Chapter Thirty-One
It’s a glorious late afternoon in Miami, and I’m walking with Mom on Lincoln Road, an eight-block shopping area in South Beach.
The area is bustling the day before Christmas Eve, and I’m out with Mom doing some last-minute shopping.
The skies are a brilliant blue, very few clouds, and the temperature is mild.
The feeling is festive, as the stores have up all their holiday displays.
This has been my tradition with Mom no matter where we lived.
I always go out with her the day before Christmas Eve and do some last-minute shopping, get a coffee, and then get ready to go to the game if Dad’s team is playing.
Tonight the Manatees do have a game, and it’s the last one before the two-day Christmas break.
The last game before Aiden and I come clean to my parents.
“Let’s go in here,” Mom says, pausing outside a high-end kitchen store. “I always love seeing what they have on sale.”
I nod, wishing I could share with her the surprise gifts I bought Aiden.
I got him a basket of all kinds of Cuban coffees.
A framed picture of us together. A Miami Christmas tree ornament, to put on our tree.
I was invited to a Christmas cookie exchange party over the weekend thanks to Georgie, so I made cookies, received some, and kept some hidden away in a tin for him.
My favorite gift, however, is an embroidered T-shirt with the date of Casino Night in Roman numerals on the left chest, then, on the cuff, our initials. I know he’ll love that. My man has a romantic soul, and that will speak to it.
We wander around the store as an upbeat Christmas soundtrack plays overhead. I look at the aprons, and Mom pauses next to me. “I always feel like I should have a good apron, but I know I’d never use it,” she says.
I turn and study a table stacked high with last-minute gifts and find a box of peppermint crème-filled cookies dipped in dark chocolate.
Merry Christmas to me, I think, picking them up.
“You and your peppermint,” Mom says, smiling fondly at me.
“I love it, but it’s the best with chocolate.”
“Here, give it to me. It can be another stocking stuffer for you.”
“Mom! No, I can buy my own cookies,” I say.
“Give it to me,” she insists.
I shake my head. She groans. “Scarlett. Don’t make me irritated on the day before Christmas Eve.”
I sigh and hand her the box. “Thank you. I appreciate it. And you.”
“I know, sweetheart. And … you know you can tell me anything, right?”
My brain goes on high alert. “Of course I do.”
She moves over to a display of cookie cutters, acting like she’s studying them, which is exactly what she is doing—pretending—because she hasn’t baked Christmas cookies since we were all kids, and then it was of the slice-and-bake variety.
She picks up a copper snowflake and turns it over. “Maybe I’m imagining things,” she says slowly, “but I saw you staring at Aiden during the family skate last week.”
My chest immediately tightens. I pick up a peppermint-striped spatula as if I don’t have a care in the world and this kitchen tool is the only thing I want to contemplate.
“Aiden,” Mom continues, her voice soft, “is not an option, Scarlett. Even if he were interested. But I know Aiden, and he’s not the kind of player who would ever pursue you. He knows better than that.”
I resist the urge to tell my mom she has no clue what kind of man he is or the type of decisions Aiden would make because of who I am. I want to rage that it doesn’t make him a shady character because he chose to date me.
In fact, it’s the opposite. Aiden would not risk all of this unless he saw something incredible in me.
Someone he can see forever with.
“I think I want to come back for this after Christmas,” I say, waving the spatula. “To see if it’s further marked down. Oh, and about Aiden? If I want to share something, I’ll share it.”
There. That’s not a lie. Not the denial I’m sure she wanted, but being that we’re going to tell the truth in a matter of days? There is no need to tell lies anymore.
“That answer isn’t exactly comforting,” Mom says slowly.
“I think I want to stop and get coffee after this. I need a caffeine boost before the game,” I say, ignoring her comment and changing the subject.
Mom stares at me, and I decide to treat myself to the spatula. Partially because it’s cute. Partially to close this conversation with my mom.
I head up to the counter and get in line. I’m not lying about wanting a coffee. We’ve been shopping for hours, and I’m tired. While I’m waiting, I reach into my purse and fish out my phone. I see I have a couple of text messages, including one from Georgie. I tap that open first:
Scarlett, this is Ella, Georgie’s sister. Georgie took a bad fall down the stairs at Beckham’s house this afternoon. She’s been transported by ambulance to the hospital. Beckham and I are here with her, but I thought you would want to know.
