Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (32 page)

“No thanks necessary.”

“But. Still. Thank you. All of you.”

Melissa smiles warmly and Jax says, “We’re not going to let a teammate go through something like this alone.”

And even though I’ve been part of the team since I officially made it in August, this, I realize, is what it really means to be part of this team. They take care of each other. No matter where it is or what’s going on.

I nod and realize that my throat is feeling thick and that I’m starting to tear up. I clear my throat, trying to keep the tears at bay, and take the last sip of water from the bottle Melissa gave me.

“Mr. Kistler?” a voice says, and I turn around immediately.

“Yes?”

The nurse comes over and says, “Miss Narducci is now comfortable in her new room. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you there now.”

I nod and ask, “Is there a waiting room in that wing for our friends?”

“Of course,” he says. “Come with me.”

Everyone grabs their stuff and we all walk to the part of the hospital for admitted patients. It’s nice to be somewhere that isn’t manic and loud and teeming with people.

“Is she awake yet?” I ask.

“She woke up briefly while she was being transferred, but went right back to sleep,” he says. “Nothing to worry about. Her body just needs to recharge.”

I nod, glad to know that she did wake up. I know they keep saying she’s fine, but my brain keeps jumping to terrifying conclusions.

“The waiting room is just that way,” the nurse says to our group.

Jax grips my shoulder reassuringly as he walks past me and Deeks pats me on the back.

“If you need anything at all…” Melissa says, and I nod. Amanda gives me a small smile as she passes and then, of all things, winks. It’s so unexpected that I find myself grinning.

“There’s an Adam Kistler smile,” she says. “We’re just out here. If I hear anything from the Narduccis, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” I say, and she gives me a thumbs-up.

I follow the nurse to Courtney’s new room, a full-size one with its own door instead of a curtain, and enough space for plenty of people. She’s still hooked up to the IV and in a hospital bed, but now that she’s out of the ER, things don’t seem or look nearly as dire.

In fact, this room looks way more like a hotel room than a hospital room.

The nurse shows me how to call for someone if the need arises and then leaves me alone with my fiancée.

I fish out my phone to update everyone, and see that, again, I have tons of missed calls. Mostly from Sophie.

There’s also a text message that she sent to the entire group that says
Adam Kistler, if you don’t call me back, I
will
fly to New Orleans and cut you.
I smile at the phone, but know better than to cross Sophie Tucker. So I pick up my phone, find her number, and dial.

“Fucking finally,” she says as a greeting.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ve been a little distraught.”

“I can imagine. How are you? Other than distraught, obviously.”

“Scared. Anxious. Angry.”

“Why angry?” she asks.

“Courtney is in here because she was starving herself. Her body was so starved that it
shut down
. That’s insane. I should have done something.”

“You made her eat a banana and soup and crème brûlée,” Sophie says. “That’s more than any of the rest of us have been able to do the last week.”

“She didn’t eat for an entire week?” I ask, floored.

“No, she ate. But not much. Egg whites for breakfast, kale for lunch, and half an avocado for dinner. That’s it.”

I exhale loudly. “Seriously?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sophie says. “It hasn’t been like that the rest of the time. Just this week.”

“This is all my fault,” I say, letting my head drop, my chin touching my chest. “Those goddamn photos.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what Courtney has done. We all encouraged her when she started losing weight and working out. We all watched it become more and more unhealthy. We all told her that she looked great and told her that she should back off the diet. But none of it made a difference. Because it’s
Courtney
who has to decide to get this under control. And nothing that you did or didn’t do is going to change that.”

“That’s so frustrating,” I say.

“I know. But you can’t fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed.”

Those words linger between us and I ask, “Do you really think something needs to be fixed?”

Sophie sighs and says, “I think that the dieting and working out started as something healthy. It was a proactive way for her to deal with her stress and some of her insecurities. But then it became the only way she dealt with things. You know how she is. She’s private and tight-lipped about her emotions. She barely tells us anything about what’s going on to begin with, so by the time that any of us realized this had become something more than just losing some weight, there was no way to intervene without making her feel isolated.”

“Why are you good at this?” I ask.

“Am I?” she asks. “Because I don’t feel good at it. I feel really bad at it, actually.”

“Well, you sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I know how girls operate, that’s all.”

“More than I’ve got,” I say, looking over at the hospital bed.

“So. Is Courtney still asleep?”

“Yeah. They moved her—and yes, I’m about to text everyone the update—and she’s staying here overnight. Apparently she woke up while they were admitting her, but went right back to sleep. Her parents should be here soon, thank God. And as soon as she wakes up, I’ll let everyone know.”

“Okay,” Sophie says. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Well, you did threaten to cut me.”

“Good thing you’re in a hospital, right?”

I laugh and say, “You’re a peach, Sophie Tucker.”

“I have my moments,” she says. “Okay, I’ll let you go. When she wakes up…”

“I’ll call you as soon as the doctors are finished with her.”

