Chapter 51

51

ZACH

I hated hospitals.

I'd just finished a meeting with the activities director at Astaire High School in preparation for the camp we were hosting there next week when I'd gotten a call from someone at the county hospital in Brinkley asking if I would be willing to pay a special visit to one of their patients who was a huge fan. I'd accepted the invitation but had spent the entire drive over battling the urge to turn around and back out.

Currently, I was sitting inside my car in the parking lot, willing myself to open the door and head inside. Since Drea's accident, I'd thankfully only had occasion to enter a hospital one other time. And just like now, I'd spent ten minutes in my car doing breathing exercises in an attempt to stave off a panic attack.

In an effort to distract myself, I focused on the reason I was there. The hospital liaison I'd spoken to over the phone had said Sean was a thirteen-year-old boy who'd lost his mother and home in a fire and was inside the hospital all alone. He was supposedly a huge fan of mine, and knowing what it was like to lose a parent, the least I could do was go inside and pay him a visit. I could do this. I could fight through the panic for this kid who'd lost everything. Taking one more breath and blowing it out slowly, I opened the door and started across the parking lot.

With sweaty palms, I entered the building, a blast of cold air ruffling my hair as I stepped across the threshold. A receptionist pointed me in the direction of Sean's room, and I headed that way, wiping my sweaty hands on my shorts as I continued to take deep breaths. As I rounded a corner, I pulled up short when I saw Jason standing in profile, peering into one of the rooms. He was quite possibly the only thing that could distract me from the anxiety of being in a hospital, and for a moment, I forgot all the breathing I'd been so focused on.

It seemed impossible he could look better each time I saw him, yet as I took in the sight of him in a gray fitted polo and navy shorts, I couldn't help but admire all the ways he'd matured into the man before me. He'd allowed the stubble he'd been sporting the last time I saw him to grow into a full beard, and while I'd never given it any thought before, it would appear I was shaping up to be a beard guy.

Our last meeting a couple of weeks ago hadn't gone well, and I wasn't sure how he'd react to seeing me here now, so I proceeded with caution, hoping he'd at least give me a chance to explain my presence. As I approached, he turned toward me, his face registering surprise and then concern.

"What are you doing here? Are you okay? You're pale."

I waved him off, trying to act casual, though I felt anything but. "Over the years, I seem to have developed an aversion to hospitals."

His brows drew up. "Are you sure you're okay? Why are you here?"

"I'm fine. Or at least as fine as I can be. And I'm here because apparently this kid"—I nodded toward the door—"is a fan. I got a call from the hospital to see if I'd do a visit."

"Did you know the hospital would be a problem before you got here?"

I laughed without humor. "Yeah. I had a similar reaction last time I was in one."

"And you still came?" His eyes were wide with surprise or maybe concern. Possibly a mix of both.

"I know what it's like to lose a parent," I said quietly. "But why are you here? Do you know this kid?"

He blew out a shaky breath, dragging his hand through his hair, and it was my turn to show some concern. "I was the one who pulled him out of the house Sunday night. Him and his dog."

"Shit, J." Instinctively, I put my hand on his arm, wanting to offer comfort. "Are you okay?"

"I'm uh…I'm…" He swallowed hard, and I didn't miss the way his voice shook when he continued, "I'll be okay. I just needed to see him. To see for myself that he's alright."

The rhythmic click of heels coming down the hall had us both turning toward the sound. A woman with a no-nonsense bob and wearing a smart-looking pantsuit approached, introducing herself as Betsy Sullivan, the liaison who had contacted me earlier. She gave us a brief update on Sean's condition, stating that he was being placed in his aunt's care and she would be coming by to pick him up later, and then led us into the room.

Sean didn't move as we entered, continuing to look out the window. Poor kid. He had to be pretty messed up over what had happened. I remembered those first couple of days after losing my mom. I went through a thousand different emotions. I figured he was probably feeling the same.

"Sean? I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Zach." When he still didn't turn his head, Ms. Sullivan repeated herself, adding in my last name. "Zach Jacobs. Retired soccer player from San Francisco SC."

At that, Sean finally turned, his eyes widening when he saw it really was me. "Hey, man. I heard you're a soccer fan."

He nodded slowly, eyes still wide in disbelief.

"You just a fan? Or do you play too?"

"I play," he said, his voice hoarse.

"That's awesome." I crossed over to sit in the chair next to him. "Does it hurt to talk? You can just nod if you want."

He shrugged. "It's okay."

"Cool. What position do you play?"

"Forward."

"Yeah?" I smiled. "Just like me."

He nodded.

"Are you any good?"

"Decent, I guess."

"I bet you're better than you let on." I thought I caught the slightest of twinkles in his eye, there and gone in a flash, and I found myself very interested in seeing what this kid could do.

