Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 25

25

T he fall happened quicker than I would have ever imagined it to.

I’ve had falls before, plenty of them. But every other time this has happened, I knew I was going to fall, I could feel it right before it actually happened. This time I didn’t feel it until I hit the ground.

Most of the time when you see someone fall on TV, it looks like it’s in slow motion, but even knowing that editing was the reason for it, I still used to think that would be how falling felt.

Not that I would have ever imagined this type of catastrophe in the first place, since I always used to believe that thinking about falling would make me afraid.

I guess that doesn’t matter now, considering that what I was most afraid of wasn’t the pain of the fall but the repercussions of not being able to land.

Lying on the ground now, I don’t even want to think about how I got here, or the sound of everyone’s gasps as I hit the ground, or anything other than the fact that I may have just ruined my life.

“Winnifred!” I hear the sound of my name, but it sounds far away. “Winnifred, are you okay?”

I open my eyes, but I can barely see through the tears that have already formed in my eyes.

I don’t feel the pain of the fall yet, but my body must already be registering it.

“Is my leg broken?” I ask nobody in particular as I keep my eyes glued to the ceiling.

Everybody stays silent.

“Please, someone answer me.” I look behind me, seeing a few of the girls from my class standing behind me with wide eyes.

“We don’t know, Winnie.” Someone answers.

I feel a tear track down my cheek, and without looking at my leg, I attempt to sit up, which sends a jolt of pain through my lower limb.

This is bad. This is so bad.

“Can someone go out to the front desk?” I hear Madame Bacri ask from where she’s standing above me. “Tell them we’re going to need an ambulance.”

“What?” I finally look down at my leg. “Oh my God,” I gasp, feeling all the air expel from my lungs.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

My entire ankle is swollen, already turning a nasty shade of purple. It is very clear that this time, the result of my fall is not just a small bump or a bruise. Something is seriously wrong.

I hold onto what I can to make myself feel better. At least I couldn’t see my bone sticking out.

“Just lay down, honey,” Madame Bacri says, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder and guiding my back towards the floor.

I can’t help but concentrate on how sympathetic she sounds and how that must be a sign of how hurt she thinks I am.

Everyone in this room is thinking the same thing: She is never coming back from this.

Tears continue falling down my cheeks, their motion stopping once I’m laid completely flat on my back.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my uneven breathing, while I hear the quiet mumbles of all the other girls in the room.

“Can you call someone?” I ask through tears. I don’t care who, but I need someone .

“Of course, can somebody call Logan Callaghan?” Madame Bacri asks the group of girls before looking back down at me, “Do you know where he is, honey?”

Madame Bacri never calls me honey, and that fact forces a sob to rack through my body. I know that something must be really wrong.

“He’s at home,” I reply, wincing when I feel a hand touch my thigh.

I try to distract my mind, focusing on anything other than the horrible pain radiating through my entire lower body.

I wonder how Madame Bacri knew to call Logan, but deep down, I know it’s because she thinks he’s my boyfriend after we danced together for the gala.

My brain strays to the background noise happening around me; many of the girls are whispering, and from my slight vantage point of the mirrored wall, I can see many of them watching me.

They must be talking about how terrible it is that this is how my ballet career ends and how they got to be the ones to witness it.

Meanwhile, I can barely think about it.

I don’t want this to be the end. My first day back since graduation, right after being yelled at for having too bad of tan lines now that it’s summer, and that’s how my career ends? It can’t be.

It won’t be.

W hen I got the call that Winnie needed me at the ballet studio right away, I knew something was wrong.

I drove down the street and into town quickly, bursting through the doors of the studio. Someone told me to stop running through the halls as I sprinted up the stairs, but I didn’t give a shit.

Something happened to Winnie, and I needed to get there.

Madame Bacri is waiting for me in the hallway, and her face confirms everything I need to know. Winnie is hurt.

“It doesn’t look good,” she tells me as I approach. “She’s panicking, and we just need someone to keep her calm until the ambulance gets here.”

