Chapter Thirty-One
Braden
Every beep of the machine was a knife to my gut, a brutal reminder that my own heart needed to keep beating, too.
I sat at the edge of Ginny’s bed, her hand clutched in mine, pale and smooth and blessedly warm. She was warm.
She was alive.
Her hand was dead weight in mine, though — heavy and motionless.
She was sedated and intubated, her chest rising and falling in time with the eerie whoosh of the ventilator, a steady mechanical breath that didn’t belong to her.
There was tape on her pale face, blue veins present on her closed eyelids, and her lips were chapped and raw.
The room was sterile, though thankfully the lights were dimmed now that we were stable, and it smelled of sanitizer and plastic. The ventilator filled the silence in a way her voice used to.
I tried to focus on the positive — she was alive, she was stable, she was in good care. But it was impossible to have that mindset for long before the truth of it all would creep in.
Ginny had suffered acute respiratory failure brought on by a cold, and my parents had the worst scare of their life.
It was hard to stomach when they walked me through how it all had happened, how Ginny had struggled to cough, how her breathing had become labored, her communication less frequent, until it stopped altogether.
My mom looked like a ghost when she told me how Ginny had pleaded wordlessly, her eyes wide, telling my mom she couldn’t breathe in the only way she knew how.
It had been a mad rush after that — a call to 9-1-1 and an ambulance straight to the emergency room. Her pulse ox was seventy-nine. They’d intubated her as soon as the gurney had been pushed through the doors of the ER.
It was all a haze from there — doctors explaining what had happened and what would come next, their words blurring behind the weight of my parents’ fear until none of it made sense.
Mom burst into tears when I arrived, Dad wrapping me in a fierce hug, and we’d taken shifts with Ginny ever since, making sure she was never alone.
On the outside, I was steady. I held my sister’s hand, talked to her, tried to make her laugh even though I knew she was sedated. I hoped maybe she could hear me through it, that maybe I could provide comfort in whatever dreamless sleep she was experiencing.
Inside, I was fourteen again, watching helplessly as my sister struggled to live.
My stomach churned, hollow and sick, my throat tight with emotion as I smoothed my thumb over her knuckles. I longed for the version of her we’d had just a week ago, the one who was gaming and roasting us and making the whole world brighter just by existing.
I held onto hope that she’d be back to us soon, that we’d return to normal, but fear sank its claws in deep and whispered that even if we got her back, it might not last.
This was the reality of AFM. This was the inevitable the doctors always warned us about.
It made everything else in my life seem so small, so insignificant. It made me wonder why I ever thought anything was more important than spending every day by her side.
I should have been here.
I should have checked in more after her last scare. We’d been given a sign and I’d ignored it, too caught up in my life in Seattle, in football.
In Emily.
My heart ached at the thought of her, just like it had the last thirty-six hours since we sat in Claire’s office together having our asses handed to us. That was just another plate of pressure compounding on my already overextended chest.
We’d been caught. We’d been warned.
We were done.
My heart kicked in my chest in protest, and I squeezed Ginny’s hand, holding onto her for dear life. I used her as my anchor, but nothing and no one could keep me from drifting into the dark sea of my own mind.
I startled at the feel of a hand on my shoulder, looking up to find my mom’s sleepy smile aimed down at me. Dad was behind her, each of them holding a cup of coffee and a decade of pain.
“How are you doing, sweetie?” Mom asked, rubbing my shoulder as if I were the one who needed comforting, as if it had been me and not her who’d had to live through the terror. She was so fucking strong — she and Dad both. I would never understand how they survived everything life handed to them.
I sighed, looking back to Ginny. “I’m okay.”
Mom squeezed my shoulder. “Take a break. Your father and I will sit with her.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need some fresh air.”
I shook my head, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
If Ginny can’t get fresh air, I don’t deserve it.
“Son, look at me.” Dad stepped into my line of sight, covering my hand where I held Ginny’s. “It’s okay. She’s okay.”
My eyes watered, and I sniffed, looking up at the ceiling and willing the tears not to fall. I needed to be strong for them, for her. But I was breaking.
“Besides, you have a visitor.”
This from my mother, whom I assessed with a questioning brow. She only smiled, her expression so warm despite the circumstances.
“Emily is here.”
