Page 28

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jamie

We drag ourselves out of the rink, sweat-soaked and exhausted. My legs ache, my arms feel like lead, and I swear if I have to skate one more drill today, I might just throw myself on the ice and refuse to move.

Troy’s not looking much better—he’s got that dead-eyed stare like he’s on autopilot, one skate in front of the other.

“Did you talk to Savannah yet?” I ask, wiping my neck with a towel.

He shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his bag. “Not yet. I texted her after practice, but she hasn’t replied.”

“Maybe she’s still at the hospital?” I suggest. My chest tightens at the thought of her being alone there. “We could swing by and check in. Maybe get her one of those cute baskets with stuff we like.”

Troy gives me a sideways look. “Stuff we like?”

“Yeah, you know. Snacks. Drinks. Maybe some bath bombs or whatever she’s into.”

Troy snorts. “Savannah and bath bombs?”

“Don’t knock it. I’ve seen her light candles. She’s got a soft side.”

“All right, basket it is. But I’m not buying candles.”

I grin, grabbing my keys. “I’ll pick the candles. You can buy something for the dog.”

“Shit,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t even named him yet. I wanted a dog, and now I feel guilty as hell. I haven’t spent any time with him.”

“How about this?” I say, throwing my bag in the trunk. “I take Noah for the night, and you spend it with the pup. Bonding time. Guilt-free.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing. “Nah, we can all hang out. Pup, Savannah, Noah. Make it a thing.”

I nod, thinking it over. “All right, but should we call Jared?”

“Hell yes,” Troy says immediately, pulling out his phone.

***

By the time we pick up the dog from my place—a tiny fluffball wagging his tail like he’s just won the lottery—Jared’s already on his way. The three of us pile into the house, Troy holding the dog, me balancing a brand-new bassinet with a baby bag slung over my shoulder.

As soon as we step inside, we freeze. Savannah’s leaning over the bassinet in the kitchen, one hand gripping the counter. Her hair’s pulled into a loose bun, strands sticking to her face. She looks pale. Too pale.

“What’s wrong?” Troy asks, moving first.

Her eyes flick up, tired and a little glassy. “I couldn’t find my charger. My phone’s dead. I didn’t wanna leave with Noah without telling you guys.”

“You don’t look so good,” I say, setting the bassinet down and stepping closer.

She shakes her head, swaying a little. “I don’t...I don’t feel so good.”

And then she just collapses.

“Shit!” Troy catches her before she hits the floor, lifting her like she weighs nothing.

“Savannah!” I’m beside him in a second, my hand on her face. She’s burning up. “We’ve gotta get her to the hospital. Now.”

Troy nods, his jaw tight. “Grab Noah. And the dog.”

I snatch up the bassinet with one hand, tucking the pup under my arm with the other. The little guy whimpers, like he knows something’s wrong.

We’re halfway to the door when Jared bursts in. He takes one look at us—Troy carrying Savannah, me juggling a baby and a dog—and his face goes pale.

“What the hell happened?”

“She collapsed,” Troy snaps, already moving past him.

Jared doesn’t ask more questions. He just turns and follows us out to the car.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of panicked breaths and tight silence. Savannah stirs once, mumbling something we can’t make out, but her eyes don’t open.

“She’s gonna be fine,” I say, mostly to myself.

Troy’s got her in his lap in the back seat, his face a mix of fear and determination. “She has to be.”

Jared’s driving like a maniac, weaving through traffic, one hand gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles are white.

“Faster,” Troy mutters.

“I’m going as fast as I fucking can,” Jared growls, slamming on the horn as some idiot cuts us off.

Noah starts crying, the wails sharp and piercing in the confined space.

“Jamie,” Troy says, his voice tight.

“I got him,” I say, rocking the bassinet as best as I can. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re gonna be okay.”

But I don’t know if I believe it.

***

We skid into the hospital entrance, and it’s a flurry of movement. Jared shouts for help, Troy carries Savannah inside, and I’m left holding Noah and the dog, feeling completely useless.

A nurse rushes over with a stretcher, and Troy lays Savannah down, his hands lingering on her arm like he’s afraid to let go.

“She collapsed,” he says, his voice thick. “She said she wasn’t feeling good, and then…”

“We’ve got her,” the nurse says, her tone calm but firm.

They wheel Savannah away, and Troy takes a step like he’s gonna follow, but another nurse stops him.

“You can’t go back there yet. We’ll update you as soon as we know anything.”

Troy looks like he might fight her, but Jared grabs his shoulder. “Let them do their job.”

Troy nods reluctantly, his hands clenching into fists.

We’re left in the waiting room, the silence oppressive. Noah’s stopped crying, but he’s still fussy, squirming in his carrier. The pup is curled up in my lap, shaking a little.

Troy hasn’t sat down. He’s pacing, his hands running through his hair over and over.

“She’s gonna be okay,” I say again, trying to believe it this time.

“She has to be,” Troy repeats, his voice barely audible.

Jared’s sitting beside me, his leg bouncing like he can’t keep still.

“What the hell happened?” he finally asks.

“I don’t know,” Troy says, stopping to look at us. “She didn’t say much. Just that she didn’t feel good. And now…”

He trails off, his voice breaking.

“Do you think maybe we did this to her?” Jared whispers. “Do you think we pushed her too far?”

I immediately shake my head. “She seemed fine this morning. I don’t think that could be it.” But deep down, I’m not sure whether I am trying to convince both of them or just me.

“Fuck! She’s so small,” Troy chokes out. “She was so light in my arms…”

I reach over, squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. She’s tough. She’ll pull through.”

But deep down, I’m just as scared as he is.

And judging by the look of sheer panic on Jared’s face, he is too.