Page 219 of The Locker Room
a Denver hospital. The paramedics say he"s lucky to be breathing.”
A quote?“Oh Jesus. Holy fucking God.Chris.Where"s he going?
Jesus. I"ve got to call his family… oh, Jesus, Cliff, did you hear? Lady,
where"s he going? I don"t give a shit about your quote, just tell me about
Chris! Where"s he going?I don"t give a shit! C"mon, bitch, you"re the
one with the answers!Where"s he fucking going!”
The hotel phone exploded against the wall, and Xander was left
with Cliff"s panicky voice on the other end of the line.
“Just get a plane out here, Xander. You get the plane out here, I"ll
be there to take you to him, got it?”
“Oh Jesus.”
“Xander, do you got it?”
Xander fought to breathe, fought to see, fought to think. His vision
was dark, pewter gray, like that first night, when the shining magic boy
had played some ball with him, talked to him, joked with him, took him
home, took his heart—
Xander had a sudden vision of that shining boy, fourteen, slender,
flashing smile, dark eyes all mischief, and then he saw him, clavicles and
knees, bony elbows, narrow jaw, lying in a hospital bed, broken and
alone.
Cliff was yelling at him from the other end of the phone, and he
hadn"t taken a breath in too long.
He pulled in air, and again, and again and again, and then, when he
could see the room, he said faintly, “I got it, Cliff. I"ll let you know when
I get there.”
He was wearing jeans and tennis shoes and a hooded sweatshirt,
with his wallet in his pocket. He left everything else in the hotel room,
and didn"t make another phone call, just turned around with his wallet in
his pocket and walked out, looking for Wi-Fi and the airline on his phone
so he could buy his tickets before he got to the airport.
