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The thing about drinking to obliterate everything is that it’s temporary, and when the numbing liquid leaves your system, you’re still left with everything you tried so hard not to feel and a killer headache to boot. My head feels heavy and my temples throb with a dull ache. There’s a pounding noise and I think it’s all in my head, but then I hear the door open and then click shut. I make no move to get up from…
Where the fuck am I?
I look around, only able to muster enough strength to open one eye, and take in my surroundings. I’m on the floor, that much is obvious, and there’s a bed. If breathing didn’t fucking hurt I’d let out a sigh of relief at the sight of my room. But it hurts. So fucking much. The gaping hole is still where my heart should be, pulsing angrily as if I need reminding of its presence.
My bedroom door flings open and the crash has me cradling my head between my hands. The loud noise reverberates through my skull and bounces back and forth.
“How long has he been like this?” a deep, gruff voice rumbles. I work to push away the haze surrounding my brain, I know that voice.
Coach Morgan.
“Three days,” Brody’s voice comes.
Three days? No wonder it feels like the Hulk is using my head as a punching bag.
“C’mon, help me get him in the shower. We can’t talk sense into him when he stinks worse than a drunk after Labor Day.”
Two sets of hands wrap around my arms and hoist me up into a semi-standing position. My clothes are stripped until I’m only left with my boxer briefs. Everything around me is a complete blur. Coach Morgan and Brody help me climb into the shower and turn the hot water on. When I’m left alone, my body sags until I’m sitting on the floor, hot water cascading over my weary body. I sift through my memory, trying to remember anything from the last three days, but I draw a blank. I groan. Even that hurts.
When I’m sure I can stand, I stumble my way out of the shower and pull on a clean shirt and sweatpants. By the time I make it downstairs, Coach Morgan and Brody are talking in the living room.
Coach Morgan looks at me, his grimace firmly in place. “Welcome. It’s about time you got your shit together Carter.”
I blink several times. Hearing Coach Morgan cuss is strange. He only does it when he’s really really pissed, and judging by the look he’s giving me right now, he’s pissed with me.
Brody walks to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water and some aspirin. I chug the water and the pills greedily, eager to knock the Hulk punching my head on his ass.
“What are you doing here Coach?”
“I want to know what the hell happened between you and Huntley in that goddamn hospital room and what the hell you plan on doing to fix it.”
I’m too occupied with how much hearing her name hurts to be taken aback by the anger in Coach Morgan’s voice. It’s misplaced considering I’m the one who was left devastated.
I pull both my hands through my hair, exasperated. “She told me to leave.”
Brody and Coach Morgan both frown at me like I’m crazy. “Why would she do that?” Brody asks.
“I don’t know,” I sigh heavily. Talking about this is going to kill me but I need to know. “How is she?” I look at Coach Morgan and try desperately to hide how vulnerable and helpless I feel.
“She’s a mess. And she’s so damn stubborn,” he exhales audibly. “Emma has been trying to get her to talk about it but it’s like she’s gone into hiding.”
Coach Morgan’s phone rings, interrupting our conversation. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he steps away to answer it. My thoughts immediately go to who he’s talking to. Is it Mrs. Coach? Is she calling about Huntley? is something wrong with her? Is something wrong with the baby?
“Gray,” Brody’s voice distracts me from all the questions exploding in my mind. He’s watching me, every part of his face emanating concern.
“Hmmm?”
“How do you feel about Huntley being pregnant?”
Coach Morgan walks back into the living room before I can answer. His expression is a mixture of shock and relief.
“That was the Police Department,” he says, “Jake died in the holding cell last night.”
My mind draws a complete blank as I stare at him. If I wasn’t already sitting down my knees would’ve given in and left me flat on my ass. My mouth opens and then closes several times but nothing comes out.
What?
“Did they say how?” Brody asks. At least one of us is able to find his voice. This news has all three of us dumb-struck.
Coach Morgan slumps onto the couch, still staring wordlessly at his phone. He shakes his head as if to drag himself out of a stunned trance. “He somehow got a knife snuck in and killed himself.”