18. Noah

18 /

noah

We don’t get a very good WiFi signal in the hospital. I feel like an asshole making constant trips outside to join the smokers— how are there still smokers? But I haven’t missed a single Tiff game and keeping tabs on how they’re doing against Western Nebraska without me makes it feel I’m supporting them in some small way.

“Score?” Frankie gets up from her seat when the elevator doors open.

“Still two, nothing,” I reply.

She sinks back in her chair, the outline of her body practically imprinted into the leather. I fall into mine and stretch my arm behind her back, assuming the position.

It’s surgery day. It’s also our first game after the holiday break, and it’s against a rival. There was zero chance my head would be in the game, and Coach agreed. Besides, it’s a good opportunity for the sophomore, Zach, who will need to fill my skates next season.

“Thank you.” Frankie flattens her open palm on my leg, and I place my hand in hers, just as I’ve done for the last three hours.

“You keep saying that, but there’s no place I would rather be than here.”

Her head falls against my shoulder, and I kiss the crown.

“Really? Because I’d rather be in San Diego. Or maybe Hawaii.”

We both shake with quiet laughter.

“Anthony’s awake,” her mom announces, reading a text update from the surgery station on her phone. Frankie leaps to her feet and rushes to her mom’s side as she approaches the information desk. I stand and stretch my arms above my head, then crack my neck.

“You shouldn’t do that,” one of the aides says as she replaces the coffee filter and starts a new drip.

“Stretch? Or shuffle my vertebrae?”

She snarls at me, then shuts the supply cabinet under the refreshment station with a little extra oomph .

“She doesn’t like me,” I whisper at Frankie’s side when she returns.

“It’s because she knows better, and you don’t.”

I rub my neck where I stretched it— cracked it— and Frankie’s gaze follows my hand.

“See?” she says.

“That’s not proof of her opinion. I was just giving it more thought.”

Frankie’s eyes narrow. The last time I cracked my neck in this room, the woman gave me a five-minute lesson on cervical damage and how often is too often. She also handed me a pamphlet for anxiety and repetitive behavior, which, okay, that stuff was spot on. I really can’t argue with her. I crack my joints constantly out of habit. But I don’t think I’m doing any more damage than I am taking bodies into my chest on the ice.

“Come on,” Frankie says, snapping me out of my internal debate. “We can go see him.”

I shake my head and remember the important part of today. Miracles of modern medicine.

I snag my sweatshirt and Frankie’s backpack, slinging it over my shoulder as I take her hand on the opposite side. We follow her mom through the set of doors to the right of the security desk, and a nurse leads us to Anthony’s room. He’s been out of surgery for a little more than an hour. His dad has a few hours to go.

“Hey, handsome,” his mom says, dropping her bag and throw blanket on the chair next to his bed before stepping to his bedside and taking his hand.

“Did they do the nose job, too, then?” Anthony’s voice is a little groggy, and his eyes seem to not quite focus on us. His mom glances to me then to Frankie, her mouth in a confused smile.

“Hon, you donated a kidney,” she explains.

Anthony rolls his head against the mattress and then meets my gaze, his lips pursed though kind of sloppily and crooked.

“She didn’t get it,” he says. I replay his words in my head, then laugh.

“Oh, you called him handsome. And we all know he’s an ugly motherfucker,” I joke.

“Hey,” Anthony replies, lifting his free hand to flip me off.

“Careful, you’ll lose your IV,” I say. He flips me off again, and his mom softly slaps at the hand she’s holding.

“I see you’re recovering just fine,” she says.

“ Mmm , yeah. They gave me some pain meds, and I hear I might get Jell-O later, so—” He whirls a finger in the air. “How’s Dad?” He tries to sit up a little but quickly winces and relents to staying put.

“Probably two more hours. They’ll come get me in here,” his mom says.

I clear her blanket and bag from the chair and scoot it to Anthony’s bedside so she can sit by her son. I poke my head out into the hallway and spot two other chairs, and swallowing my pride, ask my neck-cracking critic if we can borrow them. She agrees when I promise not to crack a single joint for the rest of the day.

The four of us sit in Anthony’s room while he dozes in and out. I get a decent signal near his window, so I manage to bring up the stream of the game for the last four minutes. Tiff ends up winning three to one.

It’s amazing how quickly an entire day can pass, yet at the same time seem to drag on for eternity. The sun sets while we’re in Anthony’s room, and the chill of winter fogs the glass. The sun was rising when we arrived to start the day. A celestial event passed in the time it took to move an organ from one body to another.

I haven’t done a thing, yet I’m exhausted. I know Frankie is. I tried to get her to sleep in the waiting room, but she was too wound up. The longer we sit with Anthony, the mumbling of game show reruns spilling from the TV mounted high on his wall, the heavier her eyelids get. Eventually, she succumbs. I cover her with the blanket her mom brought and leave my arm around the back of her chair in case I fall asleep too. I want to feel her wake up.

