Page 32 of You Again

“She does love you. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Doesn’t know it? This isn’t a Michael Bublé song. This is my life.” I’ve said too much. I can hardly breathe now. “This is Rosalie.”

“I know. I know.” Callum stands as alarms sound from the machines they have me attached to.

“Then take me to her.” I throw back the blanket covering me in my hospital gown.

“Whoa,” Cal says, standing and tipping his chair right over. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m seeing Rose, and I’m seeing her now. You can’t stop me.”

“Zev,” he barks, above all the ringing. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

I freeze at his words. They can’t be true.

The door to my room opens and a woman in blue scrubs steps inside. She takes a shot of hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser in my doorway and walks over to the machines going off. “Your heart rate shot up, Zev. You okay?”

No, I’m not okay. Rosalie doesn’t remember me. Rosalie doesn’t want to see me.

She peers down at my bed and my blankets pushed to the side. “You have a catheter in, honey. No getting up for you. Not yet.” She hits a couple buttons and the machines fall silent. Then she’s listening to my heart with a stethoscope and looking at my pupils. “Did you get a little overexcited?”

I still don’t answer. I can’t.

She swings my blankets back over my legs. “I’m going to bring you some juice. And I want you to down every last drop. Got it?”

When I say nothing, Callum nods, stammering, “I’ll make sure he drinks it all.”

She steps away and I toss my head back against the propped-up bed. I’m not going anywhere. Even if I could, they wouldn’t let me.

“Let me explain,” Callum says. And then he does. He talks and talks, telling me how Rosalie found out about her grandpa Kermit, about Robert—the scum—about Fran being married all at once. He tells me about the panic attack that was so severe that the nurse had to sedate her. He tells me how she made her family and Fran promise not to tell her anything more unless she asks for it. How she panics if they even try.

He talks and talks, until I’m blinded by tears and my heart squeezes with more pain at the news of this nightmare than my leg could ever possibly be in.

Sixteen

Present Day

I glance about the locker room, my teammates in their training kits, while I’m in athletic shorts and a Red Tails T-shirt. They’ll be headed out to practice soon. I have to go to physical therapy before I get to sit on the sidelines and watch practice.

I’m realizing that while I’ve had compassion for guys who were hurt and on the sidelines, it was never enough.

Killing yourself on the field is hard. This is harder.

“How’s the leg?” Sawyer, our Red Tail goalie, sits on the bench next to me.

“Better every day,” I lie. The truth is, my leg is healing slowly. Slower than they would have thought. It’s still swollen and not strong enough for me to sprint yet. And while the doctors and therapist are unsure why, I’m frustrated beyond belief.

Sawyer clears his throat. “And Rosalie?”

A shirtless Lucca walks up behind Sawyer and slaps a hand to his back. “She’s better every day, too,” he says, saving me from answering.

Sawyer nods, looking from Lucca back to me. “Good. I’ve got you both on the prayer roll at my church.”

I didn’t even know Sawyer went to church. And now, while feeling physically weak and emotionally beaten, I also feel like a bad teammate.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “It’s helping.” And maybe it is. I’ve spoken to Rosalie. After months, we’ve talked to one another. She knows my name again.

He stands to leave, noting how Lucca hovers over him, waiting to take his seat.