Off Limits, Reyes

Amara's PoV

The vending machine at the end of the hall buzzed the same broken note it had for six days straight, and I'd started timing my breathing to it just to have something to hold on to. My phone glowed against my knee three missed calls from a number I still hadn't deleted, a voicemail I hadn't let myself play. Down the corridor, a door opened and closed on a laugh that didn't belong here, and I flinched like it had been aimed at me.

I wrapped my fingers around the bracelet in my pocket until the little hockey sticks bit into my palm, an old habit I couldn't seem to break even now. "You should go home and sleep, hon," a passing nurse said, gentle in that way reserved for people who look like they might shatter. I only shook my head, because home didn't feel like anywhere anymore, and some nights the hardest part wasn't the waiting it was remembering who I used to be before I'd learned to wait like this.

I used to stand by the idea that every girl dreamed of a perfect boyfriend. For three years, mine was the guy who made me smile after an unfair B on a math quiz. He was also the one who invited me to every hockey game while I watched him slam pucks into the goal net. All for his pro dream.

To show I was a supportive girlfriend, I crafted a lucky bracelet with two tiny hockey sticks for Xavier Cole.

And now, after three freaking years together, Xavier peeled off that bracelet and let it hang between us inside a chilling hospital hallway. His eyes fixed on the floor, blinking too often.

"What did you say?" I asked, my chest heaving.

Xavier finally closed his eyes, pouring out a tired breath. "Come on, Mara, don't make me repeat it."

I suppressed a shudder and jabbed a thumb at the door behind me. "Xavier, my father's lying there," I croaked. "I ... I don't have time for your jokes."

His lips flattened into a line as he averted his gaze, like he had somewhere else to be. "I'm breaking up with you," he said. "This is my college freshman year."

I blinked, another reminder that it wasn't mine.

"College," he repeated, as though it explained everything. "You practically live here now. Amara, you don't even let me touch you anymore ... "

I raised a hand, cutting him off. My mind was too blank to even worry about sex. All this time, I thought he'd been holding me while I cried over Dad. I was wrong.

I inhaled deeply. The hospital air was thick with antiseptic and a whole lot of bullshit. Xavier's posture was relaxed and confident; even his speech sounded painfully rehearsed.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in disbelief. "Do I look like I exist to satisfy your needs? God, Xavier, is this really about my dad, or did you plan this right from the start?"

"Come on," he said lazily.

Xavier didn't dispute the accusation. He looked utterly bored. The same guy who had sworn we'd grow old watching our kids skate on the lake.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," I rasped, shaking my head. "So sorry for the girl whose life you'll ruin next."

"Amara, you are so selfish. I can't spend my time being a nurse," he snarled. "So, grow up; the world won't stop for you."

The world had already stopped for me. I wanted to ask him if waiting for my dad to wake up was supposed to match the thrill of drunk parties and hockey games.

When I didn't respond, he dumped the bracelet into my palm like it was made of filth. Xavier walked away, taking all the years of love and dreams with him.

After he disappeared around the corner, the hallway walls started closing in, clogging my throat, and I hurried into the room.

On the bed, Dad lay, hooked to a beeping EKG machine. His chest rose and fell with each breath, yet for the past month he was trapped in the fog of a coma. When he got laid off from work, he'd drunk his heart out and crashed into a truck on the way home from the bar.

I sat down beside him, grasping his heavy hand. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, wetting the back of his hand.

"Please wake up," I whimpered. "I can't do this without you."

The beeping was the only response I ever got.

Dad never liked Xavier, only ever acknowledging him with a dark scowl, saying I was too good for a troublemaking brat like Xavier.

How could I not be?

I was a straight-A student leading the debate team, while Xavier was scoring trophies as hockey captain at our high school.

Endgame. That was what our yearbook called us.

I let out a bitter scoff, remembering how I'd quarreled with Dad for threatening to split us up after Xavier took me for a road trip on his new motorcycle. I cried, swearing that I'd run away for good.

"Ducky, a man who loves you ... my God ... you're gonna feel it right here." Dad had said, thumping his fist to his heart.

"Deep down, you'll know he'd never put you in harm's way. But this is just a video game to Cole."

The memory struck me like a chord as I squeezed his hand. My body went numb. Daddy won. He actually got the last laugh.

Yet I'd do anything for him to crack a smile right now and say, "I told you so."

Suddenly, a sharp creak came from the hospital door, and I quickly wiped off my tears.

"Amara, do you have a moment?" asked Dr. Bryant.

I nodded and followed him out the door, where he studied me like I was a slide under a microscope. "I'm speaking to you as a human being and a father," he said kindly. "Can I offer a word of advice?"

"Sure."

"You've been coming here every day," he said. "And I get it, but you have to ... try to get back in the world. I'm sure Desmond will understand. He has nurses."

My shoulders locked as Dr. Bryant gestured at the door; I wanted to claw my way back inside and shut out the outside world. What could it offer me more than the sound of my dad talking again?

"Doctor, I'm the only one he's got right now," I replied, the words heavy under my breath. "I just can't pretend he isn't."

Dr. Bryant gave me a sad understanding nod, leaving me alone to face the room again.

***********

By the time I finally dragged myself back home that night, I slumped on the couch nursing a cold beer and greasy burrito. Nothing else could pass through my throat as I scrolled through my phone. All my friends seemed to line up on the social media feed.

Envy lay thick in my throat, and I swallowed hard at their stylized dorm pics, selfies with new friends in matching alma mater hoodies.

By now, I was supposed to be at a California college with Xavier, soaking up the sun. But his parents had laughed in our faces and forced Xavier to attend Michigan's Templeton University.

Prestigious. Elite-Coded.

A hockey player's paradise.

All he talked about during our high school senior year was joining the Gladiators and rubbing shoulders with some jerk named Malik Reyes.

With Dad in that bed, I couldn't go to college. My brain was too fried for any classes or assignments.

I set my phone aside, the screen still splashed with everyone's perfect life, and reached for the untouched pile of mail on the coffee table.

I ripped open the utility bills until I reached one from the hospital.

I sat up straight.

Medical: Twelve thousand dollars.

I couldn't breathe.

I scrubbed my eyes until they burned. The numbers were still there.

"What the actual fuck?" I barked at the crisp paper.

Why am I getting a bill this high?

Daddy had insurance.

In three strides, I was at the computer, its screen bright against my face as I checked the portal. My breathing slowed as I waited for the results to load.

Coverage: Lapsed.

My heart sank.

I checked three more times, but those two words still appeared.

"Geez, Daddy."

I buried my face into my palms. Shoot. This can't be happening. Wow, I can't even rot on my own couch over this breakup!

Nevertheless, I exhaled, and my fingers flew at the keyboard as I searched for high school diploma jobs.

The results knotted my stomach.

Janitor wanted.

Its wage was the highest among the list. Goosebumps prickled my skin; I'd tutored my high school janitor for his diploma. I'm sure he'd be glad to offer practical steps.

My head jerked back from the screen as I caught the name of the organization hiring.

Templeton University.

"Fuck," I breathed.