10
TRISTAN
“Sorry,sir, I can’t share any information about a patient unless they give me permission to.”
The nurse’s eyes were kind, but I knew I was pushing my luck. This wasn’t Yorkfield, and I couldn’t play the hockey star card to charm my way into anything.
My hands curled into fists at my sides. I absolutely could not commit an act of violence in a hospital because a nurse was correctly safeguarding Eva’s privacy.
Christ, what the fuck was wrong with me?
I scrubbed my hands over my cornrows then looked around the sterile waiting room for a seat. My eyes snagged on a haggard-looking man with the same curly red hair and clear green eyes as my Eva.
“Mr. Jackson?” I asked.
He looked at me then gave a genuine smile, although he looked tired. “Eva’s young man,” he said and offered me his hand. “Conrad Jackson.”
“Tristan Baptiste,” I said, accepting the firm handshake. I didn’t disabuse him of the fact that I was Eva’s, because Iwas, despite everything. Whether she’d be willing to be mine again was a better question. “How’s she doing?”
He slumped back into his chair and dragged his hands down his face. “In surgery. Her valve failed.”
Hervalve?
The scar. Her medication.Shit shit shit shit shit.
“She was in an accident on the way home. It was a huge pile-up. She’s lucky it was just her valve,” he continued.
The waiting room tilted. She’d been driving. In the snow. After she quit. After we?—
Horror took root in my chest. After we blamed her for everything that had happened. After we tried to punish her,hurther, for doing what she had to do to save her father. After we called her horrible names and accused her of horrible things. After Coach joined in.
She’d been running from us when she crashed.
My stomach lurched. We’d done that. We’d driven her into a snowstorm, terrified and alone, because we were too fucking selfish to see past our own need to possess her, because we’d been too focused on our cocks instead of helping her.
“Eva’s tough,” Mr. Jackson said, perhaps mistaking my horror for worry. “She’ll make it through this.”
She’d driven into a snowstorm to get away from us.
“Yeah,” I whispered, bile burning my throat. “She’s tough.”
Too fucking tough. She shouldn’t have had to be.
Me
She’s in surgery.
Heart valve failed in the accident.
Her dad’s here.
Three dots came and went and came and went. Cole was probably staring at his phone, trying to process the same horror that was clawing at my chest.
Cole
Is she going to be okay?
Me