Page 32 of Room 908

I crouched down and set my fingers on the ground, the grass dampening my gloves. I tried to focus on the game in front of me, but I couldn’t quite get there. My brain was filled with noise, a whole slew of what-ifs and maybe-shoulds.

The ball was hiked back to me, and I gripped it in my hands, my fingers finding the laces. I immediately stepped off to the left, searching for a target. I couldn’t catch a clear view down the field, but the window of opportunity was closing fast, a few mere seconds if I was lucky. When a small gap opened, I pulled back my arm and fired off a pass, and it sailed down the field. Jackson, our wide receiver, almost had it. He was running as fast as he could, a hand outstretched, and his fingers grazed the ball, but it tipped off his fingertips and bounced out of bounds.

Dammit, we were so close! Coach signaled from the sidelines to run the play again, and we moved back into position. I jogged along behind the offensive line, my body buzzing in preparation. I blew out a long, slow breath and paused…

Then the center snapped the ball back to me.

With a burst, we exploded into action, coiled muscles finally released. In front of me, the two lines collided, but they weren’t my concern. I had to trust the guards would keep me safe. My job was to get this ball down the field.

My vision homed in on Jackson, pelting down the field toward the end zone, bits of grass kicking up from his cleats. Nothing else mattered in this moment. I slowed my breath, my heart thudding heavily in my chest. I ignored the movement from the corner of my eye, pulled back my arm, and threw. It was perfect, the angle, the speed, and Jackson was in the clear. I knew he would catch it.

However, I didn’t have a chance to witness it, as I was knocked sideways. It was like being hit with a battering ram. My eyes shut tight, and I braced for impact, trying to keep my body loose. As the ground came up to meet me, the impact knocked my breath from my lungs with a whoosh as the linebacker came down on top, his shoulder ramming into my chest.

And then something snapped.

I opened my eyes, gasping to catch my breath, and my view down the field was cast sideways as the play continued. The crowd was on their feet, and I could tell by their reaction that Jackson had made the touchdown. A small consolation.

My fingers were tingling, and not in a good way. My first instinct was to laugh. Did I really just get injured, right when I was thinking about retiring? With the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins, I wasn’t feeling it yet, but I knew the pain was coming.

It was bad.

The linebacker was quick to roll off me and offered me a hand up. It was Derek Mahoney, a guy I went to college with. “Hey, man, you good?”

I lay still, leaving his hand hanging in the air between us. “Nope,” I managed to force through gritted teeth.

He took in my position on the ground. “Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t move, man, okay?”

I grunted in response. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. I didn’t know how badly I was hurt yet, but I didn’t want to move if there was something cracked in my spine.

Mahoney waved at the paramedics waiting on the sidelines, and while I couldn’t see them from this angle, I knew they were running over, likely carrying a spine board. I wasn’t going to be walking off the field after this one.

A woman with her brown hair pulled back in a tight bun crouched down beside me, peering through the face mask on my helmet. “Where does it hurt, Eric?” she asked.

I took stock quickly, my pulse rushing in my ears. “My shoulder,” I told her, panting, each shallow breath producing a little cloud of vapor. I couldn’t draw a full breath. “My arm, maybe my chest?” The pain was radiating outward now, down to my fingertips and through my torso, and it was hard to pinpoint as the heat crept through my body at an alarming rate. At least I wasn’t cold anymore. “I don’t think it’s my neck or back, though,” I said without much hope.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” she said, offering me an apologetic smile.

What worried me the most, more than the injury itself, as they put a neck brace on me and carefully transferred me over to the spine board, was that I knew the cameras were rolling. For the first time ever, I hoped Jasper wasn’t watching—and yet, I knew for certain he was. Cameron would be scared, and I wouldn’t be able to tell him I was okay.

I should’ve made Jasper my emergency contact.

19

Jasper

“Stopit,”Iscoldedmyself, tucking my thumb into my palm and squeezing tight. I’d been gnawing on my thumbnail since the game three nights ago, but it was right down to the quick now, and if I kept going, I would draw blood.

My phone pinged with a text, and I scrambled to pull it out. When I saw it wasn’t Eric, I deflated a little. It was Cam texting from school. I’d insisted he go because there was nothing either of us could do to make this situation better, and I figured maybe the distraction of his friends and classes might do him good.

Cam:Is he there yet?

Dad:Nope, not yet. I’ll let you know.

Eric should’ve been back by now. I got up off the couch and paced the living room a few times, peeking through the curtains after each lap.

It was so much worse than I could’ve expected, watching Eric get hurt. Players got tackled all the time, and they usually got back up and brushed it off. So, when Eric went down, I’d assumed he would hop up, and I would be teased mercilessly for the way I’d gasped.

But he didn’t get back up.

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