Page 99 of I Never Stopped Loving You

She glances over at Jeremy, who’s still on the phone. He finally sees her and nods before turning his attention back to the phone.

“When Jeremy came in, we were kind of…well, we were naked on the couch, and Noah panicked when he went to get up and ended up falling and hitting his head really hard on the coffee table.”

“Jesus. He passed out from that?”

“No. Well, it’s a granite coffee table. The thing is fucking giant. He was bleeding and very dizzy. We convinced Noah that after Jeremy dropped me off at home, he would let him take him to the hospital to get checked out. I guess as he went up the steps, he blacked out. He fell back and landed on a small table and his head hit the floor.”

I can feel the tears stinging my eyes. She takes both my hands in hers and brings them together.

“He's going to be okay. Football players get hit in the head all the time. He probably just has a concussion.”

She’s trying to remain positive, but she isn’t the one sitting here with her lap covered in his blood. I fucking hate the feeling of blood on my skin.

“I need to go change.”

I pull my hands from hers and silently walk down the hall to the bathroom. I soak a stack of paper towels, knowing I’ll need all of them to clean my legs. I take everything into the largest stall and peel the boxers away from my skin as I remove them. My thighs are coated in dark, sticky, mostly dried blood. My stomach flips, and my mouth fills with saliva as my body threatens to throw up everything I had for breakfast.

I pull the hoodie off, and it drops loudly to the floor. I manage to clean the blood off my skin before throwing on the pair of black leggings, a tank top, socks, and my sneakers that Jenna brought me. She brought me my favorite hoodie and I slip it on before finally allowing myself to breathe. The sound of the bathroom door opening has me stifling my tears. I already know it’s most likely Jenna so I unlock the stall door.

“Babe, you okay? You’ve been in here a while,” Jenna asks as she leans against my stall's door.

“I don’t understand it, Jenna.”

“Understand what?”

“How can I care so much for someone I just met? How can I feel so connected to him already?” I ask as I step out of the stall and wipe under my eyes.

“You feel like that with Noah? Already?”

She sounds shocked, and I shoot her a disappointing grimace. I figured that she, of all people, would understand this.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to sound shocked, Willow, it’s just…I’ve known you for years now. You’ve hardly dated anyone and barely have made any friends. Are you sure you’re not just feeling worried because you were there when he got hurt?”

“No. It was way before that. I felt the connection that first night when he kissed me. Then after this morning and everything…I’m fucking crazy, aren’t I?”

“No. You know I’m a firm believer in love at first sight and finding your soul mate. So no, you’re not crazy. You just might be in love.”

I can't control the way I roll my eyes and scoff when she says that, then we both start laughing.

“Listen, if he is your Prince Charming and soul mate, I’m going to be so jealous,” she teases as she grabs the bag holding the blood soaked clothes.

“Why?”

“Because they always say you have to go through the worst to get to the best, and well, you skipped the worst. You didn’t have to deal with any of that shit, and the universe just plops Mr. Right into your lap.”

We walk out of the bathroom with me feeling a little bit better and Jenna feeling a bit more jealous. Jeremy is now sitting with his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Jeremy? Is everything okay?”

“No. I'm freaking out. No one’s giving us an update. And my fucking uncle doesn’t give a shit that his son is in the hospital.”

Jenna quickly sits down next to him and hesitates before pulling him in for a hug. I know that he and Noah are close. He told me that he pretty much only had Jeremy after his mom died. They’re more like brothers than cousins.

“It’s going to be okay. Like I told Willow, football players get hit in the head all the time and only end up with minor concussions.”

“Yeah, but the thing hitting them in the head isn’t a three-hundred-pound table of solid granite. Stupid fucking thing.”

“Mr. Anderson?” a doctor asks from the doorway of the waiting room.