“Perfect. Try and get some rest, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I know you won’t,” she says. “But, you know. I have to try and take care of everyone.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She laughs and says, “Bye, Adam.”

When we’re off the phone, I text everyone about Courtney’s transfer and then start calling people. Courtney’s brothers first, then my parents, and finally my brothers. By the time I’m off the phone, I’ve had nearly the exact same conversation with every person and feel spent. As much as I don’t want to sleep, I think I might need to.

I set an alarm for an hour from now and stretch out on the couch. At first my thoughts race, but soon my eyelids are drooping and though I know this is going to be the least restful sleep of my life, succumb to its mighty pull.

Courtney

When I wake up, it takes me several seconds to figure out what in the world has happened.

Realizing that you’re in a hospital room with a needle stuck in your hand is not an experience I recommend.

Then again, neither is passing out in a room full of people and cameras.

I consider sitting up, but am concerned that the pain in my head will come back if I do. But my head doesn’t hurt at all anymore. In fact, I feel pretty good. Better than I have in quite a while.

I sit up very slowly, just in case the headache emerges, but it doesn’t. When I’m at ninety degrees, I look around and see that Adam is asleep on the couch in my room.

Oh my God. Adam. The game.

I passed out during the second quarter. He had just scored. I want to huff back down into the pillows, but now that I’m sitting up, I figure that it’s probably a good idea to stay like this. For blood flow reasons. Lying in bed for too long is bad for you, after all. And, terrifyingly, I have no idea how long I’ve been here.

“Adam,” I say, but he doesn’t move.

I repeat his name a little louder, but still nothing. I say it a third time, my voice reverberating off the walls, and finally he stirs.

“Yeah?”

“Adam, wake up.”

“I just want to sleep, Court.”

“I know, you do. But I need to talk to you real quick.”

He blinks a couple times and then bolts upright. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” I say meekly. “I’m so sorry.”

He crosses the space between us so quickly I think maybe he used time travel of some sort and puts his arms gently around me as he sits on the bed. I hug him back and when I go to pull away so that I can talk to him, he clings to me.

That’s when I realize that he’s crying.

Holy crap. What have I done?

“Hey,” I say, in a voice I hope is soothing. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“I’m just so relieved. I was so scared, Court. The doctors kept saying you were fine and that you just needed to rest and recharge, but you just kept sleeping and you were hooked up to all this stuff and, God. I was convinced you had that weird disease that House never thought anybody ever had.”

“Lupus,” I say, trying hard not to laugh. I can’t laugh at his distress. That would be cruel of me. Especially since I’m the reason he’s distressed.

“That one,” he says, finally pulling back to look at me. “But you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“What happened?” he asks. “Start from after you dropped me off at the field house and tell me everything.”

“I went to your apartment, changed into gym clothes, went for a run, and then worked out for two hours at the apartment’s gym. Then I went back to your place, showered, drank some water, checked my email, got ready for the game, and then drove to the field house. When I got there, Amanda met me at the door and took me to the team’s box. Then I met Mariella.”

“You did?” he asks.

“Yeah. She was really cool, actually.”

He nods and says, “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine. But, yeah. I met Mariella and it was kind of a publicity thing. Amanda wanted photos of us talking and smiling so that people would know that there was no way you were cheating on me with her. We were talking and then I was chatting with a bunch of the wives and girlfriends about my diet and workout regimens. I knew I was really hungry. That I
needed
to eat. But every time I thought about it, I remembered the cameras and didn’t want to be caught shoving chicken wings in my mouth.”

“You don’t eat chicken wings anymore,” he says, sounding devastated.

“Well, I haven’t been,” I say. “But I knew that I was being too extreme this week. I told Sophie I was going to start reintroducing foods back into my diet after this weekend. I’ve surpassed my goal weight. Sure, I’m always going to want to look better and I’ll always want to work on part of myself, but I knew that what I was doing wasn’t healthy. I just wanted to look good for the cameras. For you.”

Adam shakes his head.

“Yeah,” I say, knowing that I’m going to have to explain this part of it better than I did when I was yelling last night. “I think the reason—well,
one
of the reasons—I’ve been so weird about having sex is that I didn’t like how I looked naked. I didn’t want you to look at me and be disgusted.”

“Courtney, that’s crazy talk. I could never be disgusted by you.”

“I was overweight. And you’re basically a Greek god. I just wanted to look as good to you as you do to me.”

He shakes his head again and says, “I think you’re perfect. But, you do know that I’m going to wait for you. I don’t want you to have sex if you’re not ready. And if you’re not ready until our wedding night, or even later than that, that’s okay.”

“Really?” I ask, touched by the fact that he would wait beyond our wedding night.

“Really,” he says. “I love you and I don’t want you to ever have sex with me out of obligation.”

I can’t help but laugh at that and then I say, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says. “Now tell me what else happened yesterday.”

