Page 88 of First Down Promise

I walk down the white hallway, past multiple doors—some open, some closed—until I’m faced with Pete’s. I release a breath and lightly knock before opening it. Pete is sitting up in the hospital bed with multiple tubes connected to his arms and chest and an oxygen cannula beneath his nose. Dark circles sit beneath his dulled hazel eyes, and his skin nearly looks gray under the harsh hospital lights. I inhale the sharp, antiseptic scent of the hospital room.

“Oh, Pete.”

He lifts his hand, palm flat toward me. “Don’t.” His voice is hoarse, and he winces, letting his arm drop to the bed.

“Are you okay?” I ask, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Someday I might be again.” He sounds breathy, and his usually confident voice is quieter and utterly defeated. “Just wanted…” He pauses for a breath. “…you to know I’m…fuck.” He winces again and closes his eyes. “I’ll live.”

“Josh is here. Do you want to see him?”

He slowly opens his eyes again. “No. Go home, Abby.”

“That’s it?” I ask. He stays silent and avoids looking at me. “Fine,” I mutter, turning for the door, but stop before I reach for the handle. I peer over my shoulder at him. “I’m sorry for how you found out, but we’re meant to be. Bye, Pete.”

I push through to the waiting room where Josh is sitting by himself. He smiles when he sees me and stands. “Hey, how is he?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Alive, I guess. Seems like he’s in a lot of pain. He looked so pale and winced whenever he spoke,” I say. I glance at the floor and whisper, “He didn’t want to see you.”

“That’s fair. Let’s get you home and maybe grab something to eat on the way.”

“I don’t want anything heavy,” I mumble.

He keeps his arm draped over my shoulders as we walk out of the exit toward his truck in the lot. The reporters have cleared out now and must have gotten a statement from Glenn. For the first time all day, I feel like I can finally breathe.

“I can stop at one of those drive-thru salad places,” Josh replies.

I give him a weak smile. “Sounds great.”

He helps me into the truck like a gentleman, and I lean my head against the seat belt that crosses over my chest while he drives. The air between us is quiet, almost static, as we leave the things that should be discussed unsaid. I glance over at Josh, but he’s laser-focused on driving.

“Are you relieved he knows?” I ask as we approach our pocket of Nashville.

“No,” he answers while keeping his full attention on the road. He flips his blinker on and turns into the drive-thru. “Which salad do you want?”

“Whatever you’re getting, please.”

“Okay.”

The silence follows us even as we finally pull up to Pete’s house, and Josh pulls into the driveway and shifts into park. He leaves the truck idling and keeps his grip on the steering wheel. “Can you come in? I don’t want to be alone.”

Josh sighs. “Pete will know I’m here.”

“There’s not much he can do about it now.”

“Fine, but he won’t like it.” He presses the button to turn the ignition off and unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Thank you.”

We walk through the front door, and I turn on lights as I make my way through the house. We end up in the kitchen, and I set the plastic bag with our salads on the kitchen island. We’ve made so many memories around this island. I can see the guys—Coop, Dane, Josh, and Pete—gathered around with beer bottles and empty takeout containers scattered across the counter. But there’s something gray and cold about Pete’s house now. And nights like those could be over.

“We should eat,” Josh says, taking a seat on a barstool.

“Yeah, definitely.” He shakes his plastic container to mix up the dressing, and I do the same. I lean against the counter next to him and pop the lid off my salad. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Josh spears a bite’s worth on his fork. “It as in Pete in the hospital or Pete catching us mid-fuck? Because honestly, I’m not sure which is worse.”

“You seem frustrated.”