“No fucking way. Not until you calm down.”
My muscles tense as I clench my fist. “Let me the fuck go, Carson,” I yell, pushing him off me and charging toward Chet McKay.
Big mistake coming here.
Fucking huge.
And he’s about to find out why.
Chapter Twenty-Six
HARMONY
“Oh my God, it’s freezing out,” Nicole says as she drops her bag on the table. “Hey, girl, I missed you in class the other day.”
I smile up at her, even though I don’t feel like smiling. I don’t feel like being here at all. I wish I were at home, snuggled up with Holt, enjoying whatever food he decided to get us this time. I hate fighting with him. I hate knowing he’s upset, that there’s a possibility he could do something stupid because we aren’t on the same page.
But he needs this. He’s been tense all week, even though he’s said he hasn’t been. He’s been overprotective, and he hasn’t touched me intimately once in six days. Very unlike him. Even when I come to bed naked, wanting him, he turns me down.
There’s something wrong, and he’s not telling me what it is.
Maybe a night with his boys will help him relax.
That’s what I’m hoping, at least.
“It’s so cold,” I say. “I don’t think I was ready for the chill factor today.”
“I got a few texts from the group saying people are going to be late because their cars are having a hard time starting. They asked if we could wait.”
“Oh yeah, not a problem.”
Nicole thumbs over her shoulder and says, “I’m going to go say a quick hi to my teammate. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, I’ll hold down the fort.”
When she takes off, I check my phone, where I see texts from people in our group and then one from Priya.
Priya: Dude, I thought we were having a threesome tonight. Where are you and Holt?
I glance around. Not a study group member in sight, so I text her back.
Harmony: I’m in a study group, and Holt is at a party at the baseball house.
Priya: That’s unlike him. When was the last time he was at a party?
Harmony: I made him go.
Priya: Oh-kay. Care to tell me what’s going on? Other than you two are having a baby together and now you’re pushing him away?
I was going to try to keep the pregnancy a secret as much as I could, but when Priya heard me throwing up the other day, she didn’t even have to ask. She knew right away. She was . . . weird about it. Not happy for us, not precisely concerned, just . . . observant, I guess.
Harmony: I’m not pushing him away. I’m trying to get him to relax. He’s been weird all week.
Priya: How so?
Harmony: We haven’t had sex.
Priya: Uh . . . what? How is that possible? I thought you had sex every freaking night. I thought it had been quiet, but then again, I wasn’t sure if your moans have become an everyday sound to me, like birds chirping.
Harmony: No, he hasn’t even come close to touching me sexually, and he’s been waking up with these night terrors. I think he’s freaking out about the baby but won’t say anything to me.
Priya: He doesn’t seem like he’s scared about the baby. He seemed really excited when I talked to him about it. Are you sure it’s not something else?
Harmony: If it is something else, he’s not telling me, even though I’ve asked several times.
Priya: Want me to ask him?
Harmony: No, he’ll just get mad that I told you something is up. I told him I would see him tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll have a clear head by then.
Priya: Okay, well, if you need anything, let me know. When are you going to be home?
Harmony: Probably nine. I’ll text you. Maybe I can pick us up some milkshakes or something.
Priya: You know I would never turn one down. Text me when you’re on your way.
Harmony: Okay. XOXO
I set my phone to the side just as Nicole comes back and a few of the people from our group show up. Nicole looks around and says, “I think that’s it.”
“Where’s Chet?” Roger, a guy on the football team, asks.
Nicole pulls her notebook out of her backpack and says, “Oh, he’s at the baseball party. He asked me to cover for him, but I told him he could kiss my ass. If he wants credit for attending, he needs to attend.”
“Wait . . . where is he?” I ask, fear prickling at the back of my neck.
“The baseball team is having a party at their loft tonight. A little farewell thing before finals.”
Oh God.
Oh no.
I stand from my chair quickly and say, “Uh, I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
The table looks at me funny, but I don’t bother to explain. Instead, I race to the bathroom, phone in hand, a horrible, sickening feeling creeping into my veins.
