Page 151 of A Little Secret
“Not gonna do that, Griff.”
A splinter shoots through my sternum. Or maybe it’s always been there. Ever since the hospital. It flares, and I rub at the spot. “Well, you should.”
“Not gonna happen,” he repeats. “That being said, since you brought up the Lions, I have news, if you’d like to have a conversation?”
I nod, not really giving a shit anymore. Even though hockey was my life before this, now it's only a blip on my radar. Because nothing—and I mean nothing—else matters but the girl holed up in her room, refusing to see anyone.
A heavy strain tugs at my muscles as I glance down the hall. It’s second nature. Like a weird tick or some shit. But even though I just climbed out of bed with her, the need to check on her is overwhelming.
“Uh, sure,” I offer, forcing myself to keep my feet planted where they are instead of giving in to my compulsion. “Whatever…whatever you want to do.”
“I’ll keep it quick since you obviously have more pressing concerns on your mind,” Henry offers. “Bluntly put, Everett’s on the team, too.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“The GM agreed that we haven’t seen this kind of synergy on the ice since your dad played with your Uncle Theo. We want both of you playing for the Lions next year.”
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re not giving up.”
I close my eyes. “I’m not giving up.”
Grasping my shoulder, he squeezes. “Good man. The more you say it, the more you believe it. We love you, all right?”
I nod, my body heavy, as Aunt Mia returns. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she gives me a hug and kisses my cheek. “He’s right. We do love you, and if you needanything, and I mean anything, we’re only a phone call away.”
If only a phone call could fix this.
Rubbing at my eye’s inner corner, I reply, “Thanks, Aunt Mia.”
“Anytime.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
FINLEY
It’s been two weeks. Two long weeks. We met with my obstetrician. He did another ultrasound, confirming I’m healing properly, then reiterated Dr. Brandish’s assumption. This had nothing to do with my epilepsy. Not my medication. Not my diagnosis. It was simply…a shitty and really heartbreaking event.
I should feel better. After receiving a confirmation like this. That it was out of my control. That I couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. Instead, I bawled my eyes out as Griffin drove us around town, then stopped at a burger place and grabbed me some food. We ate it in the car while listening toHigh School Musical. Pretty sure I’ve never loved the man more.
I didn’t know I could cry this much. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I’m giving Squeaks a run for her money in the waterworks department, but I can’t stop.
The smallest things are triggers, too. Like a stupid puppy video or a crosswalk sign next to an elementary school. I hate it. I hate crying. I hate feeling this way. And Ihate feeling like no matter what I do, I’ll never be happy again.
I know it isn’t true. I know this will pass. But then I feel guilty for wanting it to pass. And then I feel scared of potentially getting pregnant again and having to relive this hellish nightmare. I just…I don’t know what to do.
Griffin’s been amazing. Surprise, surprise. It’s been nice, though. Having him as my self-proclaimed shadow. He even missed his last game to be with me. It didn’t help with the guilt side of things, but the idea of being without him for a night was more than I could handle.
My professors have been great, giving me a leave of absence. Griffin’s are letting him take his classes online, so I don’t have to be alone.
It sucks.
Everything sucks.
Everything but me and Griff.
Okay, that’s a lie. Our friends and families have been pretty freaking awesome, too. But other than that? I only want to sleep and cry and sleep and cry and snuggle with Griffin and, you guessed it, sleep and cry.