Page 86 of The Triple Play

But why not me? Why not us?

I roll over and muffle my cries in my pillow, screaming in frustration.

Eventually, I drag myself off my bed and into the bathroom. A long hot shower does little to improve my mood, but it does ease some of the tightness in my muscles. When I fall back into my bed wearing clean pajamas, Trip jumps up on the bed and hops in a circle twice before settling down with a huff.

“I know, I miss them, too,” I whisper as I stroke his back. He lets out another sigh, and I follow it with one of my own as I close my eyes.

After what feels like barely a moment, but is actually a couple of hours, according to my bedside clock, my eyes fly open when my phone starts vibrating incessantly. I fumble for it, still half asleep. The only people who should be able to reach me when my phone is on Do Not Disturb is my family. Unless whoever it is calls repeatedly. As I come fully awake, panic floods my veins. Something must be wrong.

But when I look at the screen, it’s not my dad’s number, or Kyle’s, or even Marcus’s.

I click to accept the call, sitting upright and disturbing Trip, who lifts his head and yawns. “Griffin?”

“Liv.” His voice is raw, tired, and heavy. “It’s Denver.”

Less than half an hour later, I’m tapping my leg impatiently as the hospital elevator climbs slowly to the surgical recovery floor.

The doors finally open and I hurry down the empty hall. It’s just past three in the morning, but when Griffin said Denver was in surgery, I didn’t stop to think through the logistics of showing up at the hospital in the middle of the night. I simply pulled on clothes and got in my car.

I resolutely ignore any intrusive thoughts about whether or not I have any right to show up, even though Griffin said Denver was asking for me before he went into the operating room.

I see Griffin sitting on one of the plastic chairs lining the hallway. His elbows rest on his knees, his head hanging low.

“Griffin.”

At my voice, his head lifts, and he’s up, striding toward me, pulling me into his chest before I can suck in a full breath.

“You came.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tightly, feeling him sag into my body. “Of course, I came.”

We stay like that for several moments. Breathing in each other’s strength. But there’s someone else nearby who needs it even more.

I force myself to pull back. “How is he?”

Griffin keeps hold of my hands and pulls me over to the chairs. He sinks down, tugging me into his side before he answers. “The surgeon came out just before you got here and said the repair went well. His clavicle was only mildly displaced and the fracture was a clean one. He’ll be out for a few months but should make a full recovery as long as he’s not an idiot and doesn’t rush it.”

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t,” I cut in firmly.

The stress lining Griffin’s face eases ever so slightly. “We?”

I drop my gaze down to the floor for a second, maybe two, before I nod.

“If that’s an option,” I say quietly.

I hear him inhale and exhale slowly. “Liv. Baby. Look at me.”

I lift my head and force myself to do as he asks. What I see steals my breath away.

“We want⁠—”

“Mr. Voss?” An older nurse walks out of a set of double doors, interrupting whatever Griffin was going to say. I want to tell her to go away so he can finish, but Griffin launches to his feet.

“Is he awake?”

I jump up beside him, my hand finding his.

The nurse smiles. “Yes, he’s doing well. I think we’ll be able to move him to the orthopaedic ward in a few hours. If you’d like to see him briefly, you can, but also,”—her gaze darts over to me—“he’s asking for his pixie? We’re not entirely sure what that means, but he’s quite insistent that we find her.”