Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“He could be brain damaged?” My dad sways on his feet and Blake grabs his arm.
“We won’t know until he regains consciousness. Right now, we’re keeping him sedated so his body can recover.”
“I want to see him,” Dad says.
I touch him on the shoulder. “Go now with Blake. I’ll wait with Gabriella.”
The mention of her name seems to jolt Dad from his bubble of panic. He finds her standing slightly behind me. “Gabriella?” he says.
“Yes, Mr. Nowak.”
“Thank you for staying with my son.”
Her arm jolts against me and when I look down at her, she burrows her face into my shoulder, overwhelmed by emotion.
“Come on, Dad,” Blake says, tugging him forward. “Let’s go.”
I watch my dad take small shuffling steps, led by Blake, as though he’s reluctant to face whatever Kain is going to look like, or maybe because the shock of today has aged him.
Turning, I pull Gabriella into my arms and try to soothe her with long sweeps of my hand over her back. She shakes against me. “He died, Dalton,” she whispers against my chest. “He died in front of me.”
“I know, Gab. I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t reply. We stand like this for a long time, two statues frozen in an embrace of fear for Kain; a brother I love.
And Gabriella?
Everything about her screams that she cares for Kain deeply, but is that just the remnants of our childhood friendship or more?
I take her hand again, touching the diamond ring on her finger.
Blake has marked her with a tattoo. She’s wearing Kain’s chain around her neck. I wish it was my ring on her finger.
Ours.
The word reverberates in my head and my heart. I feel the craving for it to be true deep within me.
Now is not the time for thoughts like this. It’s not the time to tell Gabriella how we all feel, but when Kain is well, and he will be well, we can’t leave the deal to continue.
She needs to know what we want. She needs to know we crave to build a life with her.
But until then, all we can do is wait.
23
GABRIELLA
While Blake and Mr. Nowak spend time at Kain’s bedside, Dalton and I head down to get coffee. My hands are still trembling, something that seems to be bothering Dalton a lot. He keeps lifting my hand in his and staring at it with an intense expression.
The machine produces a foamy looking concoction that I usually wouldn’t touch, but under the circumstances, I clutch it in both hands, absorbing the warmth, grateful for a different focus. As I take a grateful sip, Dornan approaches, moving carefully, as though he doesn’t want to invade our privacy. I guess me and Dalton must look gray with the stress of seeing Kain in such a terrible state.
“How is he?” Dornan asks.
“He’s wired up to just about every machine they have,” I reply, the image of Kain pricking my eyes with tears. “He’s still unconscious, but that’s intentional. They don’t want him to get distressed. But his heart is still beating.”
“Fuck.” Dornan shoves his fingers through his hair, and then drops his arms by his sides, focusing on the floor in front of him.
“What the fuck happened out there?” Dalton asks.
Dornan shakes his head. “It was nothing…well, not nothing. He took a hit, but we’ve all taken hits like that and worse more times than any of us can count. There wasn’t anything particularly bad about it. I just don’t understand.”
Dalton closes his eyes slowly, and I rest my hand on his elbow, feeling the frustration and hopelessness as palpable as if they were my own emotions. Knowing what caused Kain’s heart to stop is something that might happen again makes it worse. “This fucking game,” Dalton growls. “If it’s not ankle or knee injuries, it’s concussion or fucking heart attacks. It’s not right.”
“All sports carry risk,” I remind him. “Hell, you’re probably a lot more likely to pick up an injury working in construction than Kain is at football.”
“Coach does everything he can to keep us safe,” Dornan says, but sounds falsely bright, like an old-fashioned commercial. When he glances over his shoulder to see who’s listening, our focus drifts, too. Behind Dalton, Elias is leaning against the wall looking grim. Other players are taking up the chairs, their legs spread out like giants at a kids’ tea party. Coach is bent over in his seat, his head in his hands.
There’s nothing he could have done differently, but that won’t make him feel any less responsible. That’s what being a good leader is about.
“You guys don’t need to hang around,” Dalton says. “I’ll call Coach if anything changes, and he’ll let you know.”
Dornan shakes his head and widens his stance, rooting himself to the floor more firmly. “We’ll be here until he wakes up.”