Forty-five

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Have Saturday practices always been this early?

After yesterday I'm completely and utterly drained. I didn't shut an eye all night because every time I did, my brother's tear-streaked face appeared behind my closed lids.

I could use some of Sophie's memory repellent right now. I didn't see her last night because I wasn't in the mood to be around anyone. I texted her, though, when I was twisting and turning at 2 AM, but she obviously didn't answer. And she's probably with Max now, so that's got to be why she hasn't texted me back yet.

Saltz and Mitch are acting like idiots as per usual, so I tune them out as I strip down. I check the clock. Davis is late.

Only about five minutes later than usual and still well within the range of being able to get ready before practice starts, but Davis is never late.

Like, he's annoyingly punctual. Always showing up exactly on time. He once told me that he would rather be thirty minutes early than two seconds late.

I told him to get his priorities straight.

Right as I'm about to head to the shower, he appears.

He's cutting it close. I frown as I watch him hurry to his locker, ripping his shirt off and haphazardly throwing it in his bag.

Never have I seen him this... disorganized.

It's unsettling.

"Dude," I say. His eyes cut over to me shortly, narrowed in annoyance.

"I know, I know." He removes his pants and grabs his gear from the locker. "Let's just get ready."

Alright, jeez. I walk into the shower, Davis hot on my heels. Most of our teammates are wrapping up, so no one pays us much mind as we take two spots in the back.

As I lather myself in soap, as you always have to do before jumping in the water - chlorine can only do so much, you know? - Davis eyes are on my face.

"How did it go yesterday?" His voice is low, but I still scan the area around us, making sure there are no stragglers listening.

I'm also attempting to buy time because I don't know how to answer his questions.

It was the most heartbreaking experience of my life, and I don't think I'll ever be able to work through this guilt, but Ollie texted that he was okay using the code, so I guess it's not all terrible?

I lift a shoulder. "Okay."

I'm avoiding his eyes, but I'm sure he sees straight through me. I'm also sure he'll respect my need to just handle it myself.

"What about you? How are you doing?" I ask as we make our way out of the changing room and onto the deck.

We tap the life boyo.

"I'm fine," he deflects. But his posture is stiff, and his expression is tight.

"Right," I say, shooting him a look. "So Jen coming home crying the other day had nothing to do with you?"

His head swirls my way, and regret infiltrates his features.

Now, I know Davis, and I meant every single thing I've said to Sophie about him. So I know that if he's to blame for what happened, as Sophie seems to believe, it wasn't anything he did to purposefully hurt Jen. He didn't knowingly make her cry.

But Sophie won't tell me what happened, so I also don't know how to help.

"It's all a fucking shit show," he says, scratching his buzz-cut hair.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Not right now," he says, looking ahead of us. Our teammates are gathered on the deck while Colton talks us through the practice on the whiteboard. That doesn't affect Davis, so he ignores it, but clearly, this isn't the place to hear the whole story either.

"Fine. How bad did Sophie mess up your car and or house?" I could probably have stopped her if I really wanted to. And obviously, I didn't want her to destroy his car, but I also couldn't ignore her right to avenge her best friend.

And to be honest, I've grown to care about Jen too. So while I love Davis, I'm also a little mad that he hurt her.

It's very confusing.

"She didn't do anything," Davis says, his voice matter-of-fact but with a slight undertone that indicates that she actually did do something.

Before I can bother him more about it, Lewis appears on deck, and both of us shut up. We might not have a lot of respect for Colton, but our coaches will punish us accordingly if we're rude to the team captain.

The training is hard and grueling, and it's a small consolation that at least tomorrow is rest day. But then comes Monday too soon, which means 6 AM practice, dryland in the afternoon, and evening swim after. And then a whole fucking week of it.

Sometimes, on days like today, I wonder why I do it. Why do I use my weekend in the pool, getting up at the buttcrack of dawn to go to the pool, and then spend the rest of the day studying and working out, just to go to bed early so I can repeat the whole thing next week?

