I give him my standard response, rolling my eyes.

Jordan: I was washing my hair.

BigBananaBoy: And you’ve never lived it down since, have u?

Not from Leah or Paige. And enough with the banana talk.

Jordan: Have you spoken to Brody this morning?

BigBananaBoy: The grumblebum is awake and angry, and he’s busy letting me know just how much.

Jordan: Go easy. He has to deal with his asshole father today.

The barista calls my name. I grab my cup and venture toward the departures board. My head tips back as my eyes roll down the list, searching out Austin. With a single blink, every departure time listed changes. I groan. Those closest duplicate the sound. Heavy morning fog has delayed every flight on the board.

Sipping my latte, I text Jax the bad news.

Jordan: Flight delayed an hour. Shoot me now.

BigBananaBoy: Sucks to be you.

Jordan: Hey you didn’t tell Brody I’m coming did you?

BigBananaBoy: You are? Take a photo. I want to see your sex face.

Jordan: You live in the gutter.

BigBananaBoy: You should visit me down here. It’s filthy fun.

Jordan: You can have your gutter. I’m married to the newly crowned Hottest Rookie in the NFL.

BigBananaBoy: No fucking way!

Yes way, because I’m staring at the magazine cover right now from the newsstand, my mouth open in shock. Brody is on it, looking like I’ve never seen him before. Tight black and burnt orange uniform, tanned skin, black stripes under his eyes, and a fierce glower that razes you on the spot. The photo is sexy as fuck. That’s my husband. Pride hits me, along with the urge to snap up every copy in existence. I don’t want that fierce glower aimed at anyone but me.

I have to settle for purchasing just two copies—one to keep nice and the other to read on the plane—otherwise I wouldn’t fit them all in my carry-on. I go find a seat and settle in, and eventually my flight is called. Dumping my empty latte in the bin, I shoulder my bag and line up at the gate, sending Jaxon a quick message before switching off my phone.

Jordan: Boarding now. See you on the flip side.

But I don’t see him. When I reach the arrivals zone Jaxon isn’t there. Twenty minutes later and no answer from his phone, I head for the taxi zone, wheeling my suitcase behind me.

My phone rings just as the driver is stowing my suitcase. In my haste I fumble the damn thing and it drops in the gutter. My thigh muscles scream with exhaustion as I crouch low to pick it up, just missing a call from Brody. “Crap,” I mutter.

Sliding in the back of the car, I get a beep from voicemail.

“Where to, ma’am?”

Providing the driver with the address of Jaxon’s apartment, I hit play on the message and put the phone to my ear as we pull out of the airport. Brody’s voice filters through. It’s slurred and garbled, making no sense.

My chest begins to pound, my fingers shaky as I press the button to replay it. But there’s no technical glitch. The message comes through again, exactly the same.

A cold sweat breaks out across my body. Not caring about surprising Brody anymore, I try calling but he doesn’t answer. I try Jaxon again. No answer. Something’s wrong. Very wrong. And it chills my blood. I glance up, scanning the surroundings to see how far away we are. Too far. We’ve barely cleared the airport.

“Please hurry,” I tell the driver, my heart pounding with a fear I can’t rationalize. I pocket my phone, keeping it close.

Twenty minutes later, we turn down Jaxon’s street. An ambulance is double-parked in front of his apartment block, lights flashing. I want to throw up. “No, no no, no, no,” I chant rapidly, my voice rising with each syllable that leaves my mouth.

“Ma’am?” the driver asks, glancing at me in the rear view mirror.

Paramedics are wheeling a gurney from the building, their pace brisk. I’m not close enough to see who it is, but my gut knows, and Jaxon confirms it by following them out moments later.

“Brody,” I cry softly, grabbing for the door handle on the still moving vehicle. “Stop the car!” I scream shrilly.

He screeches to a halt, but I already have the door open. When my feet hit the ground I’m running, frantic.

“Hey, lady!” the driver yells after me, his head out the window and honking his horn. I haven’t paid my fare and my luggage is still in the boot of the car. I don’t hear or see him. My focus is on the gurney the paramedics are wheeling toward their ambulance.

“Jaxon!” I cry out.

He turns, his face ravaged and wild with panic.

Oh god, this is not happening.

It feels like it takes me forever to reach them, my body running through quicksand. People nearby have stopped in their tracks, watching the scene unfold before their eyes. I push through them, not even noticing when someone I knock stumbles to the side.

“What happened?” I ask breathless, jogging with the gurney as I look down at Brody. He’s unconscious. A tube is jammed through a cut in his throat, blood smeared down along the incision. His neck is mottled with red and purple, his lip split, and eye swelling closed. He’s a bruised mess.

The paramedics remain tightlipped.

“Please!” I shout, desperate. “I’m his wife!” I turn to Jaxon as they wheel him inside the waiting vehicle.

“I shouldn’t have left him alone,” Jax cries. He fists hands in his hair, tears rolling down his face. “Oh god, Jordan. I can’t …”

“Someone fucking talk to me!” I scream, frustrated and frightened. My body is shaking and my lungs have no air. I’ve never been so scared in all my life. Brody’s body begins seizing violently. A sob breaks from my chest seeing him so broken and vulnerable.

“Ma’am,” the paramedic says to me after leaping in the back of the ambulance. “Get in.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I spring into action, jumping inside the back. The doors slam closed behind me. Moments later, the ambulance screams to life, rocking as we push our way into traffic, sirens piercing the air.

“Please,” I beg again, watching the paramedic turn Brody to the side while his body suffers through the convulsions.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Jordan.”

“I’m Rafe,” he replies, but I don’t want ridiculous introductions. I want answers. “Jordan, your husband overdosed.”

I suck in a sharp breath, watching frozen as he returns Brody to his back. There’s a needle already set up in his inner elbow. Rafe hooks it to an IV with fast, efficient movements.

“No,” I choke out. “You must be wrong. He wouldn’t do that.”

Rafe shakes his head as he hooks Brody up to machines. The sound of a pulse flickers to life inside the ambulance. It’s faint and erratic. “A mix of painkillers and sleeping pills.”

Oh god, Brody, why? Tears spill over and my heart breaks right down the middle as I look down at his face. “I can’t lose him,” I say through a sob.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Rafe reassures.

I hear the conviction in his voice as he checks Brody’s vitals, but I’m not reassured because his eyes tell a different story. They’re saying he’s seen it all before. Brody is just another statistic. Another young life lost before it’s barely begun.

My hands fist, fighting the urge to scream and rage my denial. There’s still hope. Pushing my way in beside the paramedic, I sink to my knees beside Brody.

“Get back,” Rafe orders.

I ignore him. Wiping tears from my face, I lean close and brush damp hair off Brody’s forehead with gentle fingers. “I won’t leave you,” I croon into his ear, praying that somewhere deep down he can hear me, and that he can feel me at his side. “I promise. Not ever.”

Moments later, the unthinkable happens. Brody flatlines and I lose my fucking mind.