“It kind of is. I could have made it easier for you. Could have been a better teammate. I know things were rough with me taking your spot for those games, and I…”
I look at him. “You’re a good teammate, Parker. Keeping quiet about something that wasn’t your business to share? That’s exactly what a good teammate does.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. And showing up here tonight? That’s what a good teammate does, too.”
He nods. “You know, for what it’s worth,” he says, “you guys are good together. I could see it, even in that bathroom. The way he looked at you... like you were the most important thing in the world.”
“Really?”
He nods. “And the way you looked at him was the same.” Parker grins. “Also, your game got a lot better once you started working with him. Whatever else was going on, the coaching was on point.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Thanks, Parker.”
“Yeah, man. I’m glad he’s okay. I’m glad you’re both okay.”
“Yeah,” I repeat, and for the first time since I set foot in this hospital, I actually believe it.
He’s going to be okay.
We’re going to be okay.
THIRTY-SEVEN
zane
Everything hurts.
That’s the first thing I realize when I swim back to consciousness. Not the tubes down my throat, not the machines beeping around me, not the bright lights. Just pain, everywhere, like someone took a sledgehammer to my entire body.
But I’m alive.
Which is more than I expected when Alexei pointed that gun at my chest.
I try to move, but my body doesn’t want to cooperate. My lips, cracked and dry, part so I can speak, but something in my throat prevents sound from forming. I squint in the bright overhead light, my vision blurred.
“He’s waking up.”
A woman’s voice. I blink a few times, trying to focus.
“Mr. Christensen? Can you hear me?”
I try to nod, but my head feels like a cement block.
“I’m Dr. Gandolfo. You’re in the hospital. You’ve been in surgery, but you’re going to be fine.”
Surgery. Right. The memories flare. The warehouse, the wire, Volkov’s cold smile when Alexei found the recording device. I remember the gunshot, hitting the wall, the world going dark.
“We’re going to remove the breathing tube now. This might be uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable is an understatement. It feels like they’re pulling my lungs out through my mouth. But then I take a breath on my own, feeling the air move in and out without any help.
“How do you feel?”
“Like hell,” I manage to croak out, my mouth bone-dry.
“That’s normal. You’ve been through a lot.” Dr. Gandolfo checks a reading on one of the machines. “There’s someone here who’s been waiting to see you. Are you up for a visitor?”