When I’m out of sight and tucked into a corner where I won’t get yelled at for being on the phone, I call Holt. I shift back and forth on my feet as it rings and rings . . . and rings.
“Hey, this is Holt. Leave a message.”
“Shit,” I say while hanging up.
Maybe he couldn’t hear it ring. I type out a text to him.
Harmony: Hey, give me a call. Everything is fine with the baby. I just need to talk to you.
I stare down at my phone, willing it to ring. Praying that he’ll text me back, call me, anything before he finds out Chet is there.
But after five minutes, six minutes, seven, I realize I have no choice but to head back to the study group. Otherwise, they’ll think something is wrong with me.
With a stomach full of nerves, I sit back down at the table and pick up where they are, but everything they say is in one ear, out the other.
This is unlike Holt; he doesn’t miss a call. He doesn’t let a text go unanswered for this long.
I worry my lower lip, my mind racing, spinning, careening with possibilities.
If only I had Carson’s number. Do I know anyone else who’d be there? I glance around at the table. Anyone who would be there that I know is sitting here with me, studying.
“What do you think, Harmony?” Nicole asks.
“Huh? What?” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. My head is—”
“Oh shit. Chet got into a fight at the baseball loft.”
My stomach drops.
The walls around me fade to black as the room starts to slowly spin. My pulse picks up, thumping so hard that I can feel it in the back of my throat.
“Of course he would. He’s such a douche,” one of the guys says. “Who did he fight with?”
“Not sure,” Roger says. “Fisher just texted me and said Chet got in a fight and had to be escorted out by the baseball team. Apparently got his face creamed.”
I start to hyperventilate.
I glance down at my phone, and still nothing. It can’t be Holt. I asked him—begged him—not to go near Chet. He promised he wouldn’t.
So why do I have this awful, terrible feeling that the reason Chet was escorted out of the baseball loft was because of my boyfriend?
“He’s a douche and deserved it,” Nicole says while checking her phone. “I feel like our attention span has reached its limit. Should we call it early?”
“Yes,” I say before everyone else, already packing up my bag.
Nicole laughs. “Well, then I guess we’ll call it a night. No one tell our TA.”
Everyone laughs—everyone except me, because it feels like my heart is in my throat right now—and we all finish packing. I give everyone a halfhearted goodbye and quickly hurry out of the library. I try calling Holt again, but he doesn’t pick up. I hang up and dial Priya.
“Oh, please tell me you got out early and you’re on your way.”
“Chet was at the baseball loft,” I say in a panic as I quickly walk to the parking lot, the cold night air stinging my lungs.
“What? Chet McKay?”
“Okay,” she says skeptically.
“Priya, a guy in my study group said Chet got in a fight at the baseball loft and had to be escorted out.”
“Oh shit.”
“Exactly. I tried calling and texting Holt and he hasn’t answered. Tell me I’m freaking out and I should just come home rather than drive over to the loft to see if he’s okay.”
“Come home. I’m sure it’s—”
Beep.
I glance at my phone. Holt’s name shows on the screen. “He’s calling. I’ll call you back.” I hang up quickly and answer Holt’s call. “Holt, hey.”
“Uh, Harmony?”
That’s not Holt’s voice. I slow down. I see my car a few feet away but can’t seem to make it there as the worst possible scenario passes through my mind.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
“It’s Carson.” He’s whispering. “I was told not to call you, but I’m pretty sure you’d want to know what’s going on.”
My hand falls to the car next to me to hold me up. “What’s going on, Carson?”
“Holt got in a fight. He, uh . . . he passed out in his room while I was taking care of his knuckles. We think it’s his heart.”
And just like that, the night sky swirls around me as my weary stomach tumbles to the ground. “Is he . . . is he okay?”
“He’s getting some tests done. I called his parents. They asked if I’d called you. So that’s what I’m doing.”