"Have you heard about my soccer camp through Aksarben SC?"

The kid instantly deflated. I hadn't thought it was possible for him to look even sadder than he had when we walked in, but I'd somehow made things worse with just the mention of my camp. "I wanted to go, but my…my mom said we didn't have the money."

God, the way his voice hitched when he said mom just about did me in. I could remember that feeling, that ache that came with the mere mention of her name after she passed. I still felt it now, but those first weeks after her accident were like pouring lemon juice into a paper cut. The temptation to bring up my own loss was strong, but I also remembered how many adults in my life had tried to share some anecdote to show how much they related, and all it ever did was make me feel awkward. The last thing this kid needed right now was my own grief story.

"I'm going to leave a spot open for you. I'd love to see what you can do."

"I don't know if?—"

I put a hand up to stop him. "I'll talk to your aunt and see what we can work out. It's ultimately up to her, of course, but I'm hoping we can talk her into letting you come."

"Okay, I guess." He offered another shrug. I figured he was likely trying not to get his hopes up.

We chatted for a few more minutes, but I could see him struggling to focus on the conversation, his eyes flickering back toward the window. I figured he was probably overwhelmed and could use some space.

"I think it's time to head out. You rest up, and hopefully, I'll see you next week."

He dragged his eyes back toward me and nodded. I followed Jason and Ms. Sullivan out into the hall, where she thanked me for coming and assured me she would put me in contact with Sean's aunt. She hurried away with those same rhythmic strides, leaving Jason and me alone in the hall once again.

Unsure what to do with the awkward silence that had descended, I half-mumbled, "I'm gonna head out," then turned to follow Ms. Sullivan toward the exit.

"It was nice of you to come today. You were really good with him." Jason fell into step beside me.

"Thanks," I said lamely. I hadn't come here for any other reason than to try to brighten a boy's day, but his praise filled me with warmth nonetheless.

We walked the rest of the way to the exit in silence. As soon as I was outside, I lifted my face to the sun and breathed deeply, releasing the anxious tension from my body. I opened my eyes to find Jason watching me with an odd expression. I hadn't even thought about what I was doing. It had been instinctive. But now I felt heat rise up my cheeks at his stare.

For the first time since I'd been back, Jason was looking at me with something other than animosity, and while I was glad to avoid another fight, I didn't like how much his look felt like pity.

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. In the last hour, I'd fought off a panic attack, held the weight of sadness at bay over a kid losing his mother, and navigated another conversation with Jason. I was grateful I'd had a chance to speak to him that hadn't ended in an argument, but it left me feeling wrung out to dry.

"It's been a long day," I said with a sigh. "I'm going to head out. It was good to see you, J."

"Yeah, maybe I'll see you around."

I nodded, and we turned in opposite directions toward our cars. And while the afternoon had been weighty, there was a part of me that couldn't help but feel the tiniest sliver of hope because he'd said maybe.

I woke with a start, gasping for air with my heart racing. The sheets were wet with sweat and tangled between my legs as if I'd been thrashing around. I sat up, pushed my hair off my damp forehead, and reached for the cup of water I typically left on my nightstand. I drained the glass, then sat, staring into the dark, trying to shake off the lingering panic the dream had left in its wake.

I fumbled for my phone, noting the time was just three-thirty. I threw back the covers and walked over to the window, looking out over the lake. When I'd bought the house, I'd debated moving back into my old room but had ultimately decided to move into the primary bedroom since it included an en suite bathroom. And since the house was designed so all the bedrooms looked out over the lake, I still had the same gorgeous view. The water was still tonight, the half-moon shining just enough that I could make out a few gentle ripples in the otherwise calm lake. It was soothing.

It had been years since I'd had that nightmare, the one where I stumbled upon a car accident and the driver's face kept changing. The driver was almost always Mom, then Drea, then Jason, but I'd also had versions with Clayton and my father mixed in as well.

I'd had other nightmares over the years, mostly surrounding disaster soccer scenarios. I'd forget my uniform for an away match. Or worse, I'd take the field naked. Those sucked, but the ones that were focused on my game time performance were the worst. I'd score an own goal. Or miss a potentially game-winning PK. I'd even had one where every time I scored a goal, it was called back for offsides.

Unsurprisingly, the soccer nightmares stopped when I decided to retire. But the one I'd had tonight—I probably hadn't had that one for at least three years. And it was usually harder to pinpoint the trigger. Not this time though. The hospital visit. The memories of my own grief had been stirred up by the circumstances of Sean's situation. Those were bound to stir things up.

I yawned, stretching my hands to the ceiling, then crossed back over to the bed. I had a full day of meetings tomorrow and needed to try for a little more sleep. I slid into the other side of the king-sized bed, away from the sweaty mess I'd made on my usual side, and closed my eyes, hoping my sleep would be more peaceful.