If I were just a normal college student, I would be sleeping in. Skipping classes once in a while. Going out drinking for way too long on a weekday.

I should be irresponsible.

But then again, if I were just a normal college student, I wouldn't be here. Without my athletic scholarship, I could never afford to go here. I couldn't afford to go anywhere.

Also, I would probably be miserable because the truth is, at the end of the day, swimming makes me happy.

Like some sort of masochist.

When I exit the pool, pushing Saltz around as we head to the locker room, joking and trying to enjoy the normality of this moment, I can't wait to see if Sophie has answered.

I just need to see her, and my whole day will pick up. Maybe we can hang out between my practices, as I usually do with Ollie. If I just get five minutes with Sophie, things might actually feel slightly normal again.

There is a message waiting for me, but it's not from Sophie.

Jen: Sophie is in the hospital

I nearly drop my phone as the blood drains from my face.

No, no, no, this isn't happening.

I pull on my clothes in a whirlwind of pant legs and shirt sleeves, trying to breathe through it. I have to keep a clear enough head to drive there, I keep telling myself.

Was she in an accident?

I mumble something to the guys as I rush out of there. It's been thirty minutes since she texted. How much can have happened in thirty minutes?

Does she need surgery?

Is she already in the OR?

Is it already over?

Did she...?

No, you can't think like that, Jayden. Keep it together.

I drive without thinking, and despite the GPS giving me directions and the signs clearly stating the name of the hospital as I get to Detroit, it's not until I'm approaching those large doors that it hits me where I am.

My limbs turn to lead, and I freeze right outside those walls. Everything in me is screaming to turn around. Get back into my car, and get the hell away from this building as fast as humanly possible.

It's such an intense feeling that I can practically feel the pull behind my navel, trying to drag me backward. Away. Anywhere.

But I lied. When Ollie was in this hospital before Christmas with a broken wrist, I thought to myself that he was the only reason why I would ever walk through these specific doors again.

That was a lie. Because there is one other reason. When her face appears in my mind, those dimples denting her cheeks, I move out of my own volition.

The need to see her, to know that she's still here, that she'll be okay, is stronger than any deep-rooted fear of this place.

I walk straight to the reception. "I'm here to see Sophie Brooks. She's supposed to have been admitted," I say, my voice even, toneless, monotone.

My hands are fisting and unfisting at my sides as I try to fight off the nervous energy running through me.

Every few seconds, I feel a shot of electricity running up my spine, reaching my brain, blaring the alarm bells.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here. Get out.

"Are you family?" the lady behind the desk asks, looking at me over the top of her glasses.

"Yes," I lie without difficulty. "I'm her fiancé."

Sophie will probably kill me for that when she hears. If she doesn't run in the opposite direction, but if it's what I need to do to get to her, I'd make up an entire litter of kids at home.

"Okay," she says, her voice slightly suspicious, but she clicks around the computer a few times. "She's up on three. Take the elevators and, turn left, follow the signs to oncology. Room 3122."

I follow the direction she points to, finding the elevators. I force my body to walk forward in jerky movements, scanning the signs and trying for the life of me to avoid looking at anyone.

I just need to find Sophie. Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.

When I reach the right hallway, I don't allow myself to think about it. I just push it open the door and step inside.

The first thing I notice is the silence.

There's a burst of laughter coming from a room down the hall and a beeping somewhere else, but otherwise, it's quiet. A hospital is usually so busy and noisy, in my experience. However, there's a hush over this place.

The people in scrubs standing at the nurses' station a little ahead of me all have grave expressions on their faces, discussing something.

I move to the side so an orderly can wheel a patient by me. She's thin and frail. Her head is bald, and there's an air of fragility over her.

She looks very, very sick.

I turn to look at the door behind me. I can't be in the right place. I read the words on it.

Oncology ward.

