I flush under the look of pride in her eyes. “That’s the hope. I want to help design them. But think of it, if we can get partnerships with musicians and athletes across the country, think of what it could do. Ryder thinks the NFL will want to get involved, possibly the NHL. It’s a lot of work, but I have all these ideas on how to set them up that makes sense financially and can satisfy the needs of each center.”
“And you’d want them individualized for each organization?”
“I think that could be really great,” I say. “That way kids can get involved in programs they resonate with. Not everyone wants to be a baseball player. Maybe they want to do theatre, or paint. I don’t know, I just think of how important it was for Drake and me to find connections with kids who shared our interests.” A small smile crosses my lips. “I think that’s why Ryder fit with us so well.”
I explain how the different homes would be arranged, but how each partner would decide the theme of the house. It’s a massive project, but if I can have a good foundation board, with some more designers to help me, I think we might be able to start something incredible.
Their interest adds a bit more confidence that this might really work.
My phone buzzes in my purse, the vibration rattles my ankle. While my mom and Laura go on about the potential of each youth house, I glance at my phone.
I curse in my head. I missed two calls from Ryder, but it was the text that finally caught my attention.
Drake:I’m probably breaking a few laws by saying this, but you need to get to the hospital. Someone involved with the Kings was in an accident. NOT RYDER. But I think you should be here for him.
My stomach splatters out of the bottom of my feet. I jump up.
“Ava?” My mom arches a brow.
“Drake responded to an accident . . . it’s, uh, it’s a King. I’ve got to go.”
“Ryder?” Laura jolts to her feet.
“He says it’s not Ryder.” I snag my purse. “I’ll call you!”
“Wait, Ava!”
I don’t know which one calls after me. My heart is racing. I feel like I should’ve handled that a thousand times better, especially with Ryder’s mom probably spinning with scenarios on how he might be involved, but Drake wouldn’t do this unless . . . it was bad.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into a parking stall, forget to lock my car door, and sprint through the ER doors.
It’s chaotic. To be expected, I guess, but the bustle and monitors and hurried voices do nothing for the speed of my pulse. I scan the tops of heads, trying to catch sight of anyone I recognize. Of Ryder.
Why is this hospital so enormous!
“Ava.”
I spin around. Drake steps out of an alcove where people can wait near a vending machine. He’s in his turnouts, his red suspenders sloughed off his shoulders and draped around his waist. His face is smudged from sweat mingled in red dirt.
I rush over and hug him. “What are you still doing here?”
“I was off shift. Chief said I could stay.”
“You were on the call then?”
He nods, jaw tight. “Someone ran a red light.” Drake points toward another door. “I think I saw Ryder go that way.”
“You talked with him?”
“No. I just . . . I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t think he’d want to see me.”
He wants to be here for Ryder, even if Ryder never knows. I blink against a burn of tears, squeeze his hand, and race for the other door.
I don’t know who is hurt, I don’t care. Any of the guys on the team can’t get hurt. I won’t let them. Parker is a new father, Griffin a new husband, Dax is simply too nice and gentle.
My breaths are heavy when I push through the door. This side is as strenuous and active as the other, but almost straightaway I find Ryder’s backward ballcap, his arm on the tall, gentle giant beside him. Wren has a hand on Griffin’s other shoulder while he slumps over, his face in his palms.
“Ryder.” I cut through people. “Ryder!”
