Page 84 of All That Glitters

“I’m going to the hospital,” I tell Jasmine, and head toward my room. “His parents are on their way, but they live in the suburbs so they’ll be at least a half hour if not more, depending on traffic.”

The nearest hospital is only a few blocks away, since it’s associated with the university and a lot of our med students end up training and working there.

“Do you want me to go with you?” she asks from my doorway as I’m pulling on Jameson’s old high school sweatshirt over my long-sleeved Thrashers shirt.

“No, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to have to wait around. I’m sure he’s okay, but I want to be there for him anyway.”

Since I wasn’t at the game. Guilt piles on my chest like a too-full trash can.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Jasmine says with a sympathetic smile.

I grab my bag and start toward the front door to get my shoes. I give Jasmine a quick hug as thanks when I pass her.

My hands tremble slightly when I’m pulling on my tennis shoes. I’m glad Jameson sent food earlier, or else I’d be even worse off. Though him being so caring only makes me hate myself more.

“Wait!” Jasmine calls out as I near the door. I turn around. “Here are some cookies. For you and him. His family too.”

She hands me a box of still-warm cookies with a gentle smile. I return the expression, though I know mine is probably more tense.

“Thanks, Jaz. I appreciate you.”

“Update me when you get a chance. And remember to breathe.”

I nod, though the second part of her request feels difficult to adhere to. Cookies in one hand and my phone in the other, I rush out of the apartment and down to the lobby.

The drive to the hospital is an anxiety-filled blur. I keep telling myself he’s okay. The fall wasn’t that bad. There was no blood. But I also know how sneaky injuries can be. And that even if he’s okay, his life could be altered by something as simple as a torn tendon.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder as I’m putting my car in park. I snatch it up.

Rose: Just spoke with someone from the hockey staff. They said the hospital took Jameson back for an MRI a little while ago. He’s in pain, but okay.

I draw in a shaky breath and reply.

Marigold: I just got to the hospital. I’ll go in and find a waiting room to camp out in.

Her reply is fast.

Rose: Sounds good, sweetie. Stan and I are en route! I’ve told them to let you in, but you know how hospitals are. Feel free to sass them if they give you a hard time.

I let out a little laugh at her words, then grab my bag and turn off my car. The air is crisp, and I’m glad I put on another layer before leaving. I shove the box of cookies into my bag, then head toward the entrance. I have no idea where I’m going, but if Jameson is getting an MRI, I’ve got time to figure it out before he’s done.

It takes me questioning three different staff members and taking one too many left turns before I finally find the waiting room on what I’m hoping is his floor. Or at least nearby. The entire ordeal killed fifteen minutes. I sit down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and wrinkle my nose at the stale smell in the air. To try and detract from the smell, I open up the box of Jasmine’s cookies. The sweet scent masks the hospital ick.

I eat two of the glorious caramel-chocolate-pretzel confections before my phone buzzes again. My heart jumps when I see the name on the screen.

Jameson: They finally let me have my phone. I’m okay. Hoping I haven’t messed up my knee too badly.

I don’t waste any time replying.

Marigold: I saw the fall, it looked rough. I’m here at the hospital whenever you can have visitors, and your parents are on the way. How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain?

Jameson: You’re here? I think you should be allowed to come back. I’m in room 308.

The sinking feeling returns. I want to see him and make sure he’s okay, but I’m also terrified that he’ll resent the fact that I wasn’t there because of the paper. Would he tell me if he was upset? Or would he just let me think everything was okay until it came up in an argument later?

I think back to all of my parents’ confrontations. Nothing is ever wrong until they decide they’ve had enough, and then they unleash the past on you like a weapon.

I shake my head. Jameson wouldn’t do that. He’s not like that, and never has been. It’s still hard not to worry that he’ll be, at the very least, disappointed, though.