I didn’t know how long she needed to stay at the hospital, but she bloody sure wasn’t staying in that small, sad room for longer than a night.
I made my calls in a quiet corner near Scarlett’s room. Sloane was, as expected, on top of the impending relationship leak. She wasn’t thrilled about the timing or the circumstances, but I think she was just glad I wasn’t making headlines for racing anymore.
My call to Coach went to voicemail. I wasn’t surprised since warm-ups for the match had already started, but I needed to apologize to him in my own words, so I left a short message. He could be livid with me in person later.
Finally, I spoke with the doctor, who said Scarlett could be discharged as soon as tomorrow if her condition remained steady.
That was a relief, but I was already worrying about next week’s rehearsal. And the week after that. And the week after that. Would Lavinia let her remain the lead if she found out about the hospitalization? With Yvette gone, she didn’t have other options for the Lorena role, but I couldn’t see the stern, rule-abiding director letting what happened today slide. She wasn’t warm and fuzzy, but she cared about her staff’s well-being.
My head pounded with a million worries stacked on top of each other.
While Scarlett slept, I kept an eye on both the news and the match. Thankfully, we were up by one, but I was more focused on the brief close-ups of Vincent’s face than the actual gameplay.
I tried to read his expressions and figure out if he knew about Scarlett yet. The video of me at the hospital had been uploaded when the players were already on the pitch, so I doubted he was aware of that. But had he turned on his phone or spoken with Coach before the match?
It was impossible to tell since Vincent always looked like a moody son of a bitch during a match.
Coach, on the other hand, was visibly angry. If he clenched his jaw any harder during the few camera shots of him, he’d shatter a molar. Gallagher, my sub, was doing a damn good job, but it didn’t matter.
There’d be hell to pay for my last-minute decision to skip the match later. It was technically a personal emergency, but since no one was dead or dying, I doubted he’d sympathize much.
“Asher, go get something to eat,” Brooklyn said. “Scarlett’s still asleep. She’s not going to, I don’t know, roll over and fall onto the floor.”
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Carina added.
I nearly protested, but we were all tired and hungry and cranky after hours in the hospital. I didn’t want to get into an argument with Scarlett’s friends, but I would also rather chew off my hand than eat the cafeteria food.
Instead, I ducked into the loo and bought a pack of pretzels and water on my way back. I ate them next to the vending machine, grateful for the energy boost.
When I returned to the hall outside Scarlett’s room, only Brooklyn was there. She jumped up when she saw me.
“Any new developments while I was gone?” I asked.
I didn’t expect her to say yes, but a nervous expression crossed her face at my question.
“Well, Carina’s in the bathroom, and Scarlett’s awake again.”
“Already?” She’d looked so exhausted when I talked to her that I expected her to sleep through the night. Did something happen? Was she in so much pain she couldn’t sleep?
“Yes. But, um, you might not want to go in there,” Brooklyn said when I moved toward the door.
It was too late. I’d already cracked it open.
“Why…” My words died in my throat.
Because Scarlett wasn’t alone. Standing beside her bed, his back to me, was Vincent. I’d recognize that buzz cut and number four kit anywhere. He must’ve come straight from the match.
He turned, his face darkening when he saw me.
Fuck. I hadn’t seen any news about me and Scarlett yet, but considering I’d missed my most anticipated match of the season so far to be by her side, I guess he’d pieced the puzzle together faster than the paps.
I held up my hands as he stormed toward me. “Vincent, I?-“
I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence before he hauled his fist back and slammed it into my face.
SCARLETT
It turned out hospitals frowned upon fistfights breaking out on their premises, especially when one of their patients tried to hobble out of bed and stop it.
I wasn’t stupid enough to try and throw myself into the middle of Vincent and Asher’s fight, but I needed to do something. God knew I didn’t have the strength to yell like I normally would.
Unfortunately, I also didn’t have the strength to sit up straight, much less walk anywhere. My head made it about four inches above my pillow before sheer fatigue dragged it back down.
“Stop.” The word scraped up my throat. “Stop.”
Neither of them heard me over their grunts, curses, and the sound of fists striking flesh.
Once Vincent threw the first punch, all bets were off. Asher had retaliated, and now the two of them were grappling five feet from me like Neanderthals without impulse control.
A migraine blossomed at the base of my skull.
Rest and medical attention had soothed the worst of my pain, but I still hurt all over, and my head throbbed where I’d hit it against the corner of my coffee table. Thankfully, the angle at which I fell meant I’d only suffered a flesh wound and mild concussion; it could’ve been much worse, all things considered.
However, seeing two of the people I cared about most beat each other up in my hospital room was not conducive to a speedy recovery.
“You bastard!” Vincent swung at Asher again. “You lied to me!”
“We were going to tell you.” Asher ducked the hit. “This is why we didn’t!”
“You-“
The door swung open again, cutting off Vincent’s response. The doctor rushed in, followed by Carina, Brooklyn, and one of the nurses.
Screams, shouts, and swear words flew through the air with abandon.
I wanted to scream with them. I wanted to stand, yell, do anything except be an observer of my own life, but I couldn’t summon the strength.
The migraine spread to my eyes, my temples, my jaw.
Everywhere.”Enough!” My doctor finally wrestled the situation under control. Her eyes flashed with fury. “Everyone, out.”
“But-“
“You can’t?-“
“She doesn’t?-“
“I don’t want to hear it! I have a patient resting in here”-she pointed at me-“and you are in here fist fighting? You should be glad I don’t call security. Now get out!” For such a kind-looking old lady, Dr. Ambani had one hell of a set of pipes.
It was as if a fog had cleared, and they realized I was in the room for the first time since Asher opened the door.
Vincent and Asher swung toward me with stricken expressions. Guilt etched horrified lines across their faces, but the doctor didn’t give them an opportunity to apologize.
She jabbed her finger toward the door, and they shuffled out, their heads hanging in shame.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.