I blinked, unbelieving, before fishing my phone from my jacket pocket. I hadn’t checked it since I told Coach what was going on. I skipped past the myriad of texts, including a dozen in the group chat with my college friends, and right to the texts I’d missed from Emily.
Trouble: Where did you go? Are you flying to Baltimore?
Trouble: I’m coming.
Trouble: Hey, just landed. No rush in responding. I just want you to know I’m here.
Trouble: Checked in with the ICU desk. I’m in the waiting area. I’ll wait as long as I need to, just know you’re not alone.
Every text made my chest tighten more, and the tears I’d been holding back spilled in a quick sweep down my cheeks to the floor. I wiped away the wetness, sniffing as I tucked my phone away again.
She’s here.
After everything, she’s here.
My immediate response was relief. I wanted her here. I wanted to see her so badly, I was sick with the need.
But on the heels of that instinct was the cold, harsh reminder of what had happened before I left Seattle.
She shouldn’t be here.
“Go,” my dad said, and he didn’t let me protest before he was pulling me up from the chair. “Get some coffee. Talk to Emily. We’ll be here when you get back.”
“And don’t rush,” Mom added. “Ginny is okay.”
I nodded, but one look at Ginny told me that was just part of the story.
She was okay for now.
My chest was on fire as I slipped out of Ginny’s room and into the bustling common area of the ICU.
The lights were bright, and I squinted against them as my hands dove into my pockets.
I walked slowly toward the family waiting area, torn between wanting to sweep Emily into my arms and bury my face in her neck, to hold onto her like the lifeline she was…
And to do the right thing, the hard thing, the thing we both knew was best.
Let her go.
My stomach cramped at the thought, and I chewed my lip to keep from crying again. I was so wrecked emotionally, so fucking raw I felt like an exposed nerve in a flesh wound.
And it didn’t matter how slowly I walked or how long I hung my head before lifting it to find her in that waiting area, nothing could prepare me for what it would feel like to see her.
Emily stood the moment I entered the room, her eyes wide with worry, feet already moving her toward me before I had the chance to react. She was breathtaking, even with the lines of exhaustion beneath her eyes.
“Braden,” she breathed, like I was everything she wanted, everything she needed.
She flew to me, and I was already breaking by the time she threw her arms around my neck.
I caught her in an embrace, squeezing tight, allowing myself the moment of selfishness to feel her one last time. I inhaled her scent, spruce and brown sugar, and committed it to memory. Her warmth was everything I needed. Her presence was the only thing I craved.
But if Ginny’s scare had taught me anything, it was that there was a price to pay when you played with fire.
I’d risked my career, thinking it was safe, convincing myself that even though I had everything to lose, surely I’d be fine.
No one would find out.
No consequences would come.
I’d been proven wrong.
And with the proof of why it was all so important slamming into my chest in the form of Ginny with a tube down her throat, I had no choice but to see it all painfully clear.
I held on for longer than I should have, terrified to let her go and have to face the truth. When I finally let her pull back, Emily reached for my face, wiping my tears away with her palms as her eyes searched mine.
“God, what happened? Is she okay?”
I nodded, unable to swallow with how tight my throat was. “She’s okay.”
“Oh, thank God.” Emily sighed with relief, but she was still holding me, her eyes flicking between mine. “Are you okay?”
My chin wobbled. Fuck, I was so emotionally shredded I couldn’t keep it together. “Not really.”
Emily squeezed my hands, pulling me over to the farthest corner of the room. She guided me to a chair, sat me down, and then left me long enough to fill a cup with water from the station in the waiting area.
“Drink,” she said.
I did only because I needed more time before I could speak, before I could look her in the eye and say the last thing I ever wanted to.
For a long time, she just sat there with me, wordlessly providing support with her hand wrapped around mine. She leaned her head on my shoulder, letting me feel her presence, not asking for a goddamn thing.
And I realized it in that cold, sterile waiting room. It hit me like a fact I’d known all along but forgotten to recall in a while, like an old, faded photograph from my childhood or a scent that took me right back to a bright summer day.
I loved her.
My chest squeezed painfully, fresh tears gathering but thankfully staying at bay.
I loved her because she was here for me. I loved her because she understood me in a way no one else did. I loved her because she pushed me to live when I’d been so complacent in just surviving, because she’d awakened a passion in me I never knew could exist.
I loved her.
And I couldn’t have her.