40. Chapter 40

It's been four days. Four excruciatingly long days since Quinton went into the hospital. ‘Seems everyone you love dies' plays over and over in my head. The only way I can get the words out of my head is when I'm high or drunk. When I'm faded, I can pretend that Quinton's right beside me, drifting through the clouds. But as soon as that high wears off, I'm snapped back to a reality where I don't know if my boyfriend is going to make it. I don't know if I've killed another person who I love. So instead of staying with those thoughts, I reach for the bottle of tequila.

Classes drag on, and I barely make it through each day. As soon as class ends and I'm outside, I reach inside my purse and pull my vape pen to my lips to chase that high again. Everyone keeps checking on me, and it feels suffocating. I'm going through the motions. Wake and bake, Uber to class, smoke, come home, lay in the grass, smoke and drink, pass out, and repeat. I'm a zombie, but a life without Quinton is a life I don't want to be a part of.

I'm lying in the grass, cold pizza next to me. I've finished my bowl, and I'm just chilling here looking at the sky. Tears stream silently from my eyes.

I see him.

See his light-brown skin, eyes that want to drink me in, and a dazzling smile that always makes me happy. We're running through the sky, running away from reality. It's just the two of us, running hand in hand. He pulls my arm, and I spin into him. Gripping my face, he's just about to kiss me when dirty-blonde hair and crisp, moss-green eyes stare back at me.

I see his lips moving, but I can't make out what they're saying. It's not until I'm being flung over his shoulders and carried into my house that I realize it's Grant Campbell.

"Jesus, Brynn. You're a fucking mess."

He doesn't stop once we're inside. No, he continues to carry me up the stairs and into my bedroom. Pushing my bathroom door open with his foot, he carries me until he's dropping me into my shower.

"Grant, what the fu—" I start, stopping as he reaches beside me and turns the nozzle. Cold water hits my fully dressed body, and I gasp from the shock of it. "What the fuck?!" I scream, scratching at his forearm, the one that was holding me under the water spray.

"Dammit, Grant. That's not what we talked about," Cody says, walking through the open bathroom door.

Grant doesn"t let go of me, he just lets the water beat down on me while his other hand slowly turns the water toward the warmer setting.

"I don't give a shit. I'm sick and tired of her pity party. Quinton's awake and asking for his girlfriend."

"Quinton's awake," I gasp out.

Grant's icy stare finds mine, and his expressionless face stares down at me. He's pissed. He might not be showing it, but I know him well enough to know that he's so far past pissed right now.

"Yeah, Brynn," he grits out. "Quinton's awake, and you'd fucking know that if you'd quit self-medicating long enough to answer your goddamn phone. We've all been worried about Quinton, and you've gone and put more worry on us by self-destructing. You've been acting like you've already been to the wake when he's been alert for almost a day now."

My body sinks down the tiled wall, collapsing on the shower floor.

He's awake.

He's alive. Sobs erupt from my body, my shoulders shakes as I let myself finally feel. Cody's pushing Grant aside, climbing into the shower next to me.

"A little fucking harsh, man," Cody grits out, wrapping his arms around me.

"She needed to hear it," is the only response Grant gives Cody. In the next instant, he's dropping into a squat, reaching out to grip my chin, forcing my eyes to his. "Get cleaned up. Get sober. And be ready by eight o'clock tomorrow morning for me to pick you up. I'm taking you to see Quinton."

I just nod.

Sometime after Cody leaves, I climb into bed after spending way too long in the shower scrubbing my body of all the guilt and idiocy. I pull my phone from where I stashed it in my nightstand drawer and power it on. So many text messages light up my screen. I don't have the energy to open them all, but I stop on a few.

But it"s the last one that has me pausing, and tears start streaming down my face.

I fall asleep with my phone clutched to my chest. Tomorrow, I get to see my favorite person again.

Right at eight, the doorbell rings. I knew Grant would be right on time. I mean, he's almost always on time, but today I knew he'd be on time to prove a point. Sighing, I fling open the door.

"I just need two seconds," I greet, reaching down to zip up my brown ankle boots.

With one last look in the mirror, I check out my outfit—denim shortalls with a multicolored pink plaid shirt underneath and my brown suede ankle boots. It's cute and casual, making it look like I've got my shit together when, in fact, I'm severely hungover. My hands keep finding my hair, tousling the long blonde strands. My hands keep shaking, I'm so nervous.

"Brynn. Brynn," Grant says, trying to get my attention.

My eyes find him in the mirror.

"You look fine. Quinton is going to be happy to see you. Now let's go."

Nodding my head in acknowledgment, I grab my keys and sunnies from the bowl on the table. I grab my purse as we head out the door.

The drive to the hospital is quiet. It's awkward, neither one of us know what to say to the other after last night. I'm a little pissed at the way that Grant showed up and went all caveman. The only time I like for a man to go all caveman is when he's about to worship my body, not throw my ass in a fucking freezing cold shower.

