Holding Onto Forever (The Beaumont Series: Next Generation Book 1)

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Chest wound? I glance at Quinn and wait for him to look at me, but his attention is solely on my nurse. I don’t have to do anything while she completes her task, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared. Quinn leans toward me, careful as to where he touches me.

  “Okay, sweetie. I need you to open your mouth.” I do as she says and she suctions out my mouth, making me feel like I’m at the dentist. “Now, I’m going to remove the tube. If you feel like you need to cough, go ahead.”

  The process seems slow. I can feel the tube moving inside of me. The tickling sensation causes me to cough, but the pain is almost too much to handle. My eyes go wide as I gasp for air. Quinn is in my ear, telling me that everything is going to be okay, but I’m not so sure I believe him right now.

  “One second and you’ll feel fine,” the nurse says, and she is right. Just like that, I’m numb again. She places an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose, tightening the straps on the side. “You’ll need to wear this for a while, but feel free to talk if you’re up to it. Okay?”

  I close my eyes and nod.

  “How long will she be on the morphine?” Quinn asks.

  “It’s hard to say. The doctor will be in to discuss everything with your parents as soon as they return.”

  “Hey, can you hear me?”

  I turn my head slightly toward Quinn. I smile at him.

  “You don’t know how good it feels to see your eyes, Peyton. Everyone is here: Mom, Dad, and Elle, Liam and Josie, Jimmy and Jenna. They’ve all been waiting for this moment and I’ve gotten to see you open your eyes twice. I think that means you like me the most.”

  “Love,” I whisper, but I don’t think he can hear me with this mask on or the fact that my voice is barely audible. I want to ask where Noah is, but I’m not surprised he’s not here. He has a life away from us now, one led by someone I can’t stand.

  “Everyone is about to be on TV. Do you want to watch?”

  Quinn doesn’t wait for my answer. He pulls the cart closer so I can see. As far as televisions go, this one is fairly small and looks extremely outdated, but on the screen is the band’s manager, Mira, with my dad and uncles standing behind her. I love Mira. She really takes care of the band and has increased their staying power. My dad says there was a time when they struggled with a manager, but since hiring Mira, they’ve been very happy.

  “Good afternoon. I want to thank you all for coming out. I know it’s a bit chilly, but I promise to keep this short and sweet. Over the past week, there has been a lot of speculation about 4225 West. I can assure, as you can see behind me, everyone is okay. However, Harrison James’ daughter, Peyton, was involved in a near fatal accident last Sunday. As many of you will recall, Chicago Bears quarterback, Kyle Zimmerman, was also involved in an accident. His passenger was Peyton. As erroneously reported by ESPN, the passenger in Mr. Zimmerman’s car did not pass away on the scene.”

  My eyes go wide and according to one of the machines I’m hooked up to, my heart must be racing. I don’t know how I didn’t realize I was in an accident… is that why I can’t move? Mira continues to talk, and I try to focus on what she’s saying, but my mind is wild with questions.

  “It is also with great pleasure I can report that Ms. Powell-James is conscious and her status has been upgraded to critical but stable. I will give you my normal spiel and tell you the family requests their privacy during this time, but we all know there is no such thing anymore. We are willing to answer any questions you may have.”

  “Will Zimmerman face any charges?” The camera person doesn’t pan to the media gathered, making it impossible to find out who is asking.

  “From the family, no. We are unaware if the authorities are pursuing anything. Next?”

  “What about the driver of the truck?”

  “Yes, he was cited. His charges are pending. Next?”

  “How long is Ms. Powell-James expected to remain in the hospital?”

  “Her injuries are significant.”

  I grunt to get Quinn’s attention. He turns the television down and scoots over to me. “Do you need the nurse?”

  I shake my head and point my eyes toward my mask. He removes it slowly. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

  Quinn returns the oxygen mask. “You were in a really bad accident, Peyton. We thought you were going to die.”

