Page 19

19

Ripley

I’m coasting on the high of our victory, sweat still clinging to my forehead as I jog off the field. My heart’s thumping, but it’s not from the pitching, it’s from the anticipation of seeing Kali and Juniper in the stands. I half expect Juniper to come barreling down the steps, squealing about how cool that last inning was. But when I glance up at the bleachers, there’s no sign of her or Kali.

Frowning, I wave off a few teammates who want to celebrate. A prickle of unease slides through my chest. It’s not like Kali to just vanish, especially when she and Juniper planned to catch the game’s final innings. They would’ve been cheering. Something must’ve come up…

Pulling out my phone, I skim through notifications, feeling a rock settle in my gut when I see several missed calls from Hattie. There’s also a text, short and ominous:

Hattie: Emergency. Juniper’s at the hospital. Call me ASAP.

My stomach drops like a stone. I don’t even bother grabbing the rest of my gear. Within seconds, I’m sprinting through the corridors, phone to my ear, but Hattie’s not picking up. God, what happened? My mind reels with worst-case scenarios. I can’t even form a coherent plan; I just know I have to get to the ER.

I blow through the hospital’s automatic doors a half-hour later, breathing so hard it feels like I’ve run a marathon. My uniform is still damp from the game, and I’m sure I look half-crazed. The receptionist barely finishes a polite greeting before I blurt, “My daughter. Juniper Johnson. She… she’s here.”

It takes a moment for her to scan the system, then she points me down a hallway. I don’t wait for more directions I just hurry in the direction of her finger, adrenaline screaming through my veins.

Hattie’s standing by a vending machine near the waiting area. Relief washes over her face when she sees me. “Ripley, finally,” she breathes, and I note the tension in her posture, the dark smudges under her eyes. “I tried calling?—”

“What happened?” My voice comes out strangled as I fight a surge of panic. “Where’s Juniper? Is she—?” my words fall away.

“She’s okay,” Hattie says quickly, grabbing my arm. “She sprained her arm. She’s gonna be fine. They put a Velcro brace on her arm, and said she’ll need to keep it immobilized for a few weeks, but it shouldn’t cause permanent issues.”

The wave of relief hits me so hard my knees almost buckle. I have to brace a hand on the wall for support. “Oh, thank God.” She’s okay. My mind is still racing, but I can breathe now. “How did it happen?”

Hattie’s eyes flash with concern. “There was a coaching session, and apparently one of the kids accidentally hit her with a bat. Kali was running the clinic. She brought Juniper here immediately.”

“Kali…” My voice cracks. “Where is she?”

Hattie exhales, glancing toward the doors leading to the pediatric ward. “She left.”

I stare at her, uncomprehending. “What do you mean, she left?”

“She was overwhelmed,” Hattie says quietly, guilt shadowing her features. “She felt responsible, like she wasn’t fit to watch over Juniper. She blamed herself, even though it was just an accident. She was really upset, Rip.”

My stomach clenches at the thought of Kali beating herself up, probably terrified that she failed. Damn it. I rake a hand through my hair. “I need to talk to her. She must be—” I fumble for my phone, swiping at the screen. No missed calls from Kali. Why didn’t she call me? “Where’s Juniper right now?”

“She’s inside, waiting to be discharged,” Hattie explains. “Come on.”

When I step into the exam room, Juniper’s sitting on the edge of a hospital bed with a small brace protecting her arm. Her eyes light up the second she sees me, and I rush over to scoop her into a gentle hug.

“Dad,” she whispers, tears welling in her big eyes. “I’m sorry.”

My heart twists. “Hey, kiddo, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” I carefully brush back her curls, mindful of her injured arm. “How’s it feel?”

“It hurts a little,” she confesses, sniffing. “But the nurse said I’ll be okay.”

I press my lips to her forehead. “You will be. I promise.”

Hattie speaks to the nurse, sorting out paperwork, while I sit on the bed with Juniper. She leans against my side, exhausted, and my heart hurts at the memory of me not being there when she got hurt. But Kali was. She rushed Juniper to the hospital, did everything right, except she fled when the guilt overwhelmed her.

Once the discharge process is done, we head out. I buckle Juniper into the booster seat, Hattie giving her a quick kiss before telling me she’ll come by later to check on her. “Any word from Kali?” she asks me as I climb behind the wheel.

I shake my head, flipping my phone screen toward her—still no new messages. “I’ll keep trying.”

She nods. “Don’t let her beat herself up too much, Ripley. It’s not her fault.”

My throat tightens. “I know. But I’m worried she won’t listen to reason right now.”

On the drive home, I stop by a small shop and buy Juniper the biggest ice cream cone I can manage without risking a meltdown in the car. She perks up a bit, chatting about the different flavors, and my heart squeezes again at her bravery. She’s already talking about “when I can throw a ball again” and “Kali must feel so bad.” Which she does, I’m sure. And that kills me. She’s part of our family, I think. Doesn’t she understand we’re allowed to have accidents?

At home, I settle Juniper on the couch with extra pillows for her arm, letting her pick a movie. I keep checking my phone, mind racing with worry. I leave Kali another voicemail, voice taut with anxiety, “Please call me back. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

But nothing. Hours pass, evening slips in, and I manage to coax Juniper into bed with minimal fuss—she’s still sore, but at least the pain meds are helping. She’s more upset that Kali’s nowhere in sight. “Is she mad at me?” she mumbles, half-asleep.

“No, baby,” I say, stroking her hair. “Never. She loves you so much.” God, please let her come back.

When I finally collapse onto the living room couch, phone in hand, it’s nearing midnight. I’ve tried texting Kali a dozen times, each one going unanswered. My mind keeps looping worst-case scenarios: is she crying alone in her apartment? Blaming herself for a freak accident? Does she think we’re angry with her?

My phone buzzes, startling me from my brooding. I snatch it up so fast my heart skips a beat. Kali’s name. Relief surges, but it’s short-lived when I see the text:

Kali: I’m so sorry. I can’t do this, Ripley. Please tell Juniper I love her, but… I’m sorry.

The blood drains from my face, and my chest constricts like a vise. She can’t do this? My thumb hovers over the keyboard, mind scrambling for words that could convince her otherwise. But for the first time in a long time, I’m speechless.

I try calling immediately, but it rings, then goes to voicemail. “Kali,” I plead into the silent receiver, my voice trembling. “Don’t—don’t do this. Please talk to me.”

But the line clicks dead. I lower the phone, gut twisting in fear and anger and heartbreak all at once. How did we get here so fast? Just this morning, we were this close-knit little trio. Now she’s slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I stare down the empty hallway, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. I’ve never felt so helpless. Kali, please. I can’t lose her, not now. Not like this.