The Baller - Vi Keeland Page 0,74

bumped straight into a man who was waiting to enter, never even seeing him until my foot was on top of his. He fumbled before catching the coffee he was holding, but not before a splash of it hit his crisp white dress shirt. I apologized profusely and attempted to make it the rest of the way out of the lobby unscathed. I almost made it, too. Until my collision with the glass turnstile exit—my face actually smacked into the bright yellow Out of Order sign with the big arrow pointing to another door. That accident wasn’t my fault—I was paying attention as I walked. The problem was that my attention was on the beautiful woman sitting in the lobby, staring at me—and not on the electric door that wasn’t working.

Willow.

Football players were supposed to be tough. Ten three-hundred-and-fifty-pound men piled on, kicking and scratching, elbowing and clawing, to get at the lone guy holding a scrap of leather. I’d been the guy on the bottom of the pile a hundred times. We got back up, brushed the dirt from our eyelashes, discreetly straightened a dislocated thumb, and jumped back into the action for another round.

But tough had its limits. Even a diamond, if you hit it at the exact right place, the spot where it was flawed and weak, would sometimes shatter. Marlene was my weak spot.

Willow cried while the doctor spoke. She didn’t make it past no functional brain activity. Silent tears fell as he continued on about our choices, one worse than the other. But I held strong. Even thanked him before he left, saying he would come back later that afternoon to discuss our decision. When I closed the door behind him, there was just enough time to catch Willow before she fell.

She crumpled in my arms, her shoulders shaking, body trembling, sobs racking her body. The croak in her howl revealed her physical pain. I held tighter.

Hours later, she was better—patched back up as best as I could. Hell, she’d even laughed a few times in the last hour as we played Wheel of Fortune, one of us on either side of Marlene as we wrote down our guesses.

The last puzzle had most definitely been a mood changer.

Category: Thing.

_UCK _E IN THE A_ _ TONIGHT.

Really?

Only one of us had gotten LUCK BE IN THE AIR TONIGHT. And it definitely wasn’t me.

After a good laugh, Willow went down to the cafeteria to grab us some lunch. An aide came in and changed Marlene’s pillows and refreshed the pink plastic pitcher with new water. She straightened up a bit and nodded before she left.

Busying myself, I noticed she had left the bedside drawer open just a little, so I walked over to shut it. But for some reason, I opened it first. Inside was only one thing—Marlene’s powder-blue denture case. They had taken her teeth out when they put the breathing tube down her throat. I stared at it—I had no idea why, it was certainly a random enough thing to set me off, but seeing that case made me lose it. I bawled like a bitch.

It had been years since I cried.

When I heard the door open behind me, I was still standing in front of the open drawer. I shut it, leaned down, kissed Marlene on the forehead and went to the bathroom without turning around for Willow to see my face.

This morning with Delilah felt like days ago. Between emotions running high and a day of marathon game shows, I hadn’t texted her an update all day. I dug my phone out of my pocket and powered it on.

Brody: Still at the hospital. Leaving soon for practice. Coming back here tonight after. Doctors are going to turn off the ventilator at nine.

Delilah: That’s good, right?

Brody: No.

Delilah: Oh God. I’m sorry. I thought you meant there was an improvement.

Brody: It’s what she would have wanted.

Delilah: I’m glad you know that, and I hope that brings you some peace.

Brody: Breakfast tomorrow, maybe?

Our texts were flowing fast, but there was a long pause before her next response.

Delilah: I actually have a breakfast meeting I can’t miss. Lunch, maybe?

Brody: OK.

Delilah: Call me whenever you need tonight. The time doesn’t matter. I’ll be thinking of you.

That night, Willow and I took turns saying goodbye to Marlene before the doctor came in. I don’t remember saying goodbye to my mother—I was too young when she died. But I imagined it felt an awful lot like saying those last words to