  I close my eyes and try to turn away but my body is a prisoner to my injuries and I can barely move. Either way, I don’t want to look at Quinn right now. I don’t want to see what his eyes will tell me… I’m not the same person as I was before.

  16

  Noah

  “Again, Westbury, and maybe this time you’ll try hitting Cunningham,” Coach yells, even though he’s standing right next to me. Standing behind the center, Alex Moore, I call out my cadence.

  “Louder!”

  I start over, increasing the octave of my voice per Coach’s instructions. “Set, set, hike,” I holler. With the ball in my hand, I step back and stumble over my own feet before falling to the ground.

  “Goddammit, Westbury.” Coach picks me up off the ground by my facemask. He’s yelling so hard, spit is flying into my face. He’s asking me what's wrong. He wants to know if I’ve suddenly forgotten how to play.

  “No, sir.”

  “Get out of my sight.” He pushes me toward the sidelines. Normally I would stay and prove to him I’m exactly the player he drafted, but my mind is not on the game. Every part of me is in Chicago, and he knows this. I don’t know if this is some mental tough love thing or what. If it is, it’s not working.

  I forgo the sideline and head right to the locker room. I need the quiet so I can think and reflect on my on-field performance. Mentally, I should be stronger. I should be able to block what’s going on with Peyton out of my mind and focus on my job, but I can’t get over the fact that I want to be there with her.

  My phone sits on the top shelf of my locker. I pick it up and press the home button. Each notification is from Dessie. Since our fight and subsequent break-up, she’s been calling and texting non-stop. Most of them I ignore, especially because it’s easy to tell when she’s angry, which usually means she’s been drinking. Her messages range from being sorry to offering to share me with Peyton, telling me that she doesn’t care whether or not I used her to pass time. Where she came up with that idea, I’m not so sure. Subconsciously, I think that’s exactly what I’ve done.

  When I first met Dessie, I was attracted to her. There’s no doubt she’s beautiful. She was wild though, and I’ve never been one to play around in the party scene. My body is my temple sort of thing. I caught her once snorting coke, and threatened to leave. Dessie promised it would never happen again, and to my knowledge, it hadn’t until I left for Chicago. Thinking back though, we’re not with each other when we travel, so how the hell do I know if she’s doing it or not. Either way, I can’t tolerate it. I refuse to.

  I undress as quickly as I can and hit the shower. I’d love to go home, but leaving before Coach has another opportunity to ream me out wouldn’t be wise. I deserve the ass chewing, but he knows where my mind is right now. I warned him.

  As soon as I’m out of the shower, I hit the trainer’s room. He motions for me to hop up on the table, and once I do, he starts giving my aching muscles a rub down.

  “I heard what happened out there,” he says as he works the kinks out of my calf.

  “I have a lot of shit going on right now.”

  “You know I used to be a bartender so I think there’s some underlying rule in place that allows you to open up.”

  I chuckle and sigh. “My best friend was the passenger in the car accident Zimmerman was in. She’s in a coma back in Chicago and I’m stuck here.”

  He pauses and looks like he’s about to tell me something important. Everyone knows about Zimmerman’s accident, it’s the talk of the league right now. “I saw a press conference, I think she’s awake or improving.”

  I bolt upright, startling him. �
�What did you say? When?”

  “Yesterday, I think it was. They said she’s…”

  He doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence because I’m running from his room back to the locker room. Grabbing my phone, it falls from my hand as my other one desperately tries to keep my towel cinched at my waist, which is near impossible. I drop the towel as I bend to scoop up my phone and sit on the cold leather chair.

  I press my mother’s number. Voicemail.

  I try my father. Voicemail.

  Quinn is next. Voicemail.

  Pressing Elle’s name, the phone rings on the other end. She answers on the fourth ring. “Hey, Noah.”

  “Hey, Noah? Is that what you have to say to me?” I ask her.

  “Um…”

  “How about, ‘Oh shit, Noah we forgot to call and tell you Peyton is awake!’” I scream so loudly my body temperature rises. “How could you not call me?”