My throat closes up, making it next to impossible to talk, as my brain tries to process what’s happening.
“Harmony, you there?” In the background I can hear a doctor being called to the OR.
I swallow hard. “Ye-yeah.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. You have enough—”
“Where are you?” I say, my feet starting to move forward again.
“He’s not going to want you here.”
Fuck that. I’m his girlfriend. I’m having his baby.
“Where the hell is he, Carson?” I snap at him.
“The emergency room at General,” he says quickly, and then he mutters, “Holt is going to kill me.”
I hang up before he can say anything else. I shoot a text to Priya to let her know what’s going on, and then I head straight to the hospital.
* * *
I pace the lobby of the emergency room, trying not to stare at the guy with a finger in an ice bag, or the woman who keeps throwing up in the corner. With my arms wrapped around my waist, I keep to myself, waiting and waiting, until . . .
“Harmony.”
Carson is standing at the door, waving me in. I quickly walk over to him and follow him to a curtained-off section of the ER. He pulls back the curtain, revealing Holt lying on the bed, propped up, shirt off, monitors attached to his chest, his knuckles bandaged up, and an IV hooked up to his arm. He rolls his head to the side, and when he makes eye contact with me, his eyes narrow at Carson.
“What the fuck, man?”
“Don’t even think about yelling at him,” I say, stepping up to his bed.
“Uh, I’ll give you two some privacy. Don’t forget, curtains are your walls.”
Carson disappears, and Holt says, “This is nothing. They’re just making sure everything is fine.”
A flood of emotions hits me all at once, and before I can stop myself, tears flood my eyes and trickle down my cheeks.
“Baby, come here.”
Holt holds out his hand, but I don’t take it. Instead, I stand in front of him, crying, my body shaking.
“Harmony, I can’t get up. Please come here.”
I take a step forward, and he pulls me down onto the bed so I’m seated next to him. He then tugs me even closer so I’m lying on the bed with him.
“Shh,” he coos into my ear. “I’m okay.”
I cling to him, my hand falling to his chest, my emotions completely overwhelming, tying my tongue in knots. I want to yell at him. I want to tell him how mad I am at him for putting himself in this situation. But I can’t seem to get anything out as I listen to his heart monitor beep in the background, reminding me that he’s okay.
I faintly hear a nurse come in and talk to Holt, and I hear him tell her that I’m his pregnant girlfriend and that I’m okay, just upset. The nurse removes the heart monitor, and he’s left to wait for the doctor.
I’m not sure how long it is, but I know I fall asleep at one point, and I’m in and out of it until the doctor pushes through the curtain. He takes a look at Holt’s chart and says, “Run over the night. What happened?”
Holt shifts, but keeps his arm wrapped around me. “Uh, was a bit stressed earlier on, was triggered, and, uh, last thing I knew, my buddy Carson was driving me to the hospital.”
The doctor studies Holt and then looks at me. “You know, she really shouldn’t be in here, but we’ve made an exception. If you can’t be honest with me, then I’m going to have to ask her to leave so that you’re honest.”
I start to lift off him, but he holds me tight, not letting me go anywhere. “This is my girlfriend. She’s pregnant. I’ve been stressed out about the future and what we’re going to do in the spring. I had a stress test done on Monday with my trainer and coach, something we do every month, and my results were higher than normal.”
What? Why didn’t he tell me this? I stiffen against him and he holds me down, keeping me close.
“I’ve been worried about Harmony, today was a stressful day, and I felt shortness of breath at times.”
“What?” I say faintly, unable to comprehend what he’s saying.
Shortness of breath? We were on the phone only a few hours ago and he didn’t even mention feeling out of sorts. Why wouldn’t he say anything?
“And I was triggered at a party tonight. I got in a fight and last thing I knew, I was being driven to the hospital with my friend. He knows I have Long QT Syndrome, and since I had a similar situation last year, he was covering all bases by bringing me here.”
I feel ill.
