Page 70 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
“Another drink?” Will asks, holding up the decanter like we’re still twenty-five and immune to consequences.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “My doctor says I need to cut back.”
“Guess the old man is finally changing his ways,” Xavier chimes in.
I roll my eyes but don’t bother correcting him. I’ve been seeing Dr. Shoup—getting my labs checked, cutting back on the bad habits, making sure this body doesn’t betray me anytime soon. Not because I’m planning to run a marathon or reinvent myself. I just want to stick around. Be sharp. Bepresent.
For my daughter.
And maybe…for someone else, too.
Because I haven’t actually given up hope. Not on her. Not on us.
“This old man will still kick your ass,” I shoot back.
The room erupts—Will’s drink nearly sloshes out of his glass, and Xavier’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing. We all know Xavier grew up on the mean streets of New Orleans and he’d have me face-down in a second. But the mental image of me trying is apparently comedy gold.
We’re watching the game from Xavier’s office because he’s been so invested in Declan Agassi. I’ll give it to him though, the kid was a solid move for the team. Strong foot, fast instincts. Exactly what we needed.
All the usual banter’s flying—rookie stats, jersey sales, someone’s hot take on midfield rotations—when I feel the buzz in my jacket pocket.
Everything stops when I see the text message flash across my screen.
Dr. Shoup:Marlow collapsed. You need to come to her office now.
The blood drains from my face.
Collapsed?
I’m already on my feet, heart thudding like war drums in my chest. Will notices instantly, his brow furrowing. “What happened?” he asks.
“I—I don’t know. Marlow. She…Dr. Shoup says she collapsed.”
My voice is hollow. Distant. But my feet are moving.
Will and Xavier don’t ask any more questions. They just follow behind me as we rush down the hall.
They know what’s likely going through my mind. The panic. Because I’ve been here before. Not this exact moment, not this stadium, but this feeling.
The fear. The helplessness. The disbelief that someone who was just laughing a moment ago could suddenly be not okay.
It’s too familiar.
It happened once before. Years ago. The morning Maddy collapsed. The morning everything in me cracked open. The morning I found out I was losing my wife.
And now the memory claws its way back, sharp and vicious, like it never left. Like it’s been hiding just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment like this to break me all over again.
My chest beats fast. My legs move faster.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Xavier says, softly. But I can’t breathe.
I need to see her. Need to know she’s breathing, talking, upright—anything.
God, Marlow. Please be okay.
When I get to Marlow’s office, my heart nearly launches out of my chest.
Marlow’s there—on the sofa in her office, surrounded by a few staff members. She’s upright. Breathing. Talking.