  “I thought someone else would’ve called. I mean your parents--”

  “Right. I’m sure it never crossed your mind to find out if I knew. Instead, I have to find out from my trainer.”

  Elle sighs. “You know what, Noah? Not everything is about you right now. Yes, someone should’ve called you, but our sister woke up and we’ve been trying to make her feel better about herself. When did you become so damn selfish?”

  Tears drip down my face. Both out of excitement because Peyton is awake, and also out of anger because Elle is right. I am selfish. Everything going on with Peyton isn’t about me. I’m not the only one who loves and cares about her. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Elle. I’m just--”

  “You’re just like us. You’re worried and scared, and I’m sorry no one called. But yes, Peyton is awake. She actually woke up twice yesterday and I missed both times. Once was the middle of the night and the other time was when I was picking Ben up from the airport.” I’m not shocked Ben is there. He’s been Elle’s best friend since high school. They have a similar relationship to what Peyton and I have or had up until recently. It makes me wonder what’s changed between us, aside from Dessie.

  “Who was with her?”

  “Quinn. He actually hasn’t left her side.”

  I clear my throat. “How is she?”

  Elle sighs. “Honestly, not good. It seems that the doctor was so sure she wasn’t going to make it he didn’t cast her leg or arm. We’ve been moving her arm so much that we’ve likely caused more damage. Her leg… well, he has to go in and re-break it so it can set right, same with her arm,” Elle pauses and tells someone she’s speaking with me. “He also has to fix her stitches. God, Noah, this asshole--”

  “Your parents will take care of him, Elle, you focus on Peyton. Keep her spirits up. When’s her surgery?”

  “I don’t know, they haven’t said.”

  “Are my parents still there?”

  “No, they left this morning. Along with Jimmy and Jenna. The girls have to get back to school.”

  “I’ll be there on Sunday, after my game.”

  “Where exactly are you going now, Westbury?”

  I turn to find Coach standing behind me. I half smile, half grimace and tell Elle I’ll call her later. I stand up and my coach cocks his eyebrow at me. I quickly cover my junk with my hand, which is also holding my phone.

  “My friend, she’s awake. I need to go back to Chicago.”

  “My office, now,” he says as he walks out the door. “Put some damn clothes on,” he yells before the door shuts. I do as he says and hustle down to his office and take the seat in front of his desk.

  “Look, Coach. I know my head isn’t in the game. I told you this the other night, and I’m sorry. I’m letting you and the team down, but she’s awake and I feel like a thousand pounds has been lifted off my shoulders.”

  “That’s all fine and dandy, Westbury, but I need a committed and focused quarterback who can lead the charge not only on Sunday but every day in practice, on and off the field.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I need to be mentally stronger.”

  “You’re not the only one who has lost someone in the league. Many athletes perform the same day as a tragic loss.”

  I nod. Normally, I think I would be okay if I didn’t come to the harsh realization that I’m in love with Peyton and haven’t been able to tell her. Not knowing whether or not I’d ever be able to talk to her or feel her arms wrap around me again, really did something to my psyche.

  “Your commitment is to this team, and if you can’t be here--”

  “I will be,” I say before I realize I interrupted him. I shake my head and sit up straighter in the chair. “Sir, I know my actions these past couple of days haven’t been up to standards.”

  “I feel a but coming on, Westbury.” He leans onto his immaculate desk and glares at me.

  I slink back as far as I can in the chair under his penetrating gaze, feeling about two feet tall. “After Sunday’s game, I’m asking that I be allowed to miss practice until Friday.”

  Coach threads his fingers together and taps his lips with his clenched hands. “I’m in a position to say no, that after today’s performance, you need all the extra reps you can get, but I’ll make a deal with you. If we win on Sunday, you can have the week off.”

  I stand and extend my hand. He shakes mine, squeezing with enough force to remind me he can make or break my career. “I’ll do my best.” Sometimes my best isn’t good enough, but I’m going to try. I leave his office and head back to the locker room. The guys give me shit about being in trouble. That’s one thing about sports; the childish antics never change.

