Page 218 of The Locker Room

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into the playoffs, and Chris was gone for another six weeks. (Well, there

would be some time off in between, one week, at the very least, between

the last game and playoff season, but still.) Lose this game, and Chris

was home, cheering Xander on at the sidelines.

In the end, Xander liked to think his better nature won. Chris

finally landed a three-pointer, the buzzer rang, and Denver was in the

playoffs, and Xander was waiting to get Chris"s text that said they"d

meet at home.

The text never came.

Two hours after the final press conference, after trying Chris"s

phone about six hundred times, Xander was on the phone to Cliff.

“Cliff, hey—”

“Xan, I swear, he got out of the showers, dressed, and said he was

on his way to the airport.”

Denver was playing at home—it was maybe forty-five minutes to

the airport from the arena, and Xander"s stomach went cold, and then the

entire rest of him, down to his numb fingertips and his icy lips.

“He was okay, right? I mean, you know….”

Cliff grunted. “I know he still carries a hip flask, man, but I don"t

think he"s used it.”

Xander swore. “What was he driving? I"m going to call him one

more time, and then I"m calling the cops.”

Xander was cut short as the phone in the hotel rang.

“Wait a sec, maybe this is him.” Xander balanced a phone on each

ear, and waited for Chris"s voice on the other line.

It wasn"t Chris; it was a woman from the press. She wanted a

quote.

“A quote on what?”

The Locker Room 189

“Christian Edwards—he"s just been life-flighted off the freeway to

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