"I'm sorry. I can't release any information."
Beside me, Odin puts a hand on my shoulder. "Tucker?—"
I step back from the desk before I say something I'll regret. Hospital security is already watching us.
She's in this hospital, possibly losing our babies, and she made sure I couldn't get to her.
My legs give out. I sink to the floor right there in the lobby, back against the wall, head in my hands.
This is it. This is what losing everything looks like.
Odin slides down beside me. We sit there on the hospital floor like a couple of idiots, and I can't bring myself to care.
"She's scared," Odin says quietly. "That's different from not wanting you."
"She literally put me on a list of people who can't see her."
"She's probably terrified. Fear makes people do stupid things."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't force my way in."
"No. But you can wait."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
I lean my head back against the wall. Around us, the hospital moves on. People checking in, people leaving. Life and death happening while I sit on the floor.
"You're really okay with potentially losing your job over this?" Odin asks.
I close my eyes. “What kind of question is that? I'm okay withit. Because what's the point of having a career if I lose my family?"
He puts his arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder, wondering where everything went so wrong.
We sit in silence. Minutes pass. Then more minutes.
My phone rings and I bark out, “Yeah?" Without waiting to see who it is.
Uncle Tim’s voice comes through, gruff and staticky like he’s on the move. “Tucker, I know you and Mel Ortega got off to a rough start, but?—”
“Uncle Tim, I really can’t talk about parking right now.”
He chuckles. Who can laugh right now? “Tucker, I was going to say … she’s a force of nature. She just got the league to eat their own words.”
I look at my brother and back at the floor. “What are you saying? Is this about me leaving the game tonight?”
Tim’s voice is firm but light. “She and my firstborn just won your case with the players’ association, kiddo. I’ll call you tomorrow with more details, but just know that you do not have to worry about your career while you take care of your family right now.”
“My family?”
“Yes,” he soothes. “Your family. You’re doing what matters.”
"What I'm doing is sitting on a hospital floor because the mother of my children won't let me see her."
"You're showing up. You're being there even when it's hard. That matters too." Tim pauses. “I’ve been in your shoes, son. I’m here to talk when you’re ready.”
"Thanks."
