“You don’t think he will wake up?”
My mom whips her head toward me, looking like I slapped her. I need to hear them say the words. They have already told us as much, but we are just refusing to listen. She buries her head in my dad’s chest and he wraps his arms around her like a shield.
“No, the tests indicate that there’s no brain activity. The damage was too severe. Jarrett is brain dead.”
“If he had been brought in sooner, could it have made a difference?” We still don’t know more about what happened than we did that first night. It’s eating away at me a little more every day. The police cleared the driver that brought him in but didn’t uncover any new leads. They’ve moved on to speaking with his teammates, but either no one knows, or no one is saying where, and what, his plans were for the night of his accident.
“It’s possible. Brain injuries respond best to treatment within the first hour, but we have no way to know for sure.”
“What’s next?” my dad asks, still clinging to my mom as she shakes with silent sobs against his chest.
“The machines are keeping Jarrett’s body alive, but he’s gone. Take some time as a family to discuss it and decide whether you want to continue life support. I know this is incredibly difficult. If we thought he would wake up, we wouldn’t be having this conversation with you.”
Those words make me crumble. The façade I had in place while I asked questions earlier evaporates and I fall apart for the first time since Coach showed up at my door. Once I got off the plane and saw my parents, I knew I needed to be strong and hold things together while he got better, but that’s not happening. My brother is not waking up.
That’s what they’re telling us, they’re preparing us to say goodbye, to accept that Jarrett won’t come back to us. I fold over in my chair and try to fill my lungs, but suddenly the room feels like a vacuum. It’s a hundred times worse than when I walked into the hospital room for the first time.
A hand comes down on my back, rubbing circles rhythmically and I hear chatter in the distance, but nothing makes sense until her concerned voice breaks through the fog.
“You don’t need to be strong for me, mijo. It’s okay to fall apart with me. Ven aquí, Cruz.” It’s the same voice she used when we were boys and she was comforting us. Her arms tug on my shoulders, urging me into a sitting position.
I let her pull up from the chair and wrap me in her thin arms, her sweater absorbing my tears. At some point, the medical staff leaves the room, giving our family the space we need to say goodbye.
The next few hours are a blur of medical personnel coming in to talk to us about what’s next, but every time the door opens, I leave. I can’t hear them talk about the process of ending my brother’s life. My parents sign countless forms before we all take turns with Jarrett alone.
“Rett, what the hell happened? How did you end up here, like this?” I ask when I take the seat beside his bed.
His normally bronze skin looks almost gray. His thick brown hair is all wrong. Instead of flopping to the side, it’s hanging over his forehead. I can’t help myself. I half stand from the chair and brush his hair to the side, but it’s still not right. The strands are dull and flat against his head.
“I wish you could tell me—or fuck, if we are making wishes here, I would do just about anything for one last game of catch with you. Or how about going back in time and this never happened? I want to wake up to you talking in your sleep back home. Hear you laugh and watch you toss my fruit loops into your mouth. That’s really what I would wish for.” I feel the heat of the tears on my face and drop my head into my hands, trying to stop the flow, but it’s no use.
“I’m not sure how to do this, bro. How am I supposed to go back to St. Louis and walk through the door of our place without you? Go back to the ballpark and play without you? You were supposed to be there with me. We had plans, we were doing this together, and I don’t understand how it all went so wrong.”
For a second, I foolishly hope with everything in me that this is the moment he proves the doctors wrong. I close my eyes, scrunching them closed tight, and wish for his eyes to open. For him to tell me what happened. Then I watch for anything, any sign that he’s here with me. A change in his breathing, a twitch in his hand, a blink of an eye, but there’s nothing.
“I promise you I’ll figure this out. I’ll find out what happened to put you here.” I know, deep down, this wasn’t just a random accident. There’s more to this story, and I need to know. Reaching forward, I take his hand in mine—something I’ve avoided to this point. “I promise to make you proud. I’ll play the way you do, with love for the game, and live my life the best I can without you.” Wiping my tears with the back of my hand, I stand and bend over the bed, wrapping him in my arms the best I can as I silently say goodbye to my best friend, my teammate, and my little brother. I hold him to me as I cry. I have no idea how much time passes before my parents are at my side, joining in on the hug and walking me away from the bed.
A short while later, the medical staff comes in as I numbly sit between my parents while they do their thing and Jarrett slips away. Just like that, he’s gone. The promises I made give me something to focus on besides the pain, but I know it will be a long time before I can make good on them. Nothing is going to feel right without him by my side.
CHAPTER 28
Modern Day Beast
Present
“Cruz, check my pulse. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” I raise the back of my hand to my forehead dramatically and wilt in his arms. The Bandits played an afternoon game and don’t play again until tomorrow evening, so we all took Ubers from the stadium to Dean’s penthouse.
The guys have been giving him a hard time because he’s got this killer penthouse and he never hosts. I’m not sure what they did to convince him, but my little baker’s heart is in heaven. This kitchen is a dream, with its enormous marble island and one of the nicest ovens I have ever seen in person. It makes me want to dig through his pantry and see what I could bake in here.
“Careful Dean. Next time you come home, you might have a squatter in your kitchen. Lilah looks like she’s ready to move in,” Indie teases. She flew in to visit Poppy—her childhood friend—for the week and the two of them just got back from backpacking in Breckenridge.
Cruz’s arms stay wrapped around my waist as Dom pulls a handful of beers out of Dean’s fridge and starts passing them around. “Are you ready for a cold beer after all the nature, Wild Child?” Dom asks, dangling Indie’s beer in front of her. His eyes flick over the jersey she’s wearing and I swear I see a flash of jealousy over the fact that Dean’s name is stitched across the back.
Her hand shoots out, and she snatches the beer from him, rolling her eyes at the nickname. “Do you ever just stop and turn it off?”
“Nope,” Dom says, popping the “P.” “You’ll find it takes some time to acclimate to me, but eventually I’ll win you over.”
Indie raises the beer to her lips, taking a sip before responding, “I doubt it. I know your type. Been there. Rode that ride. Got the t-shirt. Last time I was lucky enough to walk away without a rash.” Her eyes crawl up Dom’s body, her red lips twisted in a sneer.
