Page 86 of Too Safe

I’m wearing my custom Walsh Crusaders jersey again today, but this time with my hair down. Thank god, too. Kylian’s parents are here again, along with Locke’s. Kendrick’s sisters are also in the stands, sitting with their aunt.

At last week’s game, Locke’s foster mom asked if I’d share action shots I capture of him on the field. I spent an hour fiddling with the settings and watching YouTube tutorials this morning so I could figure out how to work the expensive camera I wear along with the media pass around my neck.

The camera is nice, and seriously expensive if my online investigation is accurate. I’ve got it set to sports mode for now. Eventually, I’ll try to figure out the manual settings. But even with the most basic settings, the zoom is incredible.

The game is more vivid through the lens of the camera. Slower, somehow. The tension coiled in Kendrick’s muscles as he gets in position is more obvious, and the confident set of Locke’s jaw as he prepares to protect his QB is more crisp.

Then there’s the man himself.

Decker radiates control, his poise and collectiveness evident even from the sidelines. His physical skills are impressive, but it’s the way he commands the team that makes me lightheaded when I watch him for too long.

The tip of his chin. Directions spouted off in two- or three-word bursts.

I’m zooming in on his face when he falls back into position, baring his teeth as he bites down hard on his mouth guard.

Ouch. Apparently, I’m biting my own lip. And holding my breath. There’s an intensity to witnessing the scene so closely. The Crusaders aren’t playing like they’re already up by two touchdowns. They’re playing like a team that doesn’t consider losing an option.

As the ball is snapped, I click the shutter, then try my best to track Decker’s movements on the field. I catch a great shot of him with the football near his face, ready to launch. I focus on every shift and pivot, determined to capture the moment he sends the ball flying.

Everything happens at warp-speed when I zoom in.

The ball doesn’t leave Decker’s hand as he drops to the field. I follow with my lens, unsure of what’s happening as he gets tackled to the ground.

The guy on the next bench over—an assistant coach’s intern, maybe?—flies off the bench and screams something about a horse collar.

I watch, horrified, as Decker’s body slams into the ground and bounces.

My focus remains locked on the zoomed-in lens, but in my periphery, Kylian’s head snaps up. He observes the action on the field for all of two seconds before returning to his tablets.

“He was still in the pocket. They won’t call it,” he responds so quietly I doubt the intern hears him.

I don’t look away from Decker, and he doesn’t move for a beat, then another.

Locke jogs up and offers him a hand, so I start clicking away again. I bet Brenda would love a few shots of the guys together on the field.

But as I shoot, I notice the hesitancy in Decker’s reaction. He’s slow to rise, then loose-limbed and floppy when Locke pulls him to his feet.

Zooming in farther, I gasp but still take the shot.

“What is it?” Kylian murmurs without looking up.

I don’t respond right away, because I’m not completely confident in what I think I saw.

Peering down at the camera, I pull up the preview of the picture on the tiny screen.

Shit.

Decker’s eyes were unfocused and pointed in different directions when he finally got to his feet.

“It’s Decker,” I finally tell Kylian. “He looked funny when he got up. I think he might be hurt.”

Kylian searches the field, homing in on Decker and rising to his feet. He stands there, watching, but there’s nothing to see anymore. Both teams are already lining up for the next play. It’s like nothing happened, and yet…

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Here. I can show you…” I stand up and lift the camera, but Kylian just shakes his head.

“I believe you.”

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