Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Marcee pressed on. “I know it’s hard to think about anything else when someone you care about is hurt, but if there’s anything we know, it’s that Cope hates to lose.
She would expect each and every one of you to be back on the field, ready to dominate.
So, we are going to get back out there and take control for the next twenty.
Every minute spent on that pitch is a minute that you fight for Cope.
Sitting in a waiting room is nice, but scoring goals is the best way we can show Cope we care. ”
Hannah stepped forward. “Hell yes, Coach. Pemberton, pull in!”
The team huddled together, arms slung over each other’s shoulders.
“Harper, count it down,” Hannah yelled.
“Cope on three,” Harper barked. “One, two, three!”
“Cope!”
The energy volleyed around them before they broke apart and ran onto the field.
Marcee swallowed back the emotion sitting in her throat.
Pride and love and nerves wracked her body, but she forced it back, letting everything fade until the only thing that existed was her team, the turf, and the ball.
The last half of the game was explosive. Nicole texted her when she got to the hospital but could only find out that Cope was stable. The medical staff wouldn’t tell her anything else without being family. Still, Marcee checked her phone every few minutes during that last half, hoping for news.
Her girls channeled their fear and anger into a sound beating over the other team, but there were no celebratory chants or high-fives. Despite their courage, they walked off the field and into the locker room with their heads hanging low.
“Every one of you played a phenomenal game tonight, so keep your heads up. I know you’re worried, but Cope is stable and being taken care of.
Okay, get dressed and go rest. You’ve earned it.
Hannah’s mom has graciously volunteered to wait with you all so I can get to the hospital and check on Cope. ”
Marcee ran all the way to her car, sending Nicole a text before she left the parking lot to let her know she was on the way.
She couldn’t even look at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Guilt pooled like poison in her gut. Why didn’t she just bench Cassidy for the game, maybe let her recover a day?
The answer wasn’t black and white.
Wilkes demanded a win, threatening her at every turn.
Cassidy was the best in the state, at least, when she was at her best. He’d already inquired why her playing time was so low.
Despite her concerns, Marcee’s boss didn’t give a hoot about a teenage girl’s undiagnosed medical condition, especially when the school still had a doctor’s note in her school file allowing her to play.
And despite Bill’s concern and open communication with Marcee, he still wanted to give his only daughter whatever she wanted, especially in the middle of her parents’ increasingly nasty divorce. If Cope wanted to play, she was going to play. Limiting her time was a concession.
Marcee got into the ER parking lot easily enough, but going inside was a different matter.
She’d avoided the hospital as often as possible since high school.
The lights, the smells, the nurses—all of it reminded her of the worst period of her life.
Standing outside the doors, she was triggered, reliving the feeling of a feeding tube, or the pinch of an IV because her body was completely dehydrated.
She barely felt the wall braced beneath her hand.
“Miss?”
It would be cold inside Cope’s room. Why was it always so cold in the hospital?
“Are you okay? Miss, can you hear me?”
There was a hesitant touch on her shoulder and Marcee jerked away, snapping back to the present and the night air underneath the bright hospital bay lights.
A woman in scrubs stepped back, giving her room, but didn’t leave. She had a hospital ID clipped to her blue top.
“Do you need medical assistance?”
Marcee shook her head. “No. No, I’m sorry, I need to go in and check on someone. I just got…” Her voice trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without revealing her gaping emotional baggage to a stranger.
The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “Scared?”
“Sorta.” Marcee took a deep breath and stepped in front of the automatic doors, the chilled air of the ER hitting her in the face. Well, that hadn’t changed in the past decade.
Cope was inside and she would check on her. Whatever issues she had would just have to wait.
Marcee paused inside the lobby and sent Remy a text, letting him know what happened. She wished he was with her, hand grasping her own and lending her strength.
“Marcee!”
Nicole stood from one of the blue plastic chairs in the waiting room and Marcee hurried over.
“Any updates?” she asked in a rush.
Nicole shook her head. “Bill was supposed to come update me, but his wife—er, ex-wife—ran in about half an hour ago and it’s been crickets.”
Marcee nodded, her neck tense with the movement. “Not surprised. I’m going to see if I can talk my way back there. Why don’t you go home? You’ve been sitting in this hellhole for over an hour. I can take it from here.”
