I wished I had more information to give them—or better yet, that it was the comforting kind of information. Was he okay? What if they couldn’t get his heart rate down? The heart was an amazing organ, but I knew well enough anything could crack under too much pressure.
Tiredness dragged on my eyes. The clock on my phone read near one am. Laurel had finally taken a seat across from me, resting her head against Dad’s. Both of them had closed their eyes and fallen into an uneasy sleep. I couldn’t sleep, though. I was too anxious.
When it seemed like hours had passed, a middle-aged, balding doctor wearing a white jacket and carrying a clipboard entered the waiting room. “My apologies for waking you. I’m sure this has been a trying time,” the doctor said. “I thought you might like an update.”
Dad blinked and shook sleep from his eyes. Gently, he nudged Laurel, urging her awake. She inhaled noisily and then, as if remembering where she was, bolted to her feet.
The doctor smiled and waved her down, but she didn’t sit again. “How is he?” she demanded. “What’s going on?”
“He’s fine,” the doctor said. “Your son is doing just fine.”
Lightness stabbed straight into my chest. The overwhelming relief I felt hearing those words was unfathomable, and I placed a hand on my chest. Dad’s face reflected my insides, and Laurel gripped his hand, her attention stark on the doctor’s face.
“What happened?” Laurel asked. “Was it from the impact during the game?”
“Tate experienced what we call ventricular tachycardia. The nerves feeding into the heart cause an electric current to follow the same route through the ventricles every time, like this.” He demonstrated on a diagram in his hand. “Tate has an extra node in his lower ventricle, and on impact, the electric current got off track and went to this other node instead of its usual path.”
“That was why his heart was beating so fast,” Dad surmised.
“Yes,” the doctor said.
“So you were able to get it back on track?” I asked.
The doctor nodded toward me. “We’ve got his pulse stabilized, though I will tell you, it took quite a bit of effort. We put him under and tried the defibrillators at first—shocked him twice, in fact.” Laurel clasped a hand to her throat. The doctor winced. “Usually that works to slow the pulse, but his heart was stubborn as a mule and kept right on pumping. If anything, it only made his pulse take off faster.”
“Oh good heavens,” Laurel said.
The doctor nodded again. “Instead, we’ve administered some medication usually for blood pressure and he’s stabilized.”
I inched to the edge of my seat. I couldn’t sit still any longer. “Can we see him?” I asked.
Eyes softening, the doctor smiled and gave a nod. “He’s awake now and asking about you all.”
Laurel grasped the doctor’s hand. She shook it and then clasped it in both of her hands. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for helping my boy.”
Warmth beamed in the center of my chest. No matter what the situation in the past was, she was a loving mom. In that moment, the forgiveness Laurel had asked me for burrowed itself inside of me. Whatever resentment I’d held toward her vanished. What was the point of holding on to that pain, anyway? Life was too short to hold grudges.
Following the doctor, he led us to a different hall than the one we’d passed previously. Like the first, this area was separated with lines of curtains hiding individual patients. A nurse’s station lingered opposite from the lineup of curtains. A nurse wearing teal scrubs bent toward a man in an open curtain area, but I averted my eyes, giving them privacy.
In the next section over, Tate lay on a bed in a hospital gown. Tubes protruded from an IV stuck into his hand. His head lolled, his eyes drooping. The sight was numbing, but at least his pulse on the monitor beside his bed read out much slower. This time the lines were at a steady, regular pace, and the sight—and the lack of beeping from the alarm warning that his pulse was too high—made my heart skip with relief.
Laurel approached first, brushing a finger along Tate’s cheek. His lids fluttered open, and he gazed through glossy eyes at his mom.
“Hey,” Tate said drowsily.
His mom bent in and hugged him. She cupped his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his nose. “You crazy boy. I love you,” she said.
“Love you,” he mumbled in reply. Gradually, his gaze trailed to Dad and then to me. Something clogged in my throat. “Sorry to scare everyone.”
I stepped toward his bed. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Bailey.” He offered a hand, and that was all the invitation I needed. I went to his side and slipped my hand in his. We lost ourselves in one continuous glance, a glance that was neither awkward nor embarrassing. I couldn’t get enough of the sight of him alive and okay. I wanted to climb onto the bed next to him, to wrap him in my arms and hold him.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” I said again.
“Me too,” he said. A little gauge clamped to his pointer finger. There were also tubes snaking from it to his chest beneath the hospital gown. I sank onto the side of his bed.
“Can I do anything for you?” I asked.
His cocky grin tried and failed. His head lolled to one side. “Sing to me?”
The moment seized. I froze, but I wouldn’t deny him this. My gaze slid from Dad first, then to Laurel, who’d taken vacant seats near the closed curtain. They both nodded encouragingly.
I thought of Dad’s use of the term family, both back on the porch that first night here in Washington and again at our arrival in the emergency room. Here, now, in this moment, the term did apply. Like it or not, Dad, Laurel, and I were family. Tate was too, though I viewed him in an entirely different way. Something told me that if the situation were altered, and I was the one in this hospital bed, Laurel would care about me just as much.