No, this is wrong. Sophie should be in the ER or the ICU or something.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push down the panic rising inside me as I breathe through my nose.

She's probably in some non-threatening wing of the hospital.

Maybe she just broke her wrist. Yeah. She just broke her wrist.

I will go down to the reception again and ask another time. She must have gotten Sophie's chart mixed up or something. Hospital staff is always overworked and underpaid. She just made a mistake; it'll all be-

"Jayden?"

My eyes shoot open as every muscle in my body tense. Because I know that voice.

I turn slowly, hoping against hope that I imagined it. Conjured it up with my panic-driven brain.

But there, down the hall, is Jennifer Rue.

She looks like hell.

I mean, it's Jen, and she always looks pretty. But there's something off. It's not the messy hair or the fact that she looks like she hasn't slept in days. It's not the nervous twitching or the slumping of her shoulders.

It's the eyes. Even from this distance, I can see it clearly. She's so easy to read, and normally there's this spark in her eyes. A happy spark that doesn't ever quite waver, no matter what shitty things she goes through.

Until now. The spark has died, and in its place, there's only dread.

It's so strong that it closes around my trachea, slowly choking the air right out of me.

I don't know how long it takes me to move my legs. I close the distance far faster than I wish. I would walk a thousand miles if it kept me from facing whatever Jen has to say.

Please, don't be dead.

She swallows. "You shouldn't have come," she says quietly, the words hanging in the air between us, almost palpable in the tension. Like I could pluck them out and examine them, trying to understand their meaning, cause right now it makes no damn sense. "I didn't think you'd show up."

I laugh. Short and humorless, almost mockingly. "What did you expect, Jen? You texted that my girlfriend was in the hospital."

Her lips press together, and she nods once, like to tell me that she understands.

My eyes flicker to the rooms on either side of me. The one on the left has four little numbers beside it. 3122. Sophie's room.

I can't go in there. I have to, but I can't, and yet I have no choice.

"She's not here," Jen says before I can psych myself up to approach the door. "She's getting a biopsy."

My head jerks in her direction again. "What? Why?" I ask, the words harsh, almost angry. "I thought she was in an accident."

The remaining color in Jen's face drains, and her eyes grow wide. She looks around us like she's searching for backup.

"She didn't tell you she was coming here?" Jen asks, her voice almost inaudible.

Her words don't make any sense. How could Sophie tell me she would be in an accident later? Is she lucid enough to text?

Then why are they doing a biopsy?

"Jayden, maybe we should sit down." Jen points to two chairs a little down the hall. I want to argue, to demand to know what the hell is going on right now, but the way she sways a bit on the spot like she's seconds away from passing out makes me agree. I follow her numbly, trying to make sense of everything, something not adding up.

Jen sits, turning towards me, her hands clutched in her lap. She takes several deep breaths before lifting her gaze to mine. "Jayden, um, Sophie came in yesterday for a check-up."

"A check-up?"

"Yes. She has an appointment every six months. As part of her recovery," she says the words slowly, laced with meaning that my brain is refusing to take in. I blink, still utterly confused. "They say... They say the cancer is back."

The room spins around me, Jen going in and out of focus, the walls bleeding colors. What? No.

No.

I stand, wobbling on my feet, scanning the area. She has to be here somewhere. This can't be right.

You shouldn't be here.

A hand lands on my wrist. Small, the fingers not even long enough to wrap around it, but the sensation of that warm palm grounds me.

Pulls me back into the moment as the weight of Jen's words hits me, and I almost sink to my knees.

"This can't be happening," I whisper.

I don't realize that I'm shaking until Jen walks around me, placing both hands on my shoulder. She looks up at me, a fire blazing in her blue eyes. "She will be alright. Do you hear me? She beat it once; she can do it again."

I drop my head, fighting the sob rising in my throat. Why is this happening? The panic is snaking its way up my stomach, behind my diaphragm, squeezing my heart painfully.