  “I’m fine. Rough day.”

  “I heard Dessie left his sorry ass,” Alex says.

  I don’t know how he would’ve heard, unless she’s posted something on social media, but it’s not her style to air dirty laundry.

  Jessie McAvoy, our right tackle, slaps me on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that fine woman of yours.”

  “She’s too much for you, McAvoy.” I move away from him and head toward my locker. Julius is standing there, looking confused. “I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, you wanna grab some dinner?”

  “I do,” Alex says, putting his arms around the both of us.

  “Is this going to be a gossip session where we talk about our feelings and go to the bathroom together?” Julius asks.

  “Pretty much,” I tell him.

  Alex claps his hands together. “Yes, Moore is gonna get him some tonight!”

  I roll my eyes and finish putting my stuff in my bag. Alex thinks women flock to him when he’s being emotional. Julius and I have told him repeatedly it’s because when he walks into a place everyone suspects he’s a pro athlete by his size.

  Before leaving the locker room, I pull out my phone and send a text to Peyton. I have no idea if she even has her phone, is able to look at it or what, but I want her to know I’m thinking about her.

  I’ll be there in a few days. I miss you.

  And against my better judgment, I look through the many messages from Dessie.

  I love you

  I’m sorry

  Call me

  Can I see you tonight?

  We need to talk

  They’re endless and remain unanswered by me. I can’t imagine what we have to talk about. I lied to her. She lied to me. That alone puts us in an unhealthy relationship neither of us needs right now. Dessie needs to focus on her career and getting clean if she has a drug habit. And I need to focus on what I’m going to do about Peyton and my feelings for her. Not only do I need to tell her, but also her parents. I think they have a right to know I plan to pursue Peyton if she’ll allow me.

  17

  Peyton

  My room is a revolving door of visitors. Many times over the past few days the nurses have had to tell my family to keep their voices down. One went as far to threaten to remove them and reinstate the one person at a time visiting rule. I’m tempted to ask her
. It’s not that I don’t appreciate them being here, but they’re always here, and I’m in pain. A crap ton of pain to be exact. Sometimes I just wish I could just be left alone to suffer in silence, without them worrying about me.

  They don’t get it. By they, I mean my mom and sister. Every grimace and grunt has them rushing to my side. They’re either petting my hair or running their hands over my blankets as if they need to be straightened. For whatever reason, they can’t comprehend that my meds are on a timer and when they start to wear off, I start to hurt more.

  I’m tired of the question, “how are you doing?” I mean seriously, look at me. I have no control over my body. My right arm is now taped to my side so I don’t move it suddenly, and my leg… considering I can’t feel anything, even when someone accidentally touches my toes, pretty much tells me I’ll never walk again. Let’s not forget the hole I have on the side of my head or my missing hair. And while I can breathe on my own, I have to wear a mask to sleep. So how do they think I’m doing? I’m not sure I can say the word “fine” anymore than I already have. I get that I almost died, but I’m awake now and it would be nice if people started treating me like Peyton, and not some fragile doll. I’ve always hated dolls.

  No one is talking about what happened either, despite me asking. My uncle Liam came to visit, I asked him. He had this far off look about him and changed the subject. The same with my uncle Jimmy, he acted like he had no idea. My dad, mom and my good for nothing siblings haven’t been any better. Quinn and Elle should at least be on my side, slipping me pudding and milkshakes, all while telling how it is I almost died. But they’re all tight-lipped and pretending everything is sunshine and rainbows.

  The last clear thing I remember Sunday is walking to Kyle Zimmerman’s car. I wish they understood that my memory’s fuzzy and it would be nice to have some recollection of what I was doing before the accident happened. If I had access to my phone, I’d be able to look up the media reports, but my parents are doing a stand-up job keeping me out of the loop. I don’t even remember why I was at the Bears game even though everyone says I was there for an assignment.