Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I go to my dad and hug him, even though he can’t wrap his arms around me. The drumsticks he always carries around are in his pocket and while they would normally jab me in the stomach. I can’t feel anything.
Maybe my time is up and I’m delaying the inevitable. The doctor did say I wouldn’t make it through the night, and well, it’s night.
10
Noah
I wait for Quinn to come out of Peyton’s room. It’s an avoidance tactic so I don’t have to speak to my father. I hate lingering, but I need some time to think things through. It’s not that I plan to tell Quinn about what my dad overheard. It’s more that I need a friend right now, and being near Elle is rather hard. As soon as he comes out we’re hugging because we’re both hurting and for the life of me I can’t remember a time when we’ve ever been like this.
Our hands are squeezing the back of each other’s necks, making sure either of us doesn’t move until the other is ready. Both of our faces are buried, away from eyes that are trying not to pry, but can’t help themselves. Quinn grew up with people always staring. I had ten years before it became an issue. I can’t really say it bothers me because look at my profession. I could’ve easily gone into business or gone to work at the mill, but I chose a career in football. In fact, none of us, with the exception of Betty Paige, has gone down the path of anonymity. Deep down, maybe we like the limelight.
When we finally part, we don’t look around to see who’s watching. We stare at each other and while this may look awkward to people around us, it’s almost as if we’re having a silent conversation. I imagine he’s feeling like his walls are closing in, and nothing makes sense right now.
“I’m about to go down to the cafeteria and see what I can scrounge up for food. Wanna come?” Quinn motions with his head toward the door. I quickly spot my father who makes eye contact with me. I should’ve never brought up Peyton’s prom night, but I thought I was doing something right by bringing up memories that are important. I thought by telling her that night meant everything to me would help her wake up.
“Yeah, I need some air.”
We bypass everyone who is in the waiting room, almost acting as if they’re not there. I’m not lying when I say I need air. I need to clear my thoughts and make sure when my dad broaches the subject of Peyton and I, I know what I’m going to say.
Downstairs, the cafeteria is quiet. It’s late and there are very few items out for us to purchase. Quinn picks up two pieces of pie and I pour us some coffee. He pays while I find us a corner to sit in.
“Thanks,” I tell him as he pushes the dessert toward me. I take a bite of the apple pie and close my eyes. It probably tastes like garbage, but right now it feels like anything but. It has to be because my emotions are a mess and it’s comfort food. Everything else, though, is no different than high school cafeteria food.
The coffee is sludge, but I drink it anyway. I need the caffeine to keep me awake and alert. The normal aches and pains that I get after a game are starting to set in, and without going through my routine of stretching and soaking in the tub, I know I’m going to pay the price in the morning. Not to mention I plan to sleep in one of those waiting room chairs. There is no way I’m leaving this hospital.
It’s been so long since Quinn and I have been able to sit and chill, I want to ask him how things are going, but under the circumstances, the question seems insensitive and completely wrong. Upstairs, the woman we love, for different reasons, is fighting for her life. This isn’t the time to play catch up.
We eat in silence, well as much as possible with the television blaring and the two older men sitting not far from us. They came in shortly after we did, and while they had the entire cafeteria to pick seats, they chose to sit close to us.
“Do you think they know who you are?” Quinn mumbles through his sentence.
I glance over at them and one of the men makes eye contact with me quickly before turning his attention to his phone. I don’t need to be a betting man to know he’s texting someone that he’s spotted me. I don’t even know why he would do that. It’s not like it’s front page news unless he thinks I’m here to meet with the Bears since Zimmerman was in an accident, but even that wouldn’t make sense since I’m sitting in a hospital cafeteria.