While I'm pissed at him, a part of me is glad that he showed up to knock some sense into me. Usually, it's Quinton, but that just shows how good a friend Grant is. He risked pissing me off to get me to his best friend.

"Thank you," I finally say, still not looking at Grant.

He grunts. And we're back to awkward silence. "I'm sorry for being a dick about it," he finally says as he pulls us into the hospital. Grant doesn't find a parking spot but follows the driveway toward the main entrance, stopping under the overhang.

"You're not coming in?" I ask, finally looking at him.

"Nah, you two need a minute."

With a small, tight smile, I open my door and step out.

After speaking with the receptionist in the lobby, I'm told Quinton's room is on the tenth floor, room 1004. I make my way to the elevator and wait for the doors to open. When they do, I step inside, and as the doors close, anxiety swells in my stomach. A bell chimes when I reach the tenth floor, and I step out once the doors open.

The floor is buzzing with nurses doing their morning checks. There's a cart with trays of food that's being delivered to each room. Slowly, I make my way to room 1004. A guy with a tray in his hand is about to knock on the door.

"Excuse me," I say before he has a chance to know. The guy turns his head to me. "Do you mind if I take the tray in? He's my boyfriend," I supply when he looks at me with a questioning look.

He nods his head before handing me the tray. I give a light knock before stepping inside. Sunlight streaming in from the cracked blinds is the only light illuminating the room. Quinton's lying in his bed, head toward the TV where I hear the NFL Network's Good Morning Football coming from the speakers. He hasn't noticed me yet, so I take a moment to take in the room. Q is in a medium-size room. There's a small couch, chairs, and a counter with a sink, and his bed is in the middle. Tubes and wires hang all around him with a monitor next to his bed.

Slowly, I creep toward his bed trying like hell not to drop his tray, my hands shaking like crazy. "Morning, handsome," I say as my way of greeting, pausing beside his bed.

His head whips in my direction, shock filling his face. "Brynn?" he questions, searching me from head to toe. "Damn, baby, I missed you. Get over here."

I don't hesitate, I drop the tray onto his rolling table and rush him. His arms open, and without hesitation, I dive into them, being careful not to wrestle him too much.

As soon as I feel his arms close around my body, I can't keep the tears at bay. I know as soon as he feels the sobs rack my body because he's pulling me in tighter.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," I cry into his chest.

Shushing me, he starts consoling me. "You're here now, and that's all that matters."

Looking up at him, I search his face for any hint of anger or resentment, but all I see staring back at me is love.

"I love you so much," I say on a sob.

"I love you too, baby," he answers, lips finding mine. "Are you okay?" Quinton asks when he finally brings himself to pull away from my lips.

"Am I okay? Quinton, you're the one I should be asking that to."

"I'm fine," he answers. "A little banged up with a moderate concussion, but I'll be back on the field in no time."

Narrowing my eyes, I examine his face for any hint he's not telling the truth. And of course, there isn't one.

"But I'm more worried about you. Uhh, the guys might've filled me in on how you've been this week."

"Traitors," I say with a sigh. "But I'm fine. Really. I might've been in my head, like, really bad, over the last few days. I may have been suppressing those feelings with whatever I could get my hands on, but I'm fine now. I'm fine because you're okay." Lowering my head onto Q's chest, I soak in his warmth before whispering the last part. "And my love didn't kill you either."

"Look at me," he demands, but I don't move. "Dammit, Brynn, look at me," he demands again, only this time he brings his hand under my chin and tips it up. Umber eyes bore into me, and I swear he is imprinting himself into my soul. "Your love is not toxic. Your love will never kill me. And I'm tired of you feeling that way."

"How can I not feel that way when your own mother thinks so," I scoff. "And then we finally say ‘I love you,' and then bam, down you go. How am I not supposed to feel like my love is cursed?"

"Your love is a goddamn gift, and anyone who is blessed to feel your love is the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. And as for my mother, it's not a ‘you' thing, it's a ‘her' thing."

"Oh yeah, I'm so sure about that."

"Would you stop being so fucking stubborn? Christ, woman." I can't help the chuckle that escapes. I missed this. I missed the combative conversations that get both of us fired up. And then the next thing I know, we're both fighting with our bodies and not our words. "Are you thinking about me ravishing you right now? Is that why that beautiful golden skin I love so much is tinged pink?"

I just nod. He groans, reaching down to bring my face to meet his lips. But we don't get too far before a knock interrupts us as someone is opening the door.

"Ah, I'm interrupting," an older Indian man says. "I'm Dr. Patel. You must be the girlfriend?"

"Yes, I'm the girlfriend," I answer the doctor before sliding off the bed and adjusting my overalls.

"Good news, Mr. Boyd. You can go home today," Dr. Patel announced.

Quinton finds my hand and gives it a squeeze. "It's about damn time, Doc. I've got a lot of time to make up with my girl," Quinton replies as a blush coats my skin.

A chill spreads down my entire body before landing at my core. And I swear my pussy lights up like fireworks on the Fourth of July.