“Hey,” Anthony whispers after a few quiet minutes.

I drop my head forward, and he nods toward his mom, who is passed out in her chair.

“Can you get her a pillow? That’s going to kill her neck.”

I slip away from Frankie and grab the extra pillow from his bed.

“Apparently, not as much as cracking it will,” I mutter.

“Huh?” he says.

“Never mind.” I forget he hasn’t been awake and with us all day.

I slip the pillow behind his mom’s head, and she stirs but falls back to sleep quickly after patting my arm and calling me a sweet boy.

“You always get the credit, don’t you?” Anthony grumbles.

I chuckle as I move back to my seat. The room is quiet minus the faint chatter at the nurses’ station just outside his door and the steady beep of his monitor. The game shows have shifted to the news.

“Are you sore?” I nod toward his abdomen. He looks down at his hospital gown and shrugs.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m high. There’s a lot of tape and shit.”

We both laugh, and he winces again.

“Yeah, I’m sore.”

I glance to my side to check on Frankie, pulling the cover up her body a little more.

“Thanks for being here,” Anthony says. “Not for me, but for her. For them.”

His eyes roam from Frankie to his mom.

“Of course. I made a promise.”

Our eyes lock for a beat, and his mouth ticks up in a short but accepting smile.

“I’m glad it’s you. I mean, I am high as fuck so take it for what it’s worth, but if my sister had to fall in love with someone . . . I’m glad it’s you.”

I nod.

“Thanks.” That single word doesn’t feel like enough, but the longer we stare at each other, the fewer words are necessary. I knew I found family the day he and his dad asked me to join them for hockey.

“Mrs. Bardot?” A man’s voice is accompanied by a soft knock at Anthony’s door just before the doctor steps fully inside.

“Mom,” Anthony says, rubbing his mom’s arm.

“Yes, I’m up. Huh?” She sits up tall and scans the room, jetting to her feet when she focuses on the doctor. Frankie does the same about two seconds behind her mom.

“Please, sit.” The doctor’s smile is full, and that signals good news. I grasp Frankie’s hand as she perches on the edge of her seat. Anthony holds his mom’s.

“He’s in recovery. Everything went perfectly. And barring complications, he should get to go home in three or four days.”

“Oh.” Anthony’s mom breaks down, cupping her mouth as the tears she’s been holding in spring loose.

“It’s a good day. Or night, as it were,” the doctor says, gesturing to the dark window covered in frost.

“Someone will come get you in an hour or two when he’s awake.” He rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she clasps her hands around his wrist, I think simply needing to hold on for a second. The doctor doesn’t seem fazed at all.

“Thank you,” I say.

Once Anthony’s mom lets go, the doctor moves to the end of the bed and scans the chart.

“I bet you’re feeling pretty good right now, huh?” He quirks a brow over his glasses.

Anthony waggles his head, clearly still a bit loopy. Part of that is just his personality, though.

“Well, this stuff wears off. So, take the instructions seriously. You should be back up and running in a couple of weeks. Nothing crazy in the meantime, okay?”

“So, that’s a no on hockey?” Anthony says. His mom shoots him a glare, and he holds up a hand.

“I’m kidding,” Anthony adds.

The doctor seems to find us amusing, either that or he’s gotten really good at playing whatever part the patient needs.

“I need to walk or something,” Frankie says, stretching her slender frame in front of me.

“I could use a coffee,” her mom says.

“Coming right up,” Frankie replies before turning to me. “Wanna join me?”

She holds out her hand, which I quickly accept. We make it to the door before Anthony calls out, “No doing it in maintenance closets!”

Frankie spins around to shoot him a glare, and I hear her mom mutter for him not to be crass in the hospital. But really, what better place? And when Frankie and I pass the maintenance closet on our way to the elevator, we get a good giggle.

By the time the elevator doors close, Frankie drops the mask and lets her exhaustion show.

“We made it,” I reassure her, pulling her into my arms as we tick down six floors to the main level.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she insists.

Before the doors open, there’s a tiny pause when I think—and maybe hope—the elevator will get stuck. I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m exhausted too, or because I feel as though fate is giving me a kick in the ass. But whatever the reason may be, I feel it in my gut. Now is the time. Before those doors open.

“Marry me?”

Her head bops up, and her doe eyes capture mine just as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Two people step inside with us, maneuvering around us since we’ve confiscated the very middle. It’s uncomfortable and awkward—for them, for us, and for me. Especially for me.

The doors close again, and we begin to head up. I immediately conjure excuses, of ways to take it back and give her an out. And then our companions step out on the fifth floor and the doors close again while we hang in limbo, waiting for someone to call the elevator to them. Wherever they may be. Eventually, we will need to get her mom coffee.

Frankie blinks.

And then she says the greatest word ever formed.

“Yes.”