Breaking The Rules: Book 2

Chapter 18: The Butterfly Effect

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟹𝚝𝚑
Parker POV

The Butterfly Effect. Noun.

Google describes it the best: a property of chaotic systems by which small changes in initial conditions can lead to large-scale and unpredictable variation in the future state of the system.

Bouncing from the camp to the hospital, then taking a flight back to San Francisco with Miles while Greyson and Griffin take a helicopter, then waiting in another hospital has given me nothing but time.

Time to think about my past, Griffins past, and the now unforeseeable future.

If a butterfly flapping its wings can lead to a hurricane destroying a city, then it's not far fetched to think that if I wouldn't have stolen Griffins skateboard in second grade, he wouldn't currently be cut open on an operating table.

There are a million memories like that.

I shouldn't have dropped his Little League trophy and broken it. I shouldn't have tripped him while jumping into the pool. I shouldn't have taken the last slice of pizza. I shouldn't have screamed at him in freshman year for being heartless. I shouldn't have gotten distracted by my boyfriend the night before Griffin's injury, not when I could've spent those last few hours with him.

I shouldn't have I shouldn't have I shouldn't—

"Park. Love, wake up."

A gentle hand shakes my shoulder.

Inhaling deeply, I blink the sleep out of my eyes and slowly sit up, my spine popping in protest. I don't remember exactly when Miles sat down on the floor and when or how my head ended up on his lap, however considering the numb pain shooting down my left side, we've probably been here for a few hours.

I rub my fingers over my eyes and blink again, squinting up at the bright fluorescent lights.

Greyson is already on his feet, his face somber as he rushes to gather his bags off of the waiting chairs.

Miles and I have had no issues expressing our rollercoaster of emotions over the last twenty four hours, while Greyson has been like a dam that's bound to break any second.

Griffin has spent his entire life denying the fact that his father cared for him, to the point where I almost started to believe him. That was before I saw his leg become detached from his body, blood staining the field. I've never heard any grown man scream louder in my life then how Greyson reacted in that moment.

He had mowed over scouts, medial professionals, and some of the biggest football boys in the country to get to his son.

An older male doctor is standing a few feet away, a clipboard in his hands and an apologetic smile on his face as he watches all three of us gather ourselves. He reminds me of the doctors on those late night medical shows that mom is obsessed with: deeply engraved worry lines, greying hair, receding hairline, glasses barely holding on to the bridge of his nose.

He lifts up his wrist to glance at his watch. "Since it is five after six, I believe that I have the liberty to say morning to you boys. I apologize that it took so long for me to get answers, it's been... ah... well, let me just show you guys. Come with me."