That hit me like a crash. Laurel cared about me too. She and Dad apologized for breaking apart my family before. Mom had found a steady guy in Idaho, and somehow, Tate and I fit into the new mold of what was. They were my family.
I squeezed his hand. “Taylor Swift?” I joked.
He gave a weak smile. “Anything.”
I inched closer to him and stroked his hand. Keeping my gaze on his, I started into the lines of the song I’d written for him.
“Keep my heart
‘Cuz I’m keeping yours
You are the reason I wake
And when I sleep you fill my dreams
Never stop
Never stop beating for me
You
You are my heartbeat.”
The melody was soft and lulling. I kept my voice quiet, but a small crowd of nurses gathered at the end of Tate’s bed without my knowing it until I finished the song and turned to find them there.
Dad and Laurel beamed with pride. My usual impulse was to lower my chin to my chest, to hug my arms around myself, to try and blend into my surroundings as much as possible. This time, my only impulse was to keep holding onto Tate’s hand and let him know just how much I meant every word.
“Voice of an angel,” Tate said, brushing a finger along my hand. “I’ve never heard that song.”
“I wrote it.” My usual wariness at such an admission was absent. Instead, I kept my gaze steady and right on his.
“You did?”
“For you.”
Tate cleared his throat as his heart continued beeping on the machine beside us. He lowered his voice. I wasn’t sure, but it sounded like it kicked up a few paces before steadying back down again. “You might have to sing it for me again sometime,” he said. “When we don’t have an audience.”
I didn’t miss the implication of his words. They seared right through me. My gaze faltered to his mouth, and I nearly gave in to the dizzy delirium coursing through me to kiss him right then and there.
“Very impressive,” Dad said, as if Tate hadn’t said something so intimate. Calling me back to reality,
Dad rose from his chair and rubbed my back. “I had no idea you could sing like that. You’ve come a long way. I can see why you wanted to come here to study voice.”
Tate squeezed my hand.
“No nuclear physics for me,” I told Dad. Besides, with the way my grades were going, those big-league schools probably wouldn’t want me there anymore anyway.
“You really do belong on the radio,” Laurel said with a wink.
Chapter Seventeen
I didn’t go back to MLA that night, and neither did Tate. Turned out, Dad and Laurel had rooms all prepped and ready for each of us to stay at their house whenever we wanted, and I couldn’t bear going back to my empty dorm tonight. I wanted to be as close to Tate as I possibly could.
“This one’s yours,” Dad said, flicking on the light and revealing a lovely space. I was surprised to find he’d placed several of my old posters on the walls. Boy bands—even one of Taylor Swift.
“You kept these?” I’d wondered what had happened to them after Mom and I moved to Reno. I always thought they’d gotten lost in the move.
“I have quite a few of your old things I thought you might like to see again.” With a proud smile, he gestured to some of my old toys.
I rolled my eyes. “What did you keep these for?”
“You’re my little girl, Bailey. I wanted anything I could have of yours as close to me as I could. I used to come sit on the bed in here...” He crossed the room and settled onto the comforter. “And just think about you. About how much I missed you.”
“Daddy,” I said softly, touched by his comments.
“I’ve always loved you, bug.”
“I—I love you too.” The words were genuine, straight from the center of me. I never thought I’d be able to say them to him again, but I really did. I meant them.
He rose and pinched my chin with his fingers, gazing down at me with adoration. “I’ll let you get some sleep. Won’t be long before the sun’s up.”
“Dad,” I said, stopping him.
“Yeah?” He looked as tired as I felt.
“Why didn’t you invite me to live here with you, if you had this room all set up for me?”
“Would you have accepted?”
I swallowed and rubbed my tired eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I probably wouldn’t have.”
His smile was kind and understanding. “You have nothing to apologize for, Bailey. Good night.”
“Night, Dad.”
I made my way to the bed, so exhausted I couldn’t think. I considered stepping out to find Tate’s room. This reminded me so much of the time Camryn and I had slid off the road during a snowstorm and ended up sleeping just doors away from the love of her life. Of all things, she snuck out in the middle of the night, went to Beckham’s room, and they crept out to ride a tractor in the moonlight together.
This was different. Tate was doors away, but he’d just experienced a majorly traumatic hit and was recovering. I couldn’t entertain any kind of thoughts like that whatsoever. He needed to rest and—I covered a yawn at the thought—so did I. I wasn’t even sure what time it was now.
I glanced quickly at my phone, noting it was nearing three am, when a text from Tate flashed on the screen. You up? he asked.
Not for long. Why are you? I’d think you’d be exhausted.
Got some sleep at the hospital. I need to be with you.
Oh my gosh.
I hurried to tap out a reply. Meet me on the couch in ten seconds.
Lol. Better make that five.
I ran my hands through my long hair, blocked back another yawn, and opened my door. The truth was, I was thoroughly ready to crash and get some much-needed sleep, but there was no way I was denying his request.
A single lamp offered light in Dad and Laurel’s comfortable living room. Tate was already lounged on the long couch, wrapped in a soft, brown blanket. His sock feet snuck out from the blanket’s end.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Not possible.”
