Page 116 of Cross Check

Dancing. Drinking. Passing the Cup around and taking photos with it. Laughing. Acting like idiots until there’s a loud noise from across the club. Someone screams. I whip my head around, trying to find the source of the noise. The music cuts off. Maverick is in the middle of the dance floor on his knees with his phone pressed to his ear.

“Emmy,” Hudson and I say at the same time.

Tears stream down his face. I drop to my knees and shake Maverick’s shoulder.

“Hey. Hey! What’s going on?”

“It’s Riley,” he wails. His phone clatters to the floor. His chest heaves, and he buries his face in his hands. “He was in a car accident, and they aren’t sure if he’s going to make it.”

Another gulp of air, and I’m back in my room.

It’s a nightmare I can’t wake up from, and I grab a pillow. I shove it over my head, trying to rationalize and make sense of what happened to Riley.

He’s alive. He’s alive, and even though he might look different, he’s the same guy he was before. You need to be strong for him.

But then I hear Maverick’s wails again. I hear the sound of ambulances outside the emergency room while we waited for news, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get those noises out of my head. My stomach clenches in pain. Darkness looms around me. I sniff, inundated by a fresh wave of tears.

The team will never be the same. Riley will never be the same. I’m close to sinking deeper into despair, to wandering off the path toward devastation, but a noise from down the hall stops me.

I pull the pillow away from my face.

Someone is knocking on my apartment door, and I don’t want to see them.

“Leave me alone,” I yell, hoping they can hear me.

There’s more knocking, and I want to scream. I have to physically drag myself out of bed when the banging doesn’t stop.

I rub my eyes. My throat is dry from the alcohol and crying. I don’t know when I last had something to drink. I sway on my feet, unsteady on my walk down the hall.

It’s probably Hannah or one of the guys coming by to check on me—Hudson, if I had to guess—but I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see anyone. Solitude is best, and anger—so much fucking anger—boils in me. Anger at the universe. At myself for not going with Riley. At the driver who hit him and tried to flee the scene.

I grab the door handle, fury rising to the surface when I rip it open. “I said leave me the fuck⁠—”

I freeze. The words come up short when I see Amelia standing in the hallway with a suitcase at her side.

“Lia?” I whisper. My eyes move over her, wanting to know if she’s real or some desperate apparition I’m trying to dream up to cling to some normalcy. Light blue sweats and matching long-sleeve. Pretty blonde hair and bags under her eyes. It’s her. It’s really her. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you wished I was here.” She hesitates, dips her chin. “So, I came.”

I burst into tears. A wretched sob escapes as I reach for her and practically drag her inside. The door slams shut, and she drops her purse on the floor. She lets go of her suitcase so she can wrap her arms around me. Warm, comforting.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck. The scent of her perfume tickles my nose. I hold her tight, pulling her even closer. Closer means I can keep her safe. Closer means she won’t get hurt too.

An exhale loosens its way out of me. Her fingers brush against the ends of my hair. Her palm rests on the back of my head. She presses her thumb into my neck, and my body relaxes. It stops fighting, stops trying to figure out what’s next and just… is.

Being held like this by her is the calmest I’ve ever been. I’m relieved. I’m revived.

It’s coming home after a long day, and this must be what heaven feels like: weightless. Serene. Beautiful.

“I’m so sorry about Riley,” she says, not letting go. “I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but I wanted to tell you in person that I’m here, however you need me.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” I untangle our limbs when my nose starts to leak. I get snot on her shirt, and I want to cry again. “Sorry. I’m a mess. Let me clean that up.”

“I don’t care about my clothes, Grant.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing my palm tight. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I haven’t had anything to eat since before the game.”

“That was sixteen hours ago.”