"Why are they doing a biopsy?" The words sound foreing, and it takes me a second to realize that I was the one who spoke them.

Jen is still holding my shoulders, so she takes a step back, releasing me. She rubs her arm absentmindedly. "They want to see how far it has spread. How much... how bad it is."

She's twenty-three. It can't be that bad. Twenty-three years old don't die of cancer.

Right?

"I know this isn't the best time, and I know you're afraid right now, but you need to leave," Jen says, urgency lacing her tone.

"What?" I stumble back like she slapped me.

"Sophie can't see you here; she's not ready."

"What the hell are you talking about?" If she thinks I'm leaving without seeing Sophie, she has another thing coming.

"She told me not to call you."

She... what? My blood runs cold at the idea. Why would she do that?

"She doesn't want to see anybody," Jen goes on.

"I'm not anybody!"

"Right now, everybody is anybody." She frowns. "Even you and me."

I blow out a breath, trying to stay calm. "Jen-"

"She's in a bad place, Jayden. She hasn't said two words to me since I got here. She didn't even call me." There's a bit of resentment in her voice. "The hospital did because I'm her emergency contact." Her blue eyes lock on mine, and the plea is apparent in them. "She needs space, okay? Because her world is spinning out of control, and there's nothing she can do, and she's not ready."

"What the hell does that even mean?" I rip at my hair, frustration running through me. Who's ever ready for something like this?

"Brad left last time. And those girls from the sorority, too, but everybody else? Sophie pushed them away. She couldn't deal with their worry or sympathy. None of it. And she's been trying to drive you off from the very beginning. If you go in there before she's ready to see you, she'll-" Jen breaks off her rambling, taking a deep breath. "She'll use this to push you away."

I don't want to listen to her words. I don't want them to be true because I can't not see her. I need to hold her hand, even if just for a second.

The frustration seeps out of me, replaced by fear, deep and uncontrollable. "Jen, please." I sound like a broken man on the verge of tears. I can feel them pressing against my eyes.

"It won't be forever, I promise. I'll make her call you, but she needs to be ready. She needs to feel in control. She's come so far since she met you. She's opened up so much. She can do it; I know she can; you just have to give her this." She stops, blinking away tears of her own. "Please."

Fucking shit.

I slump against the wall. "Do I need to leave right now?"

"She'll be back any minute."

Which means yes.

It's unfair that Jen gets to stay.

But Jen has been here through it all. And she didn't budge the first time. She was by her side through all of it.

She has deserved her spot here, and now I need to earn mine.

"Do you know what's going to happen?"

She shakes her head. "They don't have the treatment plan ready yet, they're still running tests, but most likely surgery, and who knows what else."

Surgery.

The words land like a lead balloon.

"But she already had surgery," I insist, the nausea rising in my throat.

Jen frowns, rubbing the cross around her neck. "Yes, but only a partial hysterectomy."

The world is spinning around me, and I turn on the spot and walk away, ignoring Jen calling out for me.

She's going to have surgery.

They're going to lie her down on an operating table and slice her open.

I'm going to be sick.

My body moves without direction, and only too late do I realize that I went the wrong way.

I'm in a circular room, the walls lined with chairs, a few people sitting in them, worry etched into every face.

I don't even have a chance to prepare myself before the memory slams into me.

My mother pacing around this very room, her beautiful features pulled into a mask of worry. She has a coffee cup clutched in her hands. She hasn't taken a single sip.

I've kept watch. Because that's all I can do. I can sit here, watch my mom, and try to understand what's happening.

Dad's in surgery? I don't even know what that means. I want to see him, but mom says we have to wait.

And then, a doctor walks through the door, approaching mom. I should go over there, but my body won't move. He's older with dark skin and a little gray hair, and he looks very serious.

He says something to my mom, and her body freezes as the full coffee cup falls to the ground.

I pull in a deep breath, bracing myself against the wall as the second memory rushes towards me.

It's the same room. Just

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