“I said five seconds. It took you twice that.”
I smiled at him and he opened the blanket over him, making space for me to settle beneath it on the couch beside him.
“Are you sure you’re okay to be doing this?” I asked, ever cautious.
“What, sitting? I think they cleared me for that.”
I rolled my eyes and sank beside him. He was warm—so warm. Carefully, I tucked the blanket around us both. “Good point,” I said. “How’s your heart?”
“Better now that you’re here.”
He didn’t take his eyes from me. I couldn’t tear mine from him. “Seriously. Are you okay?”
“I won’t say I wasn’t scared,” he admitted. “I’ve never had anyone knock into me like that before. And my hiccups are just little glitches in my heart, you know? This was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I was so out of control, grasping for some stability when I couldn’t find any.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw it happen,” I told him, snuggling close against his shoulder. “I was shocked. You should have heard my dad go off.”
Tate chuckled, rubbing a hand along my arm. “Yeah, your dad’s all right.”
We fell into silence for a few moments. I considered bringing up Charly and Carson’s conversation, but I couldn’t risk Tate getting angry right now. The last thing he needed was a newly escalated pulse. It would be better to let him settle and stay relaxed.
Tate’s hand traveled along my arm. Featherlight, it strolled up my shoulder, stroking the skin along my neck, until he pressed his nose to my temple. I was overcome with emotion, grateful to be sitting here with him, grateful he was okay when I’d been so sure he was dead. I’d never been held like this, in the dim lamplight, so tenderly, like I was the only thing that mattered to someone else.
“You want to know what the scariest thing was, though?” His voice was a secret, shared and meant to be only mine in this moment.
Not knowing how or why, I brought my legs to settle over his lap. His hand around my waist pulled me tighter, while the other continued stroking the skin at my neck. Every breath that left my lungs scorched. His eyes gleamed in the darkness.
“What?” I asked.
“Not being with you,” he said. “It scared me that I hadn’t gotten the chance to live a life with you in it. I didn’t realize until that moment how much you’ve taken me over, Bailey. You’re smart, you’re funny. Your voice—when you sang to me earlier? I hated that I was in a hospital bed connected to wires. I wanted to hold you right there; I wanted you to always be mine.”
“Tate,” I breathed, overwhelmed by his admission.
“I’m serious. I know rumors are swirling about us being siblings, but I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Graduation is only a few short months away, and then we’ll never see half of them anyway. But you. I want to see you. I want you—”
“I—You want me?” Was he saying what I thought he was? Did I want to be with him after graduation?
He didn’t let me finish my answer. His hand tilted my chin in his direction. His mouth was different this time than it had been before. More feverish, more intentional. It was consuming and incredible. I guess there was more than one way to escalate his pulse, but this version didn’t seem to bother him...
“Say something,” he said once he pulled away.
“I—I’m tired,” I said stupidly. “But I’m beyond relieved that you’re okay.” Tate laughed, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. He stroked my hair and settled back. I relaxed and lay my head on his shoulder, waiting for sleep to come.
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard him whisper, “I love you,” before my lids drifted heavily down.
Chapter Eighteen
Tate and I stayed at Dad and Laurel’s for the rest of the weekend. It meant we skipped out on the Homecoming dance the night after the game, but the only reason I wanted to go was to be with Tate anyway, and I was already getting that wish. What did it matter where we were?
During our dinners, nights spent watching movies, or immersed in both meaningless and substantial conversation, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Tate about Charly and Carson. Things were good; I didn’t want more contention when I was finally at ease with Dad and Laurel. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t want to be the cause of Tate’s possible resulting anger, of getting his heart rate up again.
Monday morning came too soon, and we were back at MLA. I found myself, yet again, surrounded by eager gossipers, but something struck me. I’d been overwhelmed and excited because they made me feel special and important from their attention.
The only thing making them admire me was because I was in the middle of some type of scandal all the time, whether it was being kissed by the quarterback, having boys fight over me after one annihilated my cell phone, being accused of crushing on my brother, or being connected to a boy who’d just had serious trauma.
None of these people were interested in me because they liked me. They didn’t try getting to know me otherwise. This time, rather than try and smile and get along with every single gossip, I smiled and made my way closer to Jenn and Mia. These girls had shown they cared. They’d been my friends when I was a nobody; they’d wanted to hang out with me even after the hype of the social media videos emerged, even after I puked on Charly’s shoes.
They were true friends. I didn’t have time to spend with people who didn’t actually care about me.
“How’s Tate doing?” Jenn asked as we sat together in the library during study hour.
“He’s bounced back really well, all things considered.”
Mia nosed in, concern on her face. “What does that mean? What happened that made you all leave during the game?”
I filled them in, and Jenn and Mia listened with rapt attention. Hesitating, darting a glance in Charly’s direction across the library, I then told them what I’d overheard.
Jenn stared straight ahead; brows lifted in shock. “I’m sure Tate was livid when he found out. Sounds to me like the police should press charges over this.”
Don't Kiss the Quarterback: Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 5 Page 15