“With all due respect, Madame Bacri, I am about to kick down this door just so I can see her.”

“Be my guest,” she replies, stepping out of the way.

When I finally burst through the door of the ballet room, all I see is Winnie’s frame, sprawled out on the ground. Her knee is twisted outward. It doesn’t look good .

Girls are crowded around her, and when I’m able to push my way through them, Winnie’s eyes lock on mine instantly.

“Logan,” she sighs, sounding relieved.

I try to stay calm, so I don’t freak her out. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Is it bad?” she asks.

I look down at her knee, pretending to assess what I already know. Yeah, probably . “I’m not sure. Not a doctor yet, remember?”

She smiles. “Did they call my dad?”

“Dr. Carter is waiting at the hospital,” Madame Bacri tells her. “He’s in surgery right now, but it sounds like he’ll be done soon enough.”

“Paramedics are on their way.” I rub Winnie’s arm, trying to distract her from the pain she’s feeling.

I have to admit, my girl’s got one hell of a pain tolerance.

“Are they close?” She looks up at me like she’s trying not to wince.

“Yeah, I’m sure they are,” I reply. “Just relax, sweetheart.”

The pained look on her face is bothering me because I know there’s nothing I can do about it.

“It’s bad, Logan,” she tells me, squeezing her eyes shut as tears fall. “I knew before I even hit the ground when I heard that pop sound. I’m done for the year, if not longer.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her as she grabs my hand, and I kiss her knuckles.

We both go silent for the next few minutes and Winnie flinches when the paramedics finally arrive, pushing a stretcher.

“You’re going to be fine. They’re going to do their best not to move you,” I say, pressing my lips to her hand.

Hearing her cry out as they pick her up and place her onto the stretcher has to be one of the more heartbreaking sounds I’ve heard in a while.

Her grip hardens as she holds my bicep like she’s making sure that I’m staying with her as she gets pushed down the hallway.

“Do you have to go?” she asks, and I hear her unspoken question: Do you need to be somewhere else?

“I’m staying right here with you,” I tell her.

“This is bad,” she says for maybe the hundredth time. “I can feel it in my gut. This is bad.”

I kiss her forehead. “Shh.” I obviously don’t want to tell her that her gut is wrong, but I also am not going to agree that her injury is as severe as she thinks it is. “You’re going to be with doctors soon enough.”

I ride in the ambulance alongside her, and every time one of the paramedics touches her, she squeezes my hand so hard that I think they’re scared of me because of how hard I’m glaring at them.

If she’s in pain, then just stop fucking touching her, is what I want to say.

She winces again, dragging the breath between her teeth.

“Can’t you guys give her something for the pain?”

“We’re still trying to find a good vein,” one of the paramedics says, searching Winnie’s arm.

I look down at her other arm, the one whose hand is squeezing mine. “Right there.” I point a vein out to him. It’s practically bursting from her skin.

They finally get an IV started, and by the time they administer morphine, we’re pulling into the hospital.

The first person I see is Winnie’s dad, waiting outside the bay’s entrance, and as soon as the doors of the ambulance open, he’s already there.

“What’s the provisional diagnosis?” he asks the paramedics.

“Likely a stress fracture, possibly tendonitis,” one replies.

“Honey, you’re going to be just fine,” he tells her before looking toward me. “How did I know you’d be here?” At first, I can’t tell if he’s happy about the fact, but then he smiles like it means something to him for me to have stayed with her.

“I’ll follow her wherever she goes, sir.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Logan, but for right now, you’re going to have to stay in the waiting room.” He points me toward one of the family areas while Winnie is wheeled into a patient room.

It doesn’t bother me much. I know protocol is there for a reason, but as soon as I sit in the faux leather chair, I’m already itching to get back to her.

B y the time I’m allowed into Winnie’s room, all of the doctors have funneled out, and there’s not very much information to be given by a morphine-high Winnie.

When I first enter the room, she’s sitting up, looking down at her foot like it somehow let her down, like she’s let herself down, and God, it kills me.

“How ya holding up?” I ask, pulling up a chair next to her.

