Page 41 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)

Chapter forty

Quinn

Glancing at my phone, I see Miles’s name with five missed calls next to it. Immediately, I check the text thread with my brother to see if anything is wrong. But there’s nothing. A wave of worry washes over me as I hastily leave the shelter, annoyed that I’d left my phone in the office the entire time I was there. And then on top of that, some of the usual women wanted to talk peach cobbler recipes with me, and now I’m hauling ass across town to get back for cheer warmups.

Pressing his name on my phone, I wait for the ring to start, but then I hear his voicemail. Hi, you’ve reached Miles, you know what to do. Followed by the echoing beep, my feet quicken the pace even more. I manage to make it to Indie’s truck she lets me borrow sometimes, and hope that I don’t get caught speeding, because the more I try Miles’s number and it goes to voicemail every time, the bigger the knot in my stomach gets, and the harder my foot hits the gas.

I try my brother too, which also goes to voicemail. And then I look at the clock and remember they’re probably suiting up now, which means no distractions.

I’m sure he’s fine; he probably just wanted to check in before the game. It’s all fine.

Everything will be fine.

So, why do I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach?

It doesn’t go away when I get to my dorm and pick up my cheer bag.

It doesn’t go away when I warm up on the field with my team, knowing he’s mere feet away from me and I can’t go to check on him.

It doesn’t go away even as the crowd begins to liven up, and both teams come out onto the field, and I see his face for the first time today.

The face that looks like something isn’t quite right. Something is on his mind. Something that I wish I could help him with. I watch him with rapt attention, analyzing his every move during final warmups. My palms felt clammy, gripping onto my burgundy and white pom-poms like my life depends on it.

Look over at me, just once, Miles. Let me see your eyes.

But he doesn’t, and a weight settles on my chest, pressing and pushing down every time he almost glances my way.

Miles still runs routes and makes plays, but his movements aren’t as sharp as they usually are. He fumbles the ball, and a gasp ripples through the stands behind me. I watch him scramble to recover, and my stomach twists more painfully. This isn’t like him. Not at all.

He lines up for the next play, but his posture is off, like he's fighting against an invisible force. I squint, trying to read his expression from here, but it’s no use.

I see Miles in the middle of the play, his usual confident stride faltering slightly. There’s something off about him—a tense set to his shoulders, a hitch in his step.

Then, in an instant, it all goes wrong.

The opposing player, bigger and more aggressive, slams into Miles with a force that makes my breath catch.

Miles goes down hard, crumpling to the ground. His body lands awkwardly, helmet off his head, limbs splayed out in a way that makes my heart stutter. He doesn’t move.

And he doesn’t get up.

The noise of the crowd fades into a distant murmur as I watch, frozen in place, locked in this moment of horror. My nails bite into my palms as I clench my fists, my heart now pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears. The shriek of a whistle echoes around us, and the game pauses, but my focus is solely on Miles. Coaches rush onto the field, Seb and Hudson right by his side, but nothing about my brother’s urgency getting to his best friend tells me this is okay.

I feel a lump in my throat that threatens to choke me as I hold back the sting of tears.

I need to get to him.

My feet move before I can process where I’m going, and I’m halfway across the field with my squad yelling my name behind me.

The closer I get, all I see is his body sprawled out on the grass, unmoving as medics rush to him too. There’s a screeching sound, and I don’t even realize it’s being ripped from my throat like a wild, untamed animal.

I barely register arms wrapping around my middle, hauling me backward, moving me farther away.

“Hudson, get her out of here!” Seb shouts somewhere, but I can’t see him. I can only see the love of my life lying lifeless on the grass.

“I know, I know,” Hudson soothes in my ear. “It’s okay. He’s going to be okay.”

My breaths come in ragged gasps as Hudson pulls me away from the scene, each step feeling like my heart is breaking more and more. “No, no, no,” I mutter to myself as the medics bring out the stretcher.

“It’s protocol, Quinn. They need to get him off the field safely.”

I know this. In my head, I know this, but seeing it happen to him, everything feels like I’m upside down, torn apart from the inside out. “H-he’s going to be okay, r-right?” I sniffle.

“He’s going to be okay.”

Even though his words are meant to calm me, they don’t, they wash over my head and do little to stop the fear gripping me. Even though I know this is all protocol, I can’t seem to marry up the idea that its Miles out there and he’s the one who needs help.

Because if I let myself lose control, I fear I won’t come back from it.

My hands cling to Hudson’s like a lifeline, grasping for something, anything, as I watch the stretcher come onto the field. I watch them haul his body onto it, and my focus flicks briefly to my brother, who’s helmet is off and he’s wiping his face. Something inside me snaps and tears fall freely, like a river that broke its dam. The closer Miles gets to the medics exit, the more I cry.

“Sssh, it’s okay, I swear, it’s just protocol. He’s okay.”

He’s okay . I repeat the mantra in my head over and over. Hudson stays with me and just lets me sob into his shirt as players all amble around the sidelines.

“Shit, I’ve gotta go to Coach. Will you be okay?”

“I’m here. I’m here.” Indie rushes over, pulling me into her arms. “It took me some serious convincing to get down here, and I’m pretty sure I owe someone money, but I’m here.”

The tears come back with a vengeance, fresh rivulets soaking into her sweater, but I can’t let her go. Because somehow my best friend knew I would need her, and here she is, showing up for me. “I’ve got you.” she whispers, wrapping her arms just as fiercely around me.

“I need to see him,” I mumble into her, the words being absorbed by the noise around us, but she hears me. Her hand strokes my back.

“I know, and we will. Hudson, go find out where he’s gone, please.”

“But—”

“Now,” she growls, and I hear his feet scurry away.

Indie lets me go and offers me a tissue from her backpack. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. As soon as I saw him go down, I knew I had to get to you.”

“I just need to know he’s okay,” I say shakily.

“We will.”

Two seconds later, Hudson comes bounding over to us, breathing heavily. “He’s in the medic’s room, but they’re following concussion protocol, and he’ll be going to Oregon General.” He swallows, hesitating, and I see something flicker in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me, Hudson,” I snap, feeling like I’m going to be sick from the look on his face.

“He’s out cold. There’s an ambulance on its way.”

And in this moment, I realize that nothing will ever be the same again.