I thought there’d been something between us, even if it was brief. He’d felt it, too, I was so sure. But this… I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I stomped out of his house and his life.
He’d said it’s over, which was better than ghosting me. Message received.
The wind whipped at my face, and my tears stung, but I pushed forward. A part of me hoped he would realize his mistake and run out, but it never happened. I checked every ten yards because, though he could act tough all he wanted, he had a huge heart under all that flannel. I’d felt it.
The walk alone was uneventful and cold. I glanced at his house one last time, and my heart jumped into my throat when he ran out his front door.
He’s coming over here! Thank goodness!
Only he was running in the wrong direction. He sprinted to his truck, his phone against his ear, and sped out of the driveway without a single look in my direction.
Cool. Great. I’m fine.
The wind howled, and the arctic temperatures knocked sense into me. I ran inside the large house, vowing to never let Harrison Cooper upset me again. It was stupid. He’d never promised a single thing—it was my expectations and hopes that caused the pain racing through my body now that our blizzard fling was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY
HARRISON
Son of a bitch. Dexter shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel after drinking. I sat in the hospital waiting room, clutching my head in my hands, a mixture of anger and despair combining into a dangerous thought that leaned toward saying words I shouldn’t.
I told you so. I fucking told you so.
“Coach, I’m going to get a bottle of water. Need anything?”
“No thanks, Brian.” I gave the sophomore a tight smile before he retreated down the hall to the vending machines. It had already been eight hours, and my stomach growled and my throat hurt. The thought of eating anything made me want to vomit, though.
The text on my phone from one of my captains flashed in my mind, and I gripped the back of my neck, worry wedging its way down my spine.
He ran off the road and slammed into a house. He went through the windshield and is in surgery. We don’t know anything more.
Dexter might not make it. Words like medically induced coma and brain damage were whispered, and every time I glanced at his parents, my stomach hollowed out. The kid partied too hard. He knew better. On Christmas Day. In the middle of the afternoon, he got hammered. If he survived this, he was still an idiot.
He should’ve made a better decision. That was the root of my anger, and I bounced my knee up and down at a rapid pace, hoping to relieve the boiling emotions. Ten other members of the team lined the waiting room, each wearing a worried expression. All the townies and guys who lived close by had showed up for their teammate. For the first time all year, they were united. Would this have happened if we had more team unity? If we had a collective vision, like Becca talked about, would he be more focused? Could I have been a better coach and mentor for these guys?
Dexter’s two best friends sat next to his parents, one holding his mom’s hand while the team said a prayer. It smelled like coffee and antiseptic, and no one spoke louder than a whisper. Someone turned on the bowl game, and I welcomed the noise.
Things had shifted into a different perspective when one of my own players might not make it through the night. It was insane to think just hours ago, I was sulking because Becca wanted to go to her house and my brother was coaching the biggest game of his life.
Now Dexter and my team deserved all my attention. These weremyguys. Through the good, bad, frustrating, and challenging moments, they were my team, and I was their leader. It was time I owned up to the difficulties.
“Alice, Chris, do you need anything from your home?” I asked Dexter’s parents. “One of the guys or I can run to get it.”
“Uh,” Dexter’s mom stuttered before looking at her husband. “Our dog is home.”
Greg stood up, all six feet six of him, and nodded. “Can I have your keys? I can watch him until we get news. I love dogs.”
“I’ll go with,” another player said. “Want us to grab any clothes?”
Alice and Chris thanked them before pulling them into a hug.
Pride filled me. Two other guys asked how they could help. A meal train was formed, and an hour later, a doctor pushed through the doors. It was exactly like the movies: the solemn expression, the almost deafening silence that exploded in the room, and the breath-stopping moment before he spoke.
“Parents of Dexter Smith?” he said.
“That’s us.” They stood; Chris’s arm wrapped tightly around Alice. “Is he… how is Dexter?”
“Come with me.”
