Paul snaps out of his daze. “No, he isn’t,” he says.
It hurts so much, it takes my breath away. I’m not sure why. In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t matter. But the way he says it, like I’m such an idiot, like he knows Jacob so much better than I do. And maybe they talk on the phone a couple times a month, but it’s always Paul talking at Jacob, not the other way around. How would he know that Jacob always sleeps with two extra blankets on top of the comforter? How would he know that Jacob always brings a hoodie when he goes out, even in the middle of summer?
Dr. K’s expression remains calm and pleasant. “Either way, it would be good for him to be covered up, yes. His skin is a little cold. I’ll have the nurses bring some warm blankets in.”
She smiles at Paul and then at me, and I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I think there’s an extra twinkle in her eyes when she meets my gaze. I give her a small, grateful smile in return.
“Do you have any other questions for me?” she asks.
“What are his chances, really?” Paul asks. “Give it to me straight.”
The words are harsher than his tone, and I remind myself that for all his bluster, he’s probably just as scared as I am. Dr. K’s smile is apologetic.
“I wish I could answer that, but I’m afraid it’s not something we can put into numbers. We’re doing everything we can. For now, we can only take things day by day.”
Paul doesn’t seem thrilled by the answer, but he nods grudgingly. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I add quietly.
“Of course.” Dr. K smiles again and then slips out of the room.
Paul and I are left in awkward silence. My hand twitches. I almost reach out for Jacob’s hand again before I check myself.
“That was a good question, about the brain injury,” Paul says finally, surprising me. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
His tone is a bit hollow, and I feel a sudden wave of empathy for him. He may not be perfect, Paul, but he’s here, isn’t he? And he’s scared of losing Jacob, just like I am.
The door slides open again and Jacob’s parents step in. They both look surprised to see me.
Reluctantly, I rise to my feet. “I was just leaving.”
His dad nods, already moving past me to his son, but his mother lingers.
“What was your name again, dear?” she asks.
I swallow. “Travis Keeping.”
“Travis.” She nods. “It’s nice of you to visit again. You’re a good friend.”
She smiles at me, but I can hardly look at her, I’m so ashamed. Both of Jacob’s parents have been nothing but supportive of him. They’ve poured buckets of money into his career and have flown all over the world to cheer him on at his races. But he’s never, ever told them he’s bisexual. The few times I asked him about it, he got irritated or changed the topic. The most he ever said was that it “wouldn’t be worth the headache.” And I never pressed him on it. It would have felt a bit hypocritical. After all, I never told my dad I was gay.
Now, I wish I’d pushed him a little harder.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “Sorry.”
I step outside the room and slide the door closed behind me. My limbs are so heavy, I think I might sink through the ground.
I’m so out of it, I take a wrong turn on my way to the waiting room. I’m looking around, trying to get my bearings, when someone calls my name.
“Travis Keeping?”
I turn. I know this man. Not his name or his face, but I know who he is. He isn’t wearing a press tag, but the eager look in his eyes is so out of place here, he can only be a reporter.
“Yes,” I say warily.
“Ryan Simmons,Daily Post.” He sticks his hand out, but I just stare at him.
“I don’t think press are allowed back here,” I say, looking around for a nurse.