“The pain meds kicked in,” she says sleepily. “I’m just upset I’m here.”

“Yeah,” I agree. I don’t want her here either because I know how much it’s destroying her spirits.

“I’m going to have to quit ballet,” she says under her breath like it’s some type of realization she’s only now come to.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I tell her, grabbing her hand. “It could be a lot worse than you think. Plus, lots of people return from injury.”

“In four months?” She sighs. “I’m going to get kicked out of the NYU ballet company when they find out I’m injured.”

“If that happens, it just means you’ll have more time to heal, and you can audition again once you’re better.”

“That’s not a good answer,” she replies. “I’m supposed to be worried about getting better than I already am, not having to try and get this good again.”

I understand her concern. She doesn’t want to take any steps backward, especially when the NYU ballet company is on the line.

“I know, Win, it sucks.” I rest a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her deltoid. “Right now, let’s just hope for as small of a setback as possible, alright?”

She throws her head back against the hospital bed, staring up at the tiled ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Winnie—”

“I was getting tired, and right before I jumped I had a feeling that my leg was going to give out. I didn’t listen. I thought I could push through it. My body didn’t want me to do it, and it finally rebelled against me.” Tears are falling down her face, and I’m having flashbacks of a few hours ago when she was lying on the floor of the ballet studio.

I’m not sure what to do because there’s nothing I could say that would make the situation any better. It’s going to be frustrating for her no matter the outcome, and I can’t stop her from being disappointed, as much as I wish I could.

She reaches forward, silently asking for my hand. I give it to her, and when she squeezes it three times, I do, too.

Then her dad walks into the room, and the second he looks toward his daughter, his eyes fill with tears. “God, Win.”

“Dad.” She tries to laugh, to offer him some type of comfort, but it comes out hoarse. “I’m okay.”

“I know, I know.” He wipes his eyes. For such a hardcore guy, it’s odd for Winnie and I to see him this way. “It’s just—the last time I saw a long blonde-haired Carter girl roll into my ER in a gurney, it was your Mother. Not that this is a comparable situation, it’s just—it’s hard for me.”

Winnie’s heart breaks. I can see it in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Dr. Carter shakes his head. “No, honey. Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

The room goes silent, and her dad pulls out his hospital tablet to look at her chart.

I look toward the monitor above her head. “Why is your blood pressure so high?” My brow furrows, and her dad looks over. I may not know a lot about blood pressure, but I do know the normal range, and that is not it.

“Jesus, it’s almost in the 140s.” He hits the button on the machine to signal for it to take her blood pressure again. Maybe it’s just a fluke.

When it still shows her blood pressure is extremely high, he pulls his stethoscope off from around his neck. “Are you feeling any chest pain, honey? Or like it’s hard to breathe?”

“A little bit, but nothing too alarming,” she says.

Her dad looks at me, pressing the stethoscope to her arm under the compressor. “You want to be a doctor, don’t you?” he asks me when he’s done listening.

“Yes, sir,” I reply.

“Come over here and listen to this.” He motions for me to come closer, handing me the stethoscope.

I let out a sigh, knowing if he’s letting me do this, then it can’t be that serious.

“What am I listening for?” I don’t hear anything significant when I first put the ends in my ears.

“You need to count how long it takes for you to hear the first heartbeat.” He spends a few more minutes showing me how, talking me through it, as Winnie sits there like the willing participant she is.

When I confirm with my minimal knowledge that her blood pressure is extremely high, her dad leaves the room. I’m assuming he’s grabbing a nurse.

“Your heart seems to be beating out of your chest, Miss Carter.”

She smiles lightly, in a fog from the painkillers they’ve given her. “Only when you’re around.”

“Don’t play with my heart like that.” Thank goodness I’m not hooked up to a monitor because my heart rate definitely just skyrocketed.

“How does it feel knowing I was your first-ever patient?” she teases.

“It will forever go down in history,” I counter, grabbing her hand.

Dr. Carter comes back in the room with a nurse and a different doctor in tow.

