Page 100 of Play the Last Card
Completely out of control.
Scott is still at the stadium, getting work on his arm done. If I’m honest with myself and admit to the pit that is growing in my stomach, I don’t really want to see him when I get home tonight.
It just all feels … tainted.
“Ivy?” Pops prompts, his gaze unwavering.
“I don’t know.”
I don’t want to admit how I feel, not to Pops, or to Scott, or to myself.
Pops shifts on his bed. He’s not been able to sit up while I’ve been here, instead he’s just propped on some pillows. He’s as white as a ghost and his movements are slow, sluggish. I know he’s getting worse. I can see that just by looking at him.
The reality of being without him feels like it’s getting closer and closer. The thought makes my stomach twist. I’ve been in denial for weeks, choosing to believe that Pops is going to come home soon. But even though he still smiles at me as brightly as he has my whole life, when I walk through the door to his room, I know he’s in pain.
Pops is tired and it’s starting to show.
Just another thing I’m not able to control or fix right now.
There is ache in my chest that goes along with the constant sting behind my eyes and nervous energy. One that I feel every time I think about my parents. One that just hurts more and more as Pops gets worse.
But, as with everything else going on, I decide to push the fact that he’s not improving out of my mind and change the subject.
“Did you hear any more about whether nurse Sophie broke up with the boyfriend?” I ask him, shuffling my chair a little closer to his bed so I can hold his hand. He stares at me for a moment, the look in his eyes telling me he knows exactly what I’m doing. After a beat, he blinks and goes with the change of subject.
We gossip for a while. When they bring Pops’ dinner in, I let him turn up the volume onSportsCenterand sit with him while the announcers replay the stats from this weekend's games. They ramble on about the teams, including the Broncos, who are moving into the playoffs.
Life for Scott is about to get more hectic, more pressurized, more intense.
My stomach turns over as I think about whether or not I even want to be a part of it.
After the nurse drops off Pops’ night medication and warns me about visiting hours, I finally get up from the chair and collect my coat from the small couch in the corner of the room.
“Ivy?” Pops says as I pull my coat on. I look up at him, waiting. “Don’t let the press ruin what you and Scott have.”
Ice runs under my skin and my lungs tighten. I feel like crying. Again. I swallow the lump in my throat. “I … I don’t know, Pops. It’s been a lot.”
“You and him … you just remind me of your mom and dad.” He takes a sip of water after popping another pill in his mouth. He swallows before continuing. “I just don’t want you to throw that away because you think you can’t handle something as insignificant as the press.”
I don’t know what to say.
The press is nowhere near insignificant. Not to me.
“You’re stronger than that, Ivy-girl. I promise.” He lifts a hand, shaking a little as he does, and reaches for me.
I move over to him, wrapping his hand in mine and squeezing gently. I lean down and press a kiss to his cheek.
“Love you, Pops.” I blink back the tears stinging in my eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, after school.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Scott
With every twist ofthe steering wheel, my shoulder tweaks. Pins and needles spread through my nerves, buzzing under my skin. The wild card game tonight killed me. My arm is half way to numb; my shoulder in pieces. The Pittsburgh defenders played the game of their lives tonight and made it their mission to sack me every chance they got.
I’m a wreck, exhausted and in pain, and the only thing keeping me upright is the idea that any minute now, I’ll be kissing my girl.