“I’m going to lay you back, Peyton.” One of the nurses says. “Your dad told me you’re a football fan. Why don’t you give me a list of your favorite players?”
“Mason Powell,” I say even though she has no idea who he is. “Noah…”
This time when I wake, there isn’t any music to soothe the panic, but I can see the Chicago skyline from my room. My leg is suspended in the air and my arm is bent and resting on my chest, only I can’t really feel my chest at the moment. I try to wiggle my toes, but the effort is too much. The soft sound of breathing catches my attention and when I look, there’s a familiar head of hair and pressure on my hip I hadn’t felt before.
I would know Noah’s hair anywhere. When he lets it grow, which he always does for football season, there’s a slight curl to the top. I run my fingers through it, praying that my IVs don’t get caught. He moans softly and rolls his face into my non-injured leg. When his eyes open, he seems shocked.
“You’re awake.”
“For a few minutes now.” I also notice my oxygen mask is off but can feel air being pumped into my nose. I’m tempted to touch whatever contraption is on my face, but that would mean taking my hand away from where it dropped next to Noah’s.
“I should go wake your parents.” He stands but stops at the sound of my voice.
“Please don’t,” I plead. “Just stay, for a while.”
Noah turns and looks at me. Something is different, but I can’t put my finger on it. He leans forward, bracing a hand on either side of my head and kisses me on the lips, lingering there longer than what would be considered friendly.
When he pulls away, he sits back down and takes my hand in his. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”
Sure I do, two years since you kissed me goodbye. I would never say those words to him so I let his statement hang in the air.
“I was here, before, when you were unconscious.”
“You were?”
He nods. “I have so much to tell you, Peyton, but you really need your rest. I want you to be completely coherent when I say what I have to.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
I don’t know how long Noah and I stare at each other before I fall asleep, but when I wake again, the sun is shining and the halls are much busier than before.
18
Noah
Thank God we won because seeing her baby blues is worth the shit my coach is going to give me for bailing on the press conference after the game. When the clock hit zero, I rushed off the field as fast as I could. It was completely unprofessional of me, and I could’ve easily waited since I asked my dad if I could use the band’s plane, but I wanted to get here. After the conversation with Quinn, this was where I needed to be.
“Sorry for not calling.”
“It’s fine. I get it.” I don’t, but the issues between Peyton and I are for us to figure out. Peyton and Dessie don’t get along, and I foolishly tried to keep them both happy, when I really should’ve focused on Peyton.
“Nah, man. My phone died and these nurses are vicious. They have a strict no phone policy. But anyway, my parents are filing a lawsuit against the doctor who performed Peyton’s surgery. A nurse came forward and backed the claim Peyton wasn’t taken care of properly. Xander is here and he brought some doctor from Los Angeles. My parents have been fighting with the board to give this doc hospital privileges so she can go in and fix everything.”
“What do you mean everything?”
“Shit, Noah. Peyton’s arm’s shattered. Her leg is busted up. There’s still glass in her side and the bastard didn’t sew her up right after they cracked open her chest. Mom is really worried about infections because we haven’t been wearing gowns and we touched her, and that’s another thing. We kept moving her arm. Who knows how much pain we’ve caused or the damage we’ve done.”
My mind goes blank, listening to Quinn. I definitely picked up her arm. I kissed the top of her hand and held it to my face. I didn’t want to let her go.
“Son of a bitch.”
Quinn sighs. “Anyway, she’s heading back into surgery on Sunday. It’s the only day the hospital would give the doctor.”
Sunday, while I’m playing in a game. I push the palm of my hand into my forehead and groan. For the first time in my career, I wish I had chosen baseball. I’d be off right now. I could be sitting next to her, watching games on my iPad or filling in crossword puzzles. I don’t care if we sit and stare at each other as long as I’m spending time with her. I feel like I have so much to make up for, but don’t even know where to start, assuming that I can. The one thing I do know is I want my friend back, and with Dessie and I no longer together, it can happen.