“Oh my God!” I cry, my hand flying to my mouth as I drop the spatula to the floor. That text was sent around three-fifteen. The next text was sent around four-thirty:
Scarlett, this is Ella again. Georgie is going to be okay. She’s got some injuries—broken rib, sprained ankle, concussion, cuts, and she’s going to stay overnight for observation. We’re waiting for a room now.
The text includes Ella’s number as well as the address for the hospital.
“Mom!” I shout, leaving my place in line, “we need to go. Georgie has fallen down the stairs and she’s in the hospital. I need to see her!”
Mom gasps in horror. “Oh my God! Is she going to be okay?”
I feel sick at the idea of Georgie being hurt—and knowing it could have been so much worse. “Her sister says yes. But Beckham must be beside himself,” I say, my voice shaking. “He loves her so much.”
Anyone who has been around them can not only see it, but practically feel how much they love each other. I’m just glad he’s there for her.
“Mom, I need you to take me home. I’m going to skip the game tonight and visit Georgie.”
“Yes, of course,” she says, setting down the things she had on the nearest table.
The entire walk back to the car, I’m gripped with panic.
Mom tries to reassure me, reminding me that Ella’s text was encouraging, but still, Georgie’s being admitted to the hospital.
She is hurt to the level that doctors want to observe her overnight.
How did his happen? Who found her? How much pain is she in? Will she need a future surgery?
“I just saw her on Saturday afternoon,” I tell Mom.
“I met some of her friends at the cookie exchange, and we were laughing at how pink all her apartment decor was. She was telling us how Becks thinks all her nutcrackers look maniacal. Now she’s …
” My voice breaks off, and I have to pull myself together so I can finish the sentence. “Now she’s in the hospital.”
Mom puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to her side. “Scarlett, she’s hurt, but it sounds like she’s going to be okay. Ella even said that in her text, remember?”
“I hate that I missed the first text,” I say, guilt surging through me.
“You cannot be upset at yourself for that,” Mom says.
“The main thing is that you’re going to show up for her now.
You can spend some time with her if she’s up for it, and you can offer to be of help in any way that you can.
You know she’s going to need help in the weeks ahead as she recovers.
Georgie is going to be very battered and bruised, it sounds like. ”
I start thinking of things I can do for Georgie. Stop by and keep her company. Cook her meals and stock her fridge. Bring her coffee. Offer to run errands. I might be her newest friend, but I’ll make it clear she can count on me.
And I’ll do whatever I can to help her.
* * *
I wander down the corridor of the hospital, making my way toward Georgie’s room.
I pass by open doorways, hearing the beeps and sounds of monitors, and notice the sterile environment I’m in.
Everything is in shades of gray and white and very quiet.
I follow the numbers on the wall, heading in the direction of room 212.
I still feel sick about what happened. I hope I’m doing the right thing by showing up unannounced. I didn’t text Ella back. I didn’t want to bother anyone as they were trying to contact people and get Georgie settled.
I decided to follow my gut and take action instead. If Georgie is asleep, I’ll slip out of the room. I’ll make sure my visit is short regardless. I know she’s in pain and she has to be both physically and emotionally exhausted.
And we’re still in the process of becoming friends. She might not want me here, saving this space just for her twin. Or Chloe, her best friend.
I reach the door to her room and hesitate outside of it for a moment. I decide a light knock might be best, and just as I lift my hand to do so, the door pulls open, and I find myself face to face with Georgie’s sister, Ella.
“Scarlett!” she gasps in surprise.
“Is Georgie up for a visitor?” I ask quietly.
“Yes, she is, go on in,” Ella encourages as she leaves the room.
I step inside the room, stopping as I spot Georgie in her bed. I see bruising on her face and how swollen it is—and she’s so pale. I can’t even imagine how bruised and battered the rest of her body is.
The fall was bad. I knew that before, but I can see it now.
“I hope you don’t mind that I came,” I say softly. “I know we’re still becoming friends, but as soon as I saw the text from Ella, I wanted to check on you.”
She smiles gently at me. “I think we’re friends already. And I’m glad you came.”
Relief washes over me. “I’m so glad.”
“You can have a seat. Beckham went to get some lattes. He’ll be gone for a while.”
I nod and move over to the chair that is pulled up to her bedside. “Are you okay?” I ask, noticing the stitches on the side of her face.
“The stairs got the better of me,” she manages to joke.