“You’ll keep us updated, right?” Romeo asks, sounding somber.
“Yeah, I’ll start a group text. Feel free to keep the team updated as well.”
“And if you need anything, you’ll let us know?” Jason asks, his usual joking tone completely gone.
“I will.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last four years, it’s the incredibly strong bond of friendship that’s found in college baseball. These guys became my brothers.
Milly squeezes my hand and slows down to the drop-off zone for my airline and pulls in next to the curb. Romeo and Jason both hop out of the car as Milly puts it in park. Jason grabs my bag from the trunk and Romeo snags my backpack.
I say goodbye to them first, pulling each of them into a hug.
“Thanks . . . for everything,” I say to Jason who squeezes me extra tight and sets my suitcase on the curb.
“I admire you,” Jason says quietly. “So fucking much. Now go.” He gives me an extra pat and then steps aside for Romeo, who helps me put my backpack on right before giving me a huge bear hug.
“I’ll guard your bedroom like a hawk and make sure no motherfuckers go in it.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, bro.”
“I’ll guard Milly too. She can sleep in my bed so no one goes after her either.”
My brows sharpen. “Don’t fucking go near her.”
He chuckles and pulls me into a hug. “Got your back, dude. If you need anything, let us know.”
“I will, thanks.”
They both hop into the car to give me a little privacy with Milly, as much privacy as a curbside drop-off can afford us. Sighing, I drape my forearms on her shoulders and bring my head to hers.
“Fuck, I’m sorry about all of this.”
“What? Don’t apologize. Don’t worry about me.”
“But I am.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . we’re still new.”
She shakes her head. “We aren’t new, Carson. We’ve known each other for a while now, but we just gave in to our feelings a little late.” She presses her hand to my heart. “But I feel like I’ve known this beating heart for a long time. We’re going to be good. I promise.”
“Yeah?”
She nods as a small tear falls down her cheek.
“Mills, why are you crying?” I wipe away the wetness with my thumb.
“Because, I wish there was more I could do for you.”
“You’re doing all I need, just being there for me.”
She leans into my body and presses her cheek to my chest. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Coach.”
“Call me when you can.” She kisses my chest. “Keep me updated, and don’t worry about anything other than your dad, okay?”
She looks up at me and I grip both of her cheeks, maneuvering her lips so they’re inches from mine. “Think of me?”
“I don’t think anything could make me stop.”
I close the distance and part my lips as she does. Our grips are tight, our mouths locked, our tongues seeking any last piece of comfort before I take off. I know this isn’t goodbye, by any means, but with the desperation in both of our kisses, it almost feels like it is, like a foreboding of what’s to come. And then, as I sit in a middle seat on the plane to Topeka, I wish I could stop the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Things are going to be irrevocably different from today, but I wish I understood why I feel so desolate.
Chapter Sixty
CARSON
“Do you need anything?”
I shake my head, my eyes cast down on my father. “I’m good, thank you, Katherine.”
Katherine is the day shift nurse. She’s really nice, reminds me of Aunt Carol—my dad’s sister. She gets to the point but also has a soft touch that doesn’t give you a doomsday feeling.
It’s day two and my dad’s made no progress. When I arrived, I took a taxi to the hospital and quickly raced to my dad’s room, baggage intact. Aunt Carol met me in the waiting room and explained everything that happened.
Dad was working his second shift of the day at the local hardware store when he was helping a customer stock up his cart with a bunch of two-by-fours. The customer said he didn’t look good and then suddenly, Dad fell to the ground, lumber in hand. They called the ambulance immediately and took him to the hospital where they quickly diagnosed his stroke. Thanks to brain scans, the doctors were able to diagnose an intracerebral hemorrhage, which is bleeding in his brain tissue, the most life-threatening stroke there is. It’s most commonly caused by hypertension. To break it down for you, my dad was working too damn hard, and it finally caught up to him.
They conducted emergency surgery to relieve pressure around his brain, but he’s yet to wake up, having been put under a medically induced coma. He’s being monitored very closely, still in critical condition.
After I was given every last bit of information, I did what every other normal person with access to the Internet does: I researched the shit out of intracerebral hemorrhages. Come to find out, you shouldn’t ever do your own personal research and consult Dr. Google. It only increases the worry inside you. There is too much information out there for worrisome people to get their hands on, too many worst-case scenarios that you can’t help but wonder . . . is my dad one of those people?
One of those who won’t make it?
From everything I’ve read, it seems like it.
Knock. Knock.
I look up to see Aunt Carol press the door open with one hand while carrying a bag from my favorite sandwich shop in the other.
I smile kindly at her and give her my comfortable chair while pulling up the other one that was made as a torture device.
“How is he?” she asks, handing me a Diet Mountain Dew. It’s cute how she remembers my favorite drink still. Aunt Carol is the closest thing I had to a mom growing up, but I didn’t see her that much, maybe once a year in the summer, because she lived two hours away and Dad never had the time to drive me to visit. But during the summer, when Aunt Carol wasn’t teaching, she picked me up and I spent time with her, but only for a few days because my baseball schedule didn’t allow for much leisure time.
“Same,” I answer, taking what I know is an Italian sub on wheat with extra provolone. I hold it up to her and say, “Thank you. I was starving.”
“You can leave his side to get food, maybe take a walk, get out and stretch. I’m sure your high school coaches would let you go into the cages and loosen up a bit.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to leave. I know that’s what everyone says in these positions but I really don’t.” I unwrap my sub but leave it in the paper as I lean back in my chair and take in the frail man in front of me. How didn’t I see it? The deeper wrinkles in his face, the gray in his beard, the lack of hair on top of his head. He looks like he’s aged by at least twenty years, and for what? I was set in college. I had a full ride, he didn’t have to pay for any more of my trainings, so why didn’t he slow down?
I scratch the back of my neck and say, “Aunt Carol, can I ask you something?”