“Actually? That would be great.” Nicole heaved a sigh and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Hospitals are not my favorite place. Spent too much time in the one back home when my dad first got sick.”
Shit, Marcee had completely forgotten about Nicole’s father’s disease. Of course she would hate hospitals as much as her.
“No, don’t beat yourself up,” Nicole said hurriedly. “I don’t talk about it, like, ever, so it’s fine. But yeah, I’ll take my tired butt home.”
Marcee gave her a shaky smile. “Thanks for being the best assistant coach ever. And friend.”
Nicole pulled her into a hug, her tiny yet strong frame squeezing hard.
“She’s going to be okay. I know it.” Her words sank through the fabric of Marcee’s shirt, warming her shoulder. “Take care of yourself tonight when you get home. You’ve done everything you can.”
Marcee hoped she was right.
As soon as Nicole left, Marcee headed for the reception desk.
“Can I help you?”
The woman behind the desk looked exhausted as she eyed her cup of coffee, waiting on Marcee to respond.
“Yes, I’m here to see Cassidy Cope. She was brought in not long ago by an ambulance.”
“Are you a family member or guardian?”
Marcee shook her head. “No, I’m her soccer coach. Head soccer coach. I was on the field when she collapsed.”
“I can only let family or legal guardians past those doors, just like I told your friend,” she responded, voice automated. Marcee could only imagine the crap she dealt with daily, not to mention night shifts were the worst.
Marcee didn’t mean to be difficult, but she couldn’t leave without checking on Cope and getting an update.
“Please? I have a responsibility and ethical duty to check on her well-being. Please.” So help her God, she would sneak onto her floor. Alex may have to bail her out of jail later.
Whatever look was on her face elicited some sort of sympathetic response with the hospital worker, or maybe she was too tired to care at that point, because she held up a finger for her to wait and picked up the phone, punching a button.
“Hey, I’ve got the head coach of the soccer player who was brought in a little bit ago up front. Can you check with the doctor and her parents and see if she can come back? Yeah, sure, I’ll wait.”
It took less than a minute to get a response.
“Understood. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and nodded at the doors leading into the hospital. “They said it’s fine. She’s in trauma room three for the moment. Go straight back and it’s on the left.”
“Thank you so much.”
The doors buzzed open, and Marcee raced through, narrowly avoiding a patient being wheeled out.
Her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as she power-walked down the hallway, stopping herself from an all-out jog, reaching room three slightly out of breath.
The door was cracked and murmured voices floated out, eclipsed by the beeping of machines.
A steady, stable beep.
Marcee felt faint with relief.
Her first knock was timid, as if her body worked against her so no one would hear, and she’d have to leave. She knocked a second time, giving it more force.
“Come in.” She recognized Bill’s voice.
“Coach Ackerman. We wondered if you’d show up.”
Her brain processed the mother’s words, but she was riveted by the sight of Cope in the hospital bed, pale and still with tubes running around her and the heart monitor lit up next to her bed. Her hair was tangled around her, still damp with sweat. She looked like a ghost.
“I came as soon as the game ended,” she forced out. The pressure in her chest was back, like a small child sitting on her.
“The doctor says she’s anorexic. Her body shut down because she’s severely malnourished.
” Cassidy’s mother, Helen, sat next to the bed, eyes red and hair in disarray.
She stood and crossed to the foot of the bed.
Even then, she was like so many other moms Marcee had seen in her time at private schools: manicured, highlighted, put together.
The difference was an unspeakable tragedy occurred and she was just another person with a sick loved one.
She was another parent who thought they knew their child.
Marcee wondered if she’d ever accept culpability.
“How could this happen?” Helen asked, gripping the bed rail. Her voice sounded like it was filtered through a wind tunnel.
Marcee gaped at her.
“Helen…” Bill warned. Helen held up her hand, a look of simmering rage on her face.
“I said, why did this happen? How could you let this happen?”
There was no right answer in the situation, but that certainly answered her earlier one. Everyone in this room knew that Marcee had raised her concerns. The difference was, Marcee wanted her to get help, and Helen had brushed it off, but she couldn’t say that to a grieving mother.
Marcee straightened her shoulders. “I tried to help her. I’ve been trying to help her.”