Page 185 of Untying the Knot
I sigh heavily. I don’t want to leave her, but I also know Nichole always gets what she wants, so if she wants me out of here to get some sleep, then that’s what I’m going to do. Doubtful I’ll get any rest, though.
“Okay.” I lean down and press a kiss on her bandaged head. “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”
“With donuts.”
“With donuts,” I say, and then I walk over to Ryot, who offers his hand, and I take it.
“Let us know if you need anything else, Nichole,” he says before we exit the room.
Together, we head toward the elevator and then out of the hospital in silence, where a car is waiting for us—different from the one that collected us from the airport. Ryot opens the door for me and helps me buckle up before he goes to his side and slides in toward the middle, where he loops his arm around me and pulls me in tight.
That’s when I break down again.
Through sobs, I hear him whisper about how much he’s here for me. How he loves me. How he will take care of me.
But none of it sinks in because all I can think about is how my best friend is dying, and I can’t do anything about it.
* * *
RYOT
“Hello?”I whisper into the phone as I step into the penthouse living room. I booked the place as soon as I knew we were going to Chicago.
“Hey, man, how’s everything going?” Banner asks.
“Not good,” I answer quietly. “Stage 4 liver cancer. Not sure she’s going to make it.”
He’s silent and then, “Fuck, are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Dude, I don’t know what to fucking do. I can see that Myla is spiraling, and Nichole looks sick. It’s all too fucking much.”
“I’m coming. I’ll book a flight today and be out there so I can help in any way needed.”
“Okay.” I drag my hand over my face. “I know this will be a really selfish thing to say given the circumstances, but dude, I think she’s going to pull away. I can feel it deep in my goddamn bones. This is our undoing.”
“You can’t think that way.”
“She was already acting weird after hearing about the ESPN thing, despite her saying she was proud of me, but this . . . this is it.”
“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll let you know about my flight, and then I’ll meet you out there. Keep me posted.”
“I will.”
We say our goodbyes, and when I turn around, I find Myla standing in the bedroom doorway, her eyes sunken and bloodshot, her hair in a tangled mess, and her clothes askew.
Fuck, did she hear what I said?
“Hey, good morning,” I say, trying to act casual. “How are you feeling?”
“Who were you talking to?” she asks.
Yup . . . she heard.
“Banner,” I say.
