I stood quickly. “Yes?”
“Someone is here asking for Oliver James. Says she’s his sister. Rachel James.”
I exhaled, rubbing my sweaty palms on my thighs. “Yeah, let her in.”
He nodded and gestured toward the end of the hall.
Rachel came into view, still wearing a Rampage hoodie. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, scanning the hall. When she saw me, her pace doubled. She stopped short of throwing herself into me.
“How bad?” she asked. Her voice broke on the second word.
“Stable,” I said, the word not feeling real on my tongue. “They’re still evaluating.”
She sank into the chair beside me. “Is he awake?”
“No. But he’s breathing on his own. Heart rate is down from what it was.”
Rachel nodded, eyes fixed on the door like she could see through it. “He told me he was fine. I don’t understand this. He was excelling. What… fuck. I need to call my parents.”
“I know.” My voice cracked. “He told me too.”
Ivy stood off to the side, tablet in hand, already reading telemetry William had forwarded over. She gave us space. But I could feel her eyes on me. On us. I knew what came next. The fallout. The scrutiny. The questions. But I didn’t care. She already knew about us, but it was clear everyone else knew now. I’d have to face that, and I would. Once I knew Oliver would be okay and there was no long-term damage.
“Glad you could make it to the game, Rachel.” Ivy leaned over and gave her a half hug. “He’s missed the shit out of you.”
“I know. I can’t… this was why I pulled away! So he wouldn’t get hurt! He was gonna kill himself and now?—”
“Stop.” Ivy raised her voice, and it was clear she was not one to be argued with. “He needs you being supportive right now. None of the I told yous.”
“What? Ivy, of course I won’t say that. God, I feel sick.” Rachel clamped her hands over her stomach, her gaze moving to me. “You’re with the team too?”
“Yeah.” My face heated. This was so not how I planned to meet her. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
Just then, an ER nurse appeared in the doorway, tablet pressed against her chest. “He’s awake. You can come on back, Sloane.”
I gasped. “He’s okay?”
“He’s conscious. Groggy. The attending said you can come see him.”
I was already on my feet. Rachel followed too, but I held up a hand. “I’ll come get you when he’s ready. I promise.”
Her eyes filled again, but she nodded. “Okay, sure. Tell him I’m here.”
I followed the nurse through the corridor, past curtained bays and low murmurs. Every step made my throat tighter. My palms were cold, but my spine buzzed with heat.
I turned the corner and saw him.
He was half-upright in the hospital bed, eyes barely open, one IV in his arm and telemetry leads across his chest. Oxygen cannula in place. The monitor above him showed 108 BPM. Slower than before. Still high. Still irregular.
But he was awake, and he was alive. I stopped in the doorway. I didn’t trust my legs to carry me farther. Oliver’s eyes moved first. Slow. Disoriented. Then they found me.
And that was it.
The sob hit me from the chest up—silent and unstoppable. I covered my mouth, forcing myself to stay composed, but it was too late.He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay.
He blinked once. “Hey, Doc,” he rasped. His voice was raw. Barely there.
I walked to his bedside and sat in the chair so fast my knees popped. “You scared the shit out of me.”
