from other members on the team.
And a string of texts from Braden.
“Do you want your phone?” Darcy asked.
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I actually did. When she handed it to me, she disappeared down the hall in the name of taking off her makeup and changing her clothes. She promised she’d be back to help me do the same just as I swiped past my lock screen and tapped into my messages.
He was right there at the top.
You okay?
What happened?
Emily. Answer me.
Did you go to the hospital?
Game’s over. Tell me where I can go to see you.
Just overheard Claire. She said you’re home. Are you home?
I’m coming.
That last one had just come through.
Without thinking, I typed with my left hand, slow and clunky, and sent one word.
Don’t.
The little bubbles bounced, telling me he was typing, and then they went away.
My phone rang.
Instantly, the tears I’d been holding back fell — fast and furious and unrelenting. Sobs broke my chest as I declined the call.
The whole world was falling in on me, and I didn’t want an audience.
I curled up into myself, burrowing into a blanket as much as I could with one arm, and let myself feel it all.
The shame of my parents.
The pain of the injury.
The forbidden desire I held for Braden.
The way I longed for him to be here even when I knew I shouldn’t.
The fear of my future.
The fear that I’d never have a future — that I’d always be one step behind.
My phone buzzed again, and I looked at the text through blurry eyes.
Braden: Please, let me sit with you in this.
But how could I, when we both knew what was at stake if I said yes?