The thought that something terrible could have happened to Holt, to his heart . . . it’s too consuming. Too overwhelming.
“I’m glad he brought you in. Given your medical history, it’s always good to check in on these things,” the doctor says casually, as if my anxiety isn’t about to drown me in fear. “We looked over the chart and readings of your heart and everything seems to be normal if slightly elevated, but nothing to keep you here longer. Taking in what you’ve been going through recently and your body’s responses, it seems as though you may have had a panic attack, which would have caused the shortness of breath and possible fainting. When our bodies are stressed, worried, or pushed to the max, which I’m assuming yours has been, given your status on the Brentwood baseball team, it’s very plausible that this is a signal. Your body is trying to tell you to relax.”
“Yeah, easier said than done,” Holt says, pushing his hand through his hair.
“I suggest you find a way.” The doctor shuts the chart.
“Everything with my heart is okay, though?”
“Everything checks out fine. I’d like you to follow up with your doctor in a few days just to make sure everything is good, but you’re free to go.” The doctor stands. “And some advice coming from a fellow young parent—my girlfriend was pregnant at nineteen. Communicate. Even if the conversation is hard, always communicate.” He taps Holt’s chart on the bed. “The nurse will be in shortly with your discharge papers.”
When he disappears behind the curtain, I lift up from the bed and look Holt in the eyes. My mind is racing. How could he? How could he possibly think it’s okay to keep this all a secret? Especially when I’ve asked him multiple times if everything is okay. Does he not trust me? I thought we were in this together.
He drags his hand down my arm. “Listen—”
I hold up my hand, not wanting to hear a goddamn thing he has to say. “I’ll be waiting for you o
utside.”
And then I take off without another word. I can’t get into it with him with only curtains surrounding us. Not with what I have to say, not with the shattering anger that’s piercing through me.
As I retreat, I hear him mutter, “Fuck.”
Fuck is right.
* * *
“Take it easy on him,” Carson says after watching me pace the lobby for ten minutes.
“Take it easy on him?” I ask, stopping in front of Carson and looking up at him as he casually steps back and sticks his hands in his pockets. “What does that even mean?”
“He’s been a mess lately.”
“Yeah, and he should have told me that.” Gesturing toward the exam rooms, I ask, “Did you know he had an elevated stress test with your coach this week?”
Carson’s eyes narrow. “No.”
“Yeah, neither did I. And as the mother to his unborn baby, don’t you think that’s something I should have known?”
Carson doesn’t get a chance to answer because Holt walks into the lobby, carrying a few papers in the hand that isn’t wrapped up. I take one look at him, shake my head, and then head out to the parking lot.
“Harmony, wait,” he says, chasing after me.
When we reach outside, he tugs on my arm, but I shake him off, charging toward my car.
“Harmony, please. Let’s just talk.”
“Uh, do you want me to wait for you?” Carson asks.
“Nah, I’ll get a ride with Harmony.”
Turning around and addressing Carson, I say, “I suggest if you don’t want your friend walking home, you wait for him.”
Eyes wide, Carson says, “I’ll, uh, wait in my car. Three rows over, bud.”
I continue moving toward my car, and just as I reach it, Holt charges in front of me and blocks me from getting in. My anger is a visceral thing, making me red-hot and shaky.
“Can you just stop for a second?” Holt holds out his hand. “Let me explain.”
I glance up at him, my eyes meeting his, and I can’t hold back. The anger comes pouring out of me. The fear, the nerves, the anxiety that wrapped around my lungs as I drove toward the hospital, unsure if he was okay. It pours out of me like a tidal wave. “How dare you,” I say, my voice a menacing tone. “How dare you put yourself at risk like that when there are two people depending on you?” I take a step forward and poke him in the chest. “How dare you not tell me about your test earlier this week, or neglect to tell me what’s been going on? Do you think I’m stupid? That I haven’t noticed the shift? That I haven’t noticed your reluctance to touch me? To kiss me like you used to?”
The Strike Out Page 26
