Page 125 of Under Pressure

Fuck my fucking life.

43

I’m shakingas I turn away the flight attendant and try to focus on the stack of job applications I’ve brought with me.

They’re all bent out of shape and ripped from being shoved so quickly into my backpack. I have to reread the same section four times before registering the words. I’m so far past losing my mind. It’s still at security at the Vancouver airport.

“He’s going for an X-ray now. All we know is that he hurt his shoulder.”

I repeat Kellan’s words over and over as the plane shakes with turbulence. My pen slips from my fingers and rolls out of view. It’s so fucking squishy in here. There’s some dude with a mullet manspreading beside me, and I know my arm is pressing into his, even when I lean further against the window. The air vent above me is only partially open, but cranking it more would mean standing to reach, and Lord knows this dude will huff again about me jostling him.

My skin is too tight over my bones. Shit, I want to just scratch it all off.

Beck can’t be badly hurt. The universe wouldn’t punish him like that. He didn’t do anything to deserve having his season goals ripped away from him. The team has been doing well, Ithink, and they’re already missing Asher Vaughn. What will happen if they don’t have their closer, too?

I gulp, focusing back on the application. It wasn’t my plan to go over these already. Eli seemed genuinely happy and maybe even a bit relieved when I told him my plans to hire another full-time barista. It’s been a long time coming.

Still, my hope was to focus on Beck first and then expand the team. There’s no point in finding someone to cover some of my hours if I don’t have a reason to stay out of the café. Beck was my reason.

Spending time with him has become my biggest priority, and that’s one hell of a shift. It’s not half as scary now as I would have expected it to be. I’m completely confident in my choices now.

I don’t want to be without him anymore. Not now, not tomorrow, and not ten years from now.

Maybe that’s crazy. It probably is. I’m still not changing my mind.

“He wanted us to make sure you knew. Rome wants to get him on a flight back to Vancouver tomorrow if he needs another opinion or it’s really bad. I’m sure he’ll call you later.”

I close my eyes, fear clamping around my throat. The first thought I had was that I should have been there. A few minutes was all it would have taken for me to run to the clubhouse so I could see him for myself. Instead, I’m flying by myself for the very first time to a city I’ve never been to with the hope of him even wanting to see me.

Folding the papers back up, I decide I can’t focus on this. They crinkle when they’re shoved into the backpack under the seat ahead of me. A grunt comes from the guy beside me, and I roll my eyes before relaxing again.

He has no idea how lucky he is that I haven’t let myself elbow him in the dick.

Finn

I’ll be right there. He’s getting an MRI.

I almost throw up when I read his text. The entire Uber ride to the clinic, I was trying not to scare the poor driver. He was nice, too. Unfortunately, I wasn’t.

He doesn’t seem to hold it against me when he wishes me luck, drops my luggage on the curb, and then zooms out of the parking lot. I move too quickly to notice much else other than the rain. The weather is so similar to home here.

A head of messy blond hair is the first thing I spot the moment I step inside. Despite it being a small clinic, it still reeks like a regular hospital. The comparison does nothing to comfort me.

“He’s okay, Quinn,” he murmurs, awkwardly rubbing my arms. It’s only when I pick up on the pity in his tone that I realize my eyes are blurry. “The X-ray was negative. This is all precautionary.”

I try to find moisture in the desert that’s overtaken my mouth. “I should have been here.”

“That’s unfair to yourself. None of the WAGs travel with us to every away game. We don’t expect them to.”

“After everything—” I cut myself off. Shame is a jagged knife in my back. “I just should have. Even just for right now.”

Instead of arguing, he changes the subject. “He should be done by now. I’ll take you to the room.”

“Thank you.”

Once he releases my arms, we walk through the quiet hall. There isn’t anyone at the front desk; all the chairs around it are also empty. I’ve never been in a clinic that wasn’t open to the general public before. It reeks of luxury, but I swallow anynegative thoughts I have. They’re taking care of Beck here, and that’s all that matters.

The door he guides us to is open. I pause, my feet stuck to the white tile flooring. A myriad of voices float from the room, most of which I recognize. Kellan’s low words are heavy and blunt.