Micah felt like pointing out that her berating of him was actually as insensitive as he was perceived to have just been, but the last thing Will needed was a war erupting over his prone body.
“It’s a fair question, actually,” Will mumbled. “I’m pretty fucked.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said, and Micah hoped she would keep holding it together.
“How are you guys?” He slurred the last word, and Micah hoped his meds were still working okay.
“Talk about your stupid questions,” Micah said, and he looked for a patch of bare skin to lay his hand upon. Will didn’t even feel warm; his skin was cool and clammy. “Don’t worry about us. That’s not hurting you, is it?”
“I can’t feel anything,” Will said. “In fact, I can’t feel much of anything right now.”
Mirroring Micah’s actions, Emma found her own patch of skin on Will’s other arm and stroked it gently.
“Can’t believe you guys are here.” Will snuffled, and Micah realised with alarm that he was crying.
“Will, don’t,” Emma said, and the floodgates were opened with her as well.
Micah felt his own eyes start to prick with tears, and he blinked them away furiously. Someone had to try and keep it together. But a sniff betrayed him, and Emma shot a surprised look at him—as if she finally realised this was truly affecting him too.
“My dad won’t come and see me,” Will said, “but you guys came from out of state. This is so fucked.”
Micah wanted to cover more of Will’s skin in an effort to console him. He had an absurd vision of stripping Will of his bandages and his own clothes, and lying upon him in order to make him feel close to someone again. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was a bizarre nurturing fantasy that confused him. He didn’t even know what part of Will he could touch without hurting him further. All he could do was hold onto that small stretch of arm and say, “Of course we would come, Will. We’re your friends.”
“We’re acquaintances at best,” Will said. He wasn’t being snarky, Micah could tell. He just seemed overwhelmed.
“Hey, we’re all GetOut kids,” Emma reminded him. “We stick together. Even those of us who aren’t there anymore.”
“Oh God, Will, stop her,” Micah said. “She’ll have us singing next.”
Will gave an approximation of a chuckle. The tears seemed to have stopped, for now, at least. “I can’t exactly shake it off right now, Taylor Swift.”
“You’re being very brave, Will,” Emma said. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.”
Micah knew it was because there was nothing else he could do. He was in that bed for the foreseeable future, and he had to deal or go crazy. Micah didn’t know if he could be that strong himself.
But Will’s answer was different, and just as obvious. “Because I’m pretending it’s not real.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that it made his whole situation seem even worse.
“But you’re going to have to—” Emma started, and he cut her off.
“I know. But just not today. Or maybe even this week.” His words slurred a little again, and he appeared to be falling asleep.
Henry entered, a takeaway coffee in hand. He noticed the state of Will and said, “He drifts in and out a lot. He’ll probably be out of it for at least half an hour.”
“I’ll be back before I leave Sunday,” Micah told him.
“Me too,” added Emma.
“I’d really appreciate that,” Henry said, looking at them with a kindness that Micah felt they—or, most likely, just him—didn’t really deserve. “And I know Will does too. He has another operation next week, and he’s dreading it.”
“So soon?” Micah asked.
“It’s really just one of many. He’s got a long road ahead of him, poor kid.”
They loaded their numbers into Henry’s phone so he could keep them up to date with any progress. But as they walked away they still didn’t feel they had done enough.
Emma, especially, was brooding. “Poor Will. All he has is his uncle.”
“At least he has Henry.”
“I just hope things start… I don’t know, improving? Seems too mild a word.”
He knew what she meant. “We’ll think of something to try and help them.”
“Us to the rescue? He would have to be desperate.”
But it didn’t need to be said that things were pretty desperate.
Chapter 12
MICAH WENT straight from the hospital to training. He really didn’t want to go home and get a concerned and worried third degree about Will from his parents. He texted Dec to let him know he and Emma had been to the hospital, although he knew Emma would have done the same.
We’re going in later this arvo, came Declan’s reply. Good luck with training today. Try not to let it affect the game.
Yeah, nothing could ever affect the game.
It was easier said than done, but Micah knew Declan had had to go into many games himself with the same attitude, even when his personal life was falling apart. Once again it seemed selfish to worry about himself when Will was the one truly suffering, but Micah also had to admit he was feeling like shit. Every step from the car park to the players’ entrance of the Etihad Stadium felt like he was walking in wet concrete. And his head was starting to pound to the rhythm as well.
His team members were spread out over the oval, sorted out into small groups that were testing each other with tackles or handballs or short kicks. Micah stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do, when Sam waved him over to his group.
Sam came to meet him, a small distance away from the rest of the group so he wouldn’t be overheard. “How did it go?”
“Pretty fucking awful.”
“I bet. But how are you?”
“Just wanna train. Don’t want to think.”
Sam regarded him for a long moment as if he wanted to say something else, but he nodded. “Okay. We can do that.”
Micah started stretching, and pretty much remained silent the rest of the day.