Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Going over to the man, I find him staring down at his hand. In it, is a wad of money and I have a feeling that Noah put it there. That seems like something he’d do. I lean into him and whisper, “Wait for him. He’s going to need a friend.”
I stand back and watch as the man looks around. I try not to laugh, but I can’t help myself. If I can talk to him, maybe I can talk to the others and let them know that I’m fighting. Let them know that I’m here and can feel their love and that I’m trying to wake up.
The man finally looks up and smiles.
12
Noah
No one answers my question. They all stare, probably wondering what my problem is. I make eye contact with the adult members of my family and when Elle touches my arm, I brush her off as I head toward the double doors that lock us in or keep everyone out.
“Noah.” My father’s voice is stern. I don’t turn around to look at him. I don’t need to see the disappointment in his eyes right now. I push through the doors and hightail it to the stairs. My feet pound the concrete, taking them two at a time until I’ve reached the top. My hands are clenched into fists as I pound on the wall.
Why of all people is it Zimmerman? He’s not my foe, but he’s a football player and I stayed away from her purposely so she could have a life, and yet she’s with him and now… No, I can’t say it. I can’t bring myself even think it. Peyton is going to survive. She’s going to wake up and I’m going to tell her how I feel and put the ball in her court and hope that she feels the same. For all I know, she’s in love with him.
“No, she would’ve told me,” I say out loud as I start to pace. Would she have told me? There’s a good chance that she would’ve kept this to herself. Maybe she felt like it wasn’t my business. But no, Katelyn said, “she had a date” that means something.
I open the door and step out into the hallway. It’s fairly dark and eerily quiet. I find myself tiptoeing down the hall, pausing when I come to open hospital room doors, looking to see if the rooms are occupied. I don’t know why, it’s a morbid curiosity I suppose. As far as I can tell this floor is empty. I don’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or turn and run back to the stairs.
My heart is pounding and my palms are sweating. With each step I take, the fear builds. How is it possible that a hospital in Chicago has an empty floor?
“Can I help you?”
I turn to find a short older woman, dressed in white standing behind me. I won’t go as far to say she’s creepy, but the thought is crossing my mind.
“I… uh…”
“Are you looking for someone?”
Am I?
I nod. “Zimmerman. Kyle Zimmerman. I thought I was told he was on floor…” I look at the stark white walls for any indication of what floor I’m on but there are none.
“He’s not on this floor,” she deadpans and turns to the side as if that’s my indication to leave. Don’t need to tell me twice.
“Thanks.” I walk by her as fast as I can, not stopping until I’m at the elevators. I turn back and she’s watching me. Everything about this situation seems like a scene from a horror movie and I’m determined to believe that I’m making it all up. Nonetheless, I push the heavy metal door open and hustle down the stairs as fast as I can.
When I get to Peyton’s floor, my hand rests on the handle, but I don’t tug it open. My mind goes back to her and Zimmerman. He’s somewhere in this hospital and I intend to find him. Another flight down, I exit the stairwell and hop in the elevator. I figure my best chance at finding out which room he’s in will be from my agent.
The temperature must’ve dropped a few degrees in the last hour. I shiver as I stand outside, waiting for my phone to boot up. Once it does, the notifications start coming in again. There are a few from my teammates asking if I’m heading out with them tonight, but most are from Dessie, and I can’t stomach to look at those right now. I tap the green Phone icon, press Allen’s name and bring the handset to my ear. It rings twice before he’s answering.
“Westbury?” Allen became my agent the day my college football career ended. He was one of the few who didn’t come after me early, which earned a lot of respect from me. “Everything okay?”