Page 128 of Redemption
Something’s wrong—very wrong.
I search for MJ again, and I find her, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s looking down the field where her brother lies on the ground, crying out in pain. Horror fills her eyes, and my stomach churns.
I can’t hear anything besides my breath as I take off running down the field, but when I get there, I wish I had stayed away.
Langston is on the ground, his leg snapped at an awkward angle from a tackle that should have never happened.
The replays are playing on the big screens around the stadium. I watch in horror as, over and over again, the ball leaves Langston’s hand, and five seconds later, a big lineman comes in, tackling him and snapping his leg.
A cheap shot.
That’s all it took to ruin everything Langston’s been working for—everything MJ and I have protected him for.
Rage blinds me, making it impossible to see anything other than the number of the guy who tackled him.
Thirty-four.
When the number computes in my brain, I search for him on the field, finding him just off to the side, looking smug.
I don’t think. I just react.
Blind fury guides me until I’m pushing through the crowd of players at full speed. Number thirty-four’s helmet is in his hand, but when I tackle him, it flies out, landing somewhere on the ground beside us.
I get in one good shot to the face before someone has me by the waist, pulling me off.
Slowly, the stadium comes back into focus, the noise coming with it.
And by the time it fully returns, they’ve already carted Langston off the field, and MJ has disappeared from the stadium.
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The hospital is just down the street from the stadium.
I don’t even bother with a shower—stripping out of my uniform and throwing on some sweats. I take off at a dead sprint to my car.
Coach probably wants to have a conversation about that fight, but I’m in no mood. He can bench me at this point for all I care. I just need to make it to Langston and MJ.
With my phone in my hand, I try calling MJ over and over again, but I keep getting her voicemail.
“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up,” I chant, throwing my truck in drive and squealing out of the parking lot.
I’m in the emergency room parking lot within five minutes, haphazardly parking my truck and sprinting into the doors.
MJ, Abigail, and Dr. Harrison all sit in the emergency room with sober looks on their face.
Skidding to a halt in front of them, I ask, “Where is he? How is he doing?”
Abigail bursts into tears, and Dr. Harrison wraps an arm around her, patting her back. He looks like a man whose dreams have just been crushed.
MJ is the only person who acknowledges me. “He’s getting x-rays done right now. More than likely, he will have surgery in the morning, but Hayes—the doctor’s—” she stops, swallowing hard and lowering her voice. “They said this is the end of his career. He’ll probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life.”
Adrenaline whooshes out of me, and I fall into a seat.
The moment I saw Langston’s leg, I knew that would be the case, but it’s different hearing it confirmed by someone else.
MJ sits beside me, holding my hand in hers, and I take the comfort she offers, even though I should be comforting her. We both know that this will send him into a spiral.
We sit in silence until a nurse comes out. “Langston is back from x-rays. You can go back and see him now.”