“Right. Okay, so I was really hungry, but was self-conscious about the cameras. And then the game started and I wanted to watch the game. Then when I was certain my stomach was eating itself and that I needed food, you got the ball and made a touchdown.”

Adam hangs his head and I say, “Stop. It’s not your fault. I could have easily not watched you make a touchdown and fed myself.”

He grumbles unintelligibly and I say, “But I didn’t do that. And I’d had this headache all morning. Amanda actually gave me some aspirin for it earlier in the day, but it just wouldn’t go away. I realize now it was a hunger headache. So it was getting worse and I started feeling really weak and shaky all over. Melissa realized something was wrong with me and was trying to help me to a chair, but then someone else—maybe Brandi, I don’t know—came over to us and she also realized that I wasn’t doing well and called attention to it. That’s when my vision started to dim and I just collapsed.”

“God,” he says. “I was on the field fucking celebrating and you were collapsing on the floor.”

I shake my head, wanting him to stop thinking of it like that. Wanting him to realize that none of this is his fault. But I know that he’s going to shoulder some of this no matter what I do or say.

“You should have been celebrating. You made a damn touchdown after all. Against the Seattle Seahawks.”

“The only one we made against them, at that.”

“Oh?”

“They killed us,” he says, crushing my hope that they won. “So I guess I should fill you in now. Melissa called 911 and then Amanda, and she came with you to the hospital. I didn’t know you were even in the hospital until after the game. When I got here, you were still in the ER and the doctor who admitted you told me that your body didn’t have any more energy to spend and so it shut down. The IV is feeding you. They admitted you overnight so that you could rest and tomorrow they’re going to have you speak with a nutritionist. Your parents are on their way.” He looks at his watch. “They should be here any minute now.”

“Oh God,” I say, feeling terrible that they spent the money to rush down here when I’m in the hospital because I didn’t feed myself properly.

“The Montgomerys, Amanda, and Deeks are in the waiting room. And I promised Sophie that you would call her when the doctors are done with you.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling overwhelmed, trying to wrap my brain around everything. “So what now?”

Adam leans in and kisses me tentatively at first and then with more pressure once he realizes that I’m not going to collapse again. When we pull apart, I feel as if he’s seared himself onto me.

“Now we’re going to call the doctors in here,” he says, reaching over and pressing the call button.

A nurse is in the room surprisingly fast and she says, “You’re awake. Great!” Then introduces herself as she takes my vitals.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Adam says, walking outside, I assume to fill in everyone in the waiting room on the fact that I’m awake and basically normal except for the fact that I probably passed out on national television because I didn’t feed myself.

I groan and the nurse says, “Does that hurt?”

“No,” I say. “I’m just incredibly embarrassed about all of this.”

“This is nothing,” she says. “Believe me, you do not want to know some of the embarrassing things people have come in here for.”

As she takes my vitals and scribbles things down on a chart, she asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I say.

“Wonderful,” she says.

“What time is it?”

The nurse laughs lightly and says, “Around two in the morning.”

I nod, glad to know that it’s only been hours and not days since I collapsed at the game. I mean, I figured that much from what Adam told me, but I wanted to be sure.

“Do you need anything?” she asks.

I consider asking for water, but then see a jug sitting on the tray near the bed. “No, I think I’m okay for now.”

She sees me look at the water and pours a glass for me, moving the tray over the bed so that it’s easy to reach. “If you want to watch TV,” she says, holding up the remote and putting it on the tray. “But I suggest that you get some more rest, if you can.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles and says, “Call if you need anything at all,” before she leaves.

I take another drink of the water and lay my head back against the cool pillows.

I can’t believe I’m in the hospital. Even if this isn’t the dumbest thing a person has been hospitalized for, I still feel like an idiot. If I had just
fed myself
I wouldn’t have been in this situation.

I groan out loud and go to cover my face with my hands, but the table is in the way, so it takes some maneuvering to get that done. When I open my eyes, I stare at the IV in the top of my hand. I’m literally being force fed via tube.

This is so bad.

I never thought I’d ever be one of those girls with an eating issue. I love food.

But I let myself get so wrapped up in worrying about the media and worrying about how I look to Adam, that I lost sight of the fact that I started losing weight because I wanted to feel better about myself.

When I think about it, I
do
feel good about myself. I stuck to a diet. I started working out. I’ve been incredibly disciplined. Adam and I have set a wedding date and I’ve been working on planning the wedding with Ashton. I have amazing friends and a family I adore.

All in all, those are good things. Sure, it’s easy to poke holes in each of these and remind myself that I cheated on the diet a couple times—pizza night and the bread bowl incident—but those are tiny cheats. Cheats that were probably good for me.

How in the world did I spiral so far out of control with this? As I’m deciding that the only answer is temporary insanity, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say, figuring its Adam. But when the door opens it’s my parents who walk through, and I immediately feel tears in my eyes.

“Hey, Court,” my dad says, his voice soft, and that does me in. The tears are hot on my face and I say, “Hi. I’m so sorry.”