Suddenly, Winnie’s face goes white. “Elizabeth?”

“Winnie, hi,” the doctor says. “Wow, I haven’t seen you since?—”

“Since the night my mom died,” Winnie interrupts.

Elizabeth gulps, brushing her comment off quickly. “Well, I looked at your x-rays, and there’s some good news and bad news.”

“First, we’re going to give you something for your blood pressure. You probably won’t have to stay on it long, but right now, you need it,” her dad tells her.

Winnie nods, still staring at Elizabeth. “What did my x-rays say?”

“Bad news: you have a stress fracture in your foot and a bit of tendonitis, just as the EMTs presumed,” Elizabeth says. “But the good news is, you’ll be back to ballet within the time summer’s over.”

It's not the news Winnie wanted to hear, but it’s almost the best-case scenario.

A tear rolls down her face, and my hand becomes her vice. She’s gripping it like she’s dangling off the side of a cliff, and I’m the only thing that can pull her back up.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her softly, my head burying in her hair.

Her dad steps out of the room, no doubt upset for his daughter.

“So, what now?” I ask Elizabeth.

“Neither cases need surgery, so you’re going to get a cast on the foot, stay off of it for six weeks, and then we’ll reevaluate,” she explains.

Watching them bring in the supplies to put a cast on Winnie breaks my heart. They ask her if she wants to pick the color, but she stays silent, staring at the ceiling. They look at me when she doesn’t answer.

“Pink,” I tell them.

They wrap her leg in the plaster, explaining every step to her.

“This cast is only meant to immobilize the bone for the time being. It’s not a death sentence,” I whisper to her, knowing she’s barely listening to the doctors.

They teach her how to use crutches and make her practice around the room before they leave. I’ve never seen someone look so miserable.

“This is the best-case scenario, honey,” her dad tells her when he reenters the room. “It could be a lot worse. You could have torn something and needed surgery.”

She nods. She understands that. “I’m just mad this happened now and not three years ago.”

“Everything’s going to work out,” I promise her.

“These injuries are common in ballet, Winnie. It’s your body’s way of telling you it needs a break,” Dr. Carter says.

“I’ve needed a break for the past five years,” she sighs. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“Well, now you do,” he replies. “I’m going to go fill out your discharge papers. Logan, can you take her home?”

“I don’t have a car, sir.” I came here in the ambulance with his daughter.

“Take mine.” He hands me his car keys. “I’ll catch a ride home after my shift.”

Winnie doesn’t want to use the crutches, so I carry her to the car. Setting her in the passenger seat and fastening her seatbelt.

She says a quiet, “Thank you.”

I’m not sure if it’s because she’s still on thepainkillers they gave her or because she’s so upset—it could also be a mixture—but the drive back to our houses is silent. Winnie stares out the window, and I keep my eyes on the road.

When I pull up her driveway, I get her crutches for her and get her safely out of the car and onto the cobblestone path .

“Be careful,” I say when she reaches the front porch steps.

“I’m fine,” she replies, taking the steps carefully.

“Do you want me to come in?” I ask, my voice cautious. She nods, still not facing me.

I step onto the porch and get the door for her. She looks me in the eye for the first time since she was told the results of her x-rays. Tears are welling in hers, and her crutches start to wobble as she becomes unstable.

“Come here,” I sigh, taking the metal rods from her hand and wrapping her in my arms. She falls into the embrace, sobs shaking her body. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

“I feel weird,” she tells me, looking at me for help.

“You’re just on some medication, Win. It should wear off soon.” I pick her up, carry her through the entryway and into the living room, and lay her down on the couch.

“Will you stay?” she asks quietly when I pull my arm out from behind her neck. “Please?”

“Of course,” I whisper, taking a seat near her feet.

“I keep thinking this could be the thing that is going to ruin my life.”

“A couple months and you’re going to laugh at yourself for ever thinking that.”

“You think so?” she asks.

“I know so.” Winnifred Carter is one of the strongest girls I know, hell to whoever thinks she isn’t going to come back from this.