Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 54383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
They’re both wrapped head to toe in bandages, with metal splints protruding from their legs and tubes flowing from their mouths to massive machines.
A nurse is adjusting an IV bag and writing down a few notes. Her eyes meet mine and she averts her gaze.
She tries to walk past me, but I gently grab her hand.
“Wait,” I say. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad are their injuries?”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s something I can say. You’d need to ask for their parents’ permission and then the doctors would have to—”
“Just fucking tell me.” I cut her off. “You don’t have to give me exact facts, just give me an idea.”
She looks over at the beds and sighs. “Without being too specific, one of the girls is a ten.”
“And the other?”
“The other girl is a twenty…and that’s if she’s lucky.” She walks away without saying anything else.
Letting out a breath, I set a bouquet of flowers next to Tully’s bed. Then I walk over to Scarlett’s, placing her favorite rose bloom on her nightstand before sitting next to her.
“Don’t fucking leave me…” I say. “We’re supposed to finally be together this year.”
There’s no answer from her lips. Just the soft buzzing and humming from the machines.
Undaunted, I place a hand over her casted wrist.
“Let’s pretend I climbed through your window tonight,” I say. “I have a hypothetical question for you…”
37.5
EASTON
Two Weeks Later
Rush(less): Alabama Earns Narrow Victory Without Star QB; No Updates on Girlfriend’s Injury Status
Easton Rush Should Play in His Girlfriend’s Honor Instead of Giving Into His Emotions
Will Easton Rush Play in Week Three?
38
EASTON
“Why hasn’t anyone given us any new updates today?” I glare at the doctor on a Friday morning. “All the staff has done is adjust the settings on these fucking machines.”
He sighs. “Mr. Rush—”
“Don’t you dare say the same shit you said an hour ago,” I say. “I’m tired of hearing that.”
“Both of these young ladies are very lucky to be alive,” he repeats his usual words anyway. “I’ve run through their list of injuries, and as a football player, surely you know that we’re not looking at a quick recovery.”
“Are we looking at any fucking recovery?”
He sighs and scribbles on his clipboard. Then he tears off a sheet and hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“A prescription for some sedation medication. The pharmacist is on the first floor.”
“With all due respect, Doctor—” I crumple the paper. “Football and medication don’t go together.”
“You’re not playing football, though. You haven’t played in weeks.”
Bullshit. “I played last week, and I have a game against Clemson tomorrow.”
He furrows his brow. Then he places a hand against my forehead.
“Easton Rush…” He speaks slowly, enunciating every syllable in my name. “The game against Clemson was two weeks ago. You haven’t left the hospital since you got here, son.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes. It is.” He looks alarmed. “Your coach sent one of his interns here with clothes, your teammates brought practice footage, and your father has stopped by every night to check on you. Do you recall any of those things?”
“Yes.” I lie.
“Well, today is Friday,” he says. “Just in case you’re wondering.”
“Who are we playing tomorrow?”
“Ole Miss,” he says. “Why?”
I don’t answer.
I look over to where Mr. & Mrs. Crane are sitting on the couch, both engrossed in their cell phones.
They’ve been far too embroiled in arguments to say much of anything outside of “Hey there, Easton,” and “It’s another pretty fall day outside, huh?” to me. Despite the brewing animosity, their mother has not-so-subtly vlogged from their bedside in tears—focusing on her feelings, not their condition—and their father has started a multi-million dollar GoFundMe account.
He bought a brand new Jaguar last week.
“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” I say, kissing the bandage around Scarlett’s forehead. “I promised to beat the hell out of Ole Miss since they didn’t accept you…”
“You’re still mixing the twins up, Easton,” the doctor says. “Tully is the one on the left.”
“I’m well aware of that …”
39
TULLY
Five Weeks Later
“Can you see me, Miss Crane?” A nurse waves a hand in front of my face. “Can you blink once for yes and two for no?”
I try to blink, but I’m not sure if it’s working.
“That’s okay.” She smiles. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
She leaves the room and I stare across the room at my sister.
Her condition is worsening with each passing day.
Despite opening her eyes every now and then, it’s clear that she isn’t improving. The universe is allowing her to cling onto life’s edges to give us all a sense of false hope.
“How much longer should we keep her on life support if she doesn’t improve per the schedule?” my father whispers to my mother. “She wouldn’t want to live like this.”
“We’ll talk about it in a few months. It’s not just her I’m worried about, remember?”