Page 9 of Loving the Legend
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m good.”
“It’s my job to worry about you. Promise me you’ll at least attempt to be friends with the guys in LA. It tears me up thinking of you holed up in your hotel or dorm after games like you were in college.”
I grunt. “I celebrated with the team in college a few times, didn’t I?”
“A few celebrations during four years of college…You're kind of proving my point. Promise me you’ll make more of an attempt in the league.”
I can’t promise him that, nor can I lie to him. I’m better on my own. Meeting his gaze, I silently beg him not to push me on this.
He sighs. “They’d want you to be happy, kid.”
My eyes sting as I climb to my feet and walk toward my room.
“I’m sure they’d want to be alive,” I mutter as I shut the door.
Once I strip down to my T-shirt and briefs, I sink into the bed. Though my eyes are too heavy to read, I tuck my book next to me. Unlocking my phone, I scroll to my favorites and hit play on a compilation video of Sid’s freak shots.
Sleep comes easily, whereas rest proves difficult.
I dream I am back in college. I turn in my philosophy paper and am headed to my dorm to pull an all-nighter for my calculus exam. I’m rounding the corner of the parking lot when I run smack into a crowd. There’s a murmur of excitement as I push through to the front. My pulse quickens as an ochre-colored Aston Martin with its gleaming winged logo comes into focus. I freeze in my tracks when I see who's leaning against the passenger door of the car.
Sid.
His face lights up when our gazes lock, activating all the nerves in my body. I glance past my shoulder to confirm he’s beaming at me, and I notice that everyone’s looking at me.
“Catch,” he says.
My hand darts up and clasps the car keys. He winks and climbs into the front passenger seat. His gold watch gleams against the sun as he gestures for me to get in. I pop my faded hoodie up to hide from the gazillion camera phones aimed at me. Throwing my bag in the back seat, I climb behind the wheel. As soon as the car fires up, everything shifts. I’m hurtling down the highway at breakneck speed. I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again and wince from the shooting pain between my eyes. When I glance over at the passenger seat, it’s empty. My breath reeks and tastes like booze. I slam on the acceleration, desperate to reach my dorm, before I puke all over myself. I signal to exit, or at least I think I do. As soon as I switch lanes, a piercing car horn blasts through the car, and a blinding light explodes in my peripheral vision. There’s a loud pop as my head smacks back, bouncing off the steering wheel. The road spins, gluing my head to the driver’s side window. I press against the throbbing ache in my head, and my fingers sink into a wet gash. I lower my hand to eye level—it's coated in blood. Another blinding light catches my peripheral vision just as I smack full force into another car. An agonizing scream pierces my brain, causing me to release the steering wheel and plug my ears with my palms. My mother’s powdery perfume wafts—”
“Hey, hey, wake up.”
Jerking awake, I almost headbutt Adam, whose face hovers over my own.
I palm the hammering in my head. “W-what happened?”
My shirt is plastered to my skin, slick with sweat.
“You were screaming and…” Adam’s voice trails off when I hold up a hand. A sharp twist in my stomach has me buckling over. I scramble out of bed, beelining for the waste basket, and hurl.
I jolt from Adam’s touch.
“Shh. It’s okay.” He rubs soft circles along my back.
My throat burns. The vile taste of sickness overwhelms my senses. I suck in air to calm the violent convulsions in my stomach. Scooting against the wall and tucking my knees against my chest, I dip my head between my legs. Just when I think things are returning to normal, the cries of horror from my nightmare—my mother’s voice—blast through my head like a blow horn. I stab my palms against my ears and collapse into a fetal position. Spots of darkness spread from the outer edges of my vision as the walls close in. My voice is in there somewhere, yelling for it to stop. A blast of tiny needles pierces my head and chest.
In an instant, the screams are gone.
“Tyler, hey, hey, you’re okay.” Adam’s leaning over me, cradling my head. “You had a panic attack…and a nightmare, I think.”
My teeth chatter. “C-cold.”
“You were in shock. I grabbed the only thing I could find.” He holds up an empty ice bucket.
“T-thanks,” I grunt.
He studies me. “You still have the nightmares.”
I wince. Technically, I didn’t lie. I told him that everything was under control, which it is. So what if I have nightmares from time to time—it doesn’t interrupt my game.
