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“What?”
Lettie doesn’t do drugs.
“Brooke found her. Are you coming?”
The twenty-five thousand fans chant my name, wanting me to come back into the game. “Greathouse. Greathouse.” The fans look blurry like when an artist uses watercolors.
“Dane?”
I have to decide between letting down my teammates and fans or being there for Lettie, and it’s an easy one to make. Running behind the padded seats of our bench, I grab Coach Cappitano’s shoulder. He turns, thinking it’s a fan. “What?” he asks in a harsh tone.
“Lettie’s in the hospital, and I’m leaving.” He shakes his head, and I ask, “If it were my mom in the hospital, when you were my age, where would you be?”
He gives me a concerned look. “Go on.”
“Let’s go,” Reed calls.
Reed carries a lot of weight in this town since the rise of hockey, but the two of us together can part the Red Sea. Police escort us to the hospital, which is only five minutes away, being on campus.
Reed lets me out at the valet area and yells, “Emergency room.” I look up and run in that direction. Reed didn’t know anything except Brooke said she overdosed. Bursting through the two brown-paneled doors still fully dressed in my basketball uniform, people look at me, stunned and then up to the televisions throughout the waiting room. They look as confused as I am.
All of our friends are in the waiting room, minus Reed. “Where is she? Where is she?”
Harper grabs me. “I’ll take you to her.” She uses her key card to get us past the receptionist.
“What happened?” I ask while we briskly walk down the hallway.
“Brooke was worried about her. All of us had been calling her, hoping she hadn’t seen the picture of you and Daisy. She didn’t call us back, so a few hours later, Brooke went to her apartment, and the door was unlocked. She was with another woman. Lettie was unresponsive, so Brooke called 911.”
Unresponsive?
“Is she… alive? Oh God, please. This was my fault,” I shout. “What room? Where is she? I have to see her. It’s my fault.” My body feels numb, and my knees collapse, but Harper catches me and holds me up.
“This is her room. Dane, look at me. You need to be calm.” Harper steadies me and pushes the cracked door open.
With my heart pounding relentlessly against my ribcage, I take a deep breath and step inside, unprepared for what I see—a frail and fragile Lettie hooked up to machines. Her eyes are closed, and she’s lying on her side.
Walking closer to her bed, I reposition the sheet and notice how thin her legs have become. All of this is my fault. My fingers trail over the crisp white sheet up her leg and arm. I sit in the chair beside her. “Forgive me, baby. Please forgive me,” I mutter.
Now I know how Lettie felt when I was hospitalized last year, after Reed pulled me out of Lettie’s burning apartment building—hopeless and guilt ridden. None of this makes sense. Lettie has never done drugs. She drinks on the weekends and takes her ADHD meds, but that’s it. I sit there for hours blaming myself. Knowing if I had handled my dad, none of this would have happened. She would be happy with me, not lying in a hospital bed.
Lettie’s lids slowly pull apart, and her bloodshot eyes find mine. “Hey,” I say softly as my fingers graze her cheek. "I'm sorry." But nothing I could say or do would ever be enough to make up for what I've put her through. This is all my fault, deserting her. I should have stood up to my dad and found a way to keep her sponsorships.
Tears form in my eyes as I take in her pale face, and I curse myself for not being there for her when she needed me the most. "I'm here now," I whisper, reaching for her hand. "And I'm not going anywhere."
“Dane.” My name comes out a frail whisper. “I’m sorry.” Tears run over her temple and hit the pillowcase, sounding like a dripping faucet. Drip. Drip. Drip.
“Shh...” I say, trying to comfort her. I want to know what happened, but she’s weak, and I don’t want to upset her even more. The clock moves slowly, the minute hand takes hours to move five ticks. Then she falls back asleep, and I lay my head on our interlaced hands.
When I try to stand, feeling the need to pace and figure out what to do, Mom taps on the door, and Coach is behind her. “How is she? I called Winnie and George. They’re on their way,” Mom whispers.
I shrug. “Mom, I’m so scared. Life doesn’t make sense without her. Has anyone said what happened?” I notice Coach stays a few feet back.
“No, but Jasper is outside, worried to death.”
Coach chimes in, “And the whole team is here for support. They love Lettie.” He cracks a smile, and I do too. They do love Lettie. Half of them wanted in her pants, but now they wouldn’t dare ask her out. The team is here for both of us.
“I’m sorry I let the team sown but Lettie’s the most important person in the world to me.”
