“No. Igotsick,” she says, as if that clarifies anything.
She got sick, she got sick… I feel like I’m deciphering a code. “I don’t understand Ellie, sorry.”
“I, ya know…” She gestures with her hand coming from out of her mouth.
Oh.
“You threw up? Was there something really…gross?” Is that bad to ask a nurse?
Ellie looks up from her feet finally and levels me with an insulted look. Okay, definitely not the right thing to ask.
“I do not getgrossedout, thank you very much,” she huffs.
I hold my hands up in surrender. Drunk Ellie is a little feisty. “I’m sorry, I just know there is plenty that would gross me out. What made you sick?”
She looks back down at her feet and I can see her face get redder than before. She’s embarrassed? She’s also drunk, so maybe I’m reading too much into this. But I am kind of getting desperate to figure out what happened today.
“I…I think maybe it was adrenaline. From stress, ya know?”
“Your job sounds incredibly stressful,” I agree.
Ellie glances up and studies my face. It looks like she’s deciding something. I keep my gaze steady on her and hope what she sees there is good enough for whatever it is she’s pondering. Her throat bobs as she swallows. I feel like I’m on the edge of my seat.
“I thought it was you.”
Ellie’s eyes water and I feel a small crack in my chest. It takes me a moment to put it together. Jesus Christ. I fucking forgot about Tyler.
“They brought Tyler to your hospital,” I surmise.
She nods and I hear a small sniff.
“I’m okay, baby. And they let us know that Tyler is too. He just got a bad concussion and will probably be out for a while to be safe. Maybe the rest of this season.”
She nods and sniffs again.
My girl was worried about me being hurt.Reallyworried. That aforementioned crack is getting a little bigger.
I look at Ellie’s soaked hair and wet body. She’s standing under the water, presumably for the warmth, and there’s something about her in this moment that looks so fragile. It almost reminds me of that day I met her at The Bar.
I think it’s time for her to sleep off this alcohol. Hopefully she feels okay in the morning. Maybe I could bring her hangover-cure food before she heads to work? I could stop and pick it up after practice…
A gut-wrenching whimper stops my train of thought in its tracks. “Ellie?”
“My dad—” She hiccups. “Doesn’t go—” Another hiccup. “To the movies anymore.” The last word is barely audible as Ellie starts sobbing in earnest.
My hands freeze midair where I was reaching for a towel. They hover now, trying to figure out what to do—how to help. Ellie crying like this might be the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever experienced and I don’t even know what she’s talking about. “Your dad?”
“I don’t wanna end up like that,” she cries.
“Like what, baby?”
“Broken. He lost her and now he’s broken.”
That crack in my chest becomes a damn chasm as Ellie’s body shakes with each sob. I panic and abandon the towel, stepping into the shower and hugging her to my chesthard. I don’t know what to say to her or how to make this better. There’s a part of me—a small, sick part—that feels a rush of warmth at what she might be implying here. But the bigger part of me—the one that doesn’t want Ellie to be sad—knows I don’t have the slightest clue how to talk to her about her dad.
My knee-jerk reaction is to say something like “that won’t happen to you” or “he’s not broken.” But Ellie knows better than anyone that thiscouldhappen and she certainly knows her dad better than me. Maybe he really is broken. Losing someone like that is enough to break anyone.
I think of Ellie and how badly I don’t want her to be feeling this way right now. How losing her would certainly break me. I’d crack my chest open the rest of the way and hand her my heart if I thought it would make a difference.
