Page 164 of The Backup Plan

Friday night lights. The stadium roaring as my heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s racing out of my chest. State high school champions. Confetti sticking to my sweat-soaked face. Feeling invincible.

I try and swim out of the darkness. It’s so fucking heavy and thick.

Pain flares, and I groan.

“Easy,” someone says. “You’re okay.”

Am I?

“Emery?” I think I say. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I just think it so loudly it feels like sound, but I don’t know because I lose myself back into the shadows again.

Draft day. The phone call coming in. My name on the television screen in front of me. Hands shaking. Brendan tackling me to the ground as a room of my friends and their parents cheer all around us. Everything ahead of me.

Everything.

“You’ve got to wake up, Lucas. I know it’s a good sleep, but I need you to open your eyes for me.”

The stadium jumping. All of the noise and cheering from fans. The national anthem. A B2 flyover. The game is even better. Back and forth as the minutes tick down. And when the clock hits zero, I drop to my knees, now a Super Bowl winner.

The dreams Brendan and I used to live out on our front lawn, now a reality.

“Lucas. There you are.” Bright lights burn my eyes before my eyelids drift back closed. It’s so much easier in the darkness.

A phone call I’m waiting for. A second-chance contract. The Lone Star Rebels. A locker with my name taped crooked on it. You still got it, Hale.

I believed that.

I still do.

Or I want to.

This time when my eyes flutter open, it’s slower. Heavier. Like my body doesn’t want to follow my mind anymore.

I force my eyes to stay open.

The room swims with blurred edges and haloed lights. My mouth is dry. My arm feels . . . wrong. Wrapped. Immobilized. Not mine.

And then—

Her.

She’s sitting beside me, close enough that I can see every detail.

Emery.

Her hair is pulled back, a few strands loose around her face. No makeup. Dark circles under her eyes like she hasn’t slept in days. And somehow, she’s never looked more beautiful.

My chest aches at the sight of her.

I’m overwhelmed. I know it’s the aftereffects of the anesthesia, so I don’t fight it. I don’t want to.

Her fingers are laced through mine.

She smiles when she sees my eyes open, but it’s soft. Careful. Bittersweet in a way that makes my stomach sink.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “You’re okay. Surgery’s done.”

I swallow. My throat burns.