Page 183 of Broken Saint
She’s about to respond, but before any words escape, the door opens and my little brother bounces into the room.
“Colt,” he breathes, a blinding smile spreading across his face before he rushes to my side. “Fuck, Bro. It’s so good to see you awake.”
Alive. What he means is alive.
Whatever happened…it was bad. Really fucking bad.
“I n-need—” I suck in a deep breath, trying to find strength from somewhere. “I need to kn-know.”
West holds my eyes firm, and unlike Ella, who is trying to avoid telling me the truth, I know he’s not going to hold back. It’s not how we work.
“You went into cardiac arrest on the field.”
His words hit me like a fucking Mac Truck.
“We thought you died.”
Ella sobs.
“I-I…haven’t,” I force out as Ella falls apart, clutching my hand like it’s a lifeline.
47
ELLA
As the hours and days pass, the doctors and nurses take away the machinery that Colt was hooked up to. Even the oxygen mask that he’s needed since waking up has disappeared.
He’s just…Colt again. Almost.
The team’s publicist has been in a couple of times to get a few words from him to reassure fans. It’s helped. The crowd outside the hospital is lessening with every day that passes. People are being forced to move on with their lives and keep an eye on their favorite running back from a distance. Sadly, West has had to do the same and return to Chicago and attend practice.
It might seem that time has ground to a halt while being inside these four walls, but that is only an illusion. The world is still spinning; people have lives that they need to reenter.
I lift Colt’s hand, pressing my lips to his knuckles.
His eyes flicker in sleep, but he doesn’t fully wake.
He might be much more alert, but he’s still sleeping a lot. According to the doctors, it’s totally normal. It’s going to take a lot of time for his body to heal. Longer than I fear he understands.
Every time he wakes, he’s a little more frustrated. He hasn’t vocalized it, but I can see it darkening his eyes.
He wants to get to his feet and walk out of this place. Sadly, his head and his body aren’t on the same page yet.
He’s started some PT, but mostly from his bed, getting his limbs working and his muscles strengthening.
I thought he’d completely shut down when the doctor explained to him that he’d need help walking again.
Colt has always managed to lock his emotions up behind a very solid brick wall. I understand why now, and to a point, I thought I’d broken through it. But seeing the devastation, the anger, the hopelessness on his face made me realize just how little about this man I really know.
Our time together, both now and during our college days, was hot, heavy and intense.
Sure, he might now have told me his greatest fear and his reason for holding back before now, but I fear it only scratches the surface.
The door opens behind me and someone slips inside.
“Hey, sweetie,” Mom says softly, her eyes moving from me to Colt and back again. “How are you both doing?”
She moves closer and lowers down to press a kiss to the top of my head.