Page 43 of Summer Lessons
“I don’t even believe this,” Richie muttered, running a hand through his wild red hair. “Skip, your boss is an idiot—youdon’t even like riding in your Toyota, and it’syour car.”
“Richie, go get me the ice packs in my gym bag, okay?”
“Yeah—good idea, Skip!” Richie ran off, that boundless energy almost an assault on Mason’s senses. The other team had pretty much gathered to themselves at this point, and Mason wondered if they were laughing at the big clumsy guy who face-planted and now needed the entire world to administer to his boo-boo.
“This it, Skip!” Richie called, waving the bag in the air.
Skipper smiled benevolently at him like he’d done something amazing. “Yeah, Richie—that’s it. Bring it back, ’kay?”
“That’s so revolting,” Cooper muttered, shaking his head at Richie, and Mason would have taken offense, but Skipper grinned.
“His energy, or the fact thatheactually knows how to help a guy?”
“His energy,” Cooper replied, laconic. Cooper was sort of a big country boy who had played defense for the same reason Mason subbed it—he just didn’t move that fast. Skip laughed, and Mason realized that he was new to this little group, and unless he could come back and play, he’d be just a footnote in its history.
At that moment they all heard the loud rattle and backfire of an engine that hadn’t been serviced in years, and Terry came putting down the field.
Richie got back with the gym bags—Mason’s too, which he handed to Dane—and Skip pulled out an ace bandage and an ice pack, making busy while Terry wended his way around the squishier parts of the field. He came to a stop at the boundary line for their particular pitch.
Mason breathed shallowly through his nose for a moment while Skipper, with absurdly gentle movements, wrapped the ice pack to his ankle, taking his shoe off and putting it in Mason’s bag when he was done.
“We own a Lexus,” Dane said, coming out of what appeared to be a trance as he’d fixated on Skipper wrapping Mason’s ankle. “Mason, he’s just going to take you away in that thing when we came in a Lexus SUV. What in the hell?”
“Here, Skipper, help me up. I need to get some of the mud off so it doesn’t wreck his upholstery.”
“Yeah,” Carpenter said, getting on Mason’s other side and offering a solid shoulder. “That’s the problem with Jefferson’s car. Too much mud on the upholstery.”
Richie smirked and smacked Carpenter playfully on the arm and then fussed around Mason with a towel he’d grabbed from the sidelines. “You’re really okay,” he said, rubbing the rough cloth over Mason’s forehead and cheeks. “It’s mostly on your face and stomach—you won’t leave no assprints, so don’t worry none, okay?”
Mason nodded gratefully and then held on tight to Skip and Carpenter as they helped him hop toward the side of the field where Terry was headed.
“But…,” Dane muttered unhappily, “Mason—wehaveaLexus!”
“Let it go, Dane,” Carpenter told him gently. “It’s not the fucking car.”
“I am totally missing something,” Owens muttered.
“Or missingouton something.” Galvan smirked back. Mason glanced at them in time to see them locking surprised glances, and then Carpenter accidentally bumped his ankle and his vision went too black to see.
By the time the team had escorted him, en masse, to the car, he was pretty sure he was going to cry in a totally unmanly way, but he managed to control himself as they slid him in, and Dane thrust his gym bag on his lap. Terry had scooted the seat way back and thrown all of the trash behind the seat, so if Mason could ignore the smell of feet and the fact that his ankle was at a rather cramped angle for something that seemed to be growing exponentially, the ride wouldn’t be that bad.
“Call Sutter Urgent Care,” Dane told him, sorting through Mason’s gym bag until he found his phone. “Here. Call them and tell them you’re coming. They’ll have a wheelchair out for you and someone to help you in it.”
“I can help him,” Terry said, nodding. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
Dane’s eyes got big, and he obviously tried not to sweep the car’s interior with his gaze. “He’ll want a wheelchair when he gets there,” he said diplomatically and then he glared at Mason like it was Mason’s fault Dane was a snob and loved the Lexus.
“Wait!” Skipper held out his hand, and out of nowhere Riche smacked another ice pack into it. He crouched at Mason’s feet and wrapped it around from the other angle, which also served to prop Mason’s foot up more comfortably.
Mason’s gratitude made his eyes water. “Thanks, Schipperke,” he rasped, and was rewarded with a hard squeeze on his shoulder.
“Give us updates. Jefferson, you let us know if you need to go and he needs a ride home, okay?”
“WehaveaLexus,” Dane repeated, like nobody had heard him the first time, and then Carpenter shut the door and Terry put the car into gear.
The uneven field jostled the car unmercifully, and for the first five minutes, Mason concentrated on keeping his ankle still so he didn’t throw up. Eventually the car hit solid pavement and Mason opened his eyes. “Left,” he murmured. “You know where Sutter is?” The closest hospitals were in Roseville, not far from each other.
“Yeah. Skipper’s got Kaiser.”
