“I told him we wanted to see him score today.” Lisa nudged me. “Both times, it’s happened when we weren’t at the game. It’s starting to give me a complex.”
I laughed. “I missed one of them, since it was on the road. So don’t take it personally.”
Down on the field, the center snapped the ball into Gideon’s hands. The quarterback stutter-stepped backwards, looking for an open receiver and then fired a pass downfield to a wide receiver, who caught the ball and took off. The crowd jumped to its collective feet, cheering him on.
He made it to the twenty-eight-yard line before he was forced out of bounds by a New York player. We sat back down as the chains moved, and Joe patted my back.
“This is going to be it, this next play. You watch. I’ve got a feeling. Lisa, I think you’re going to get your wish on this one. And if you do, if Leo scores, I’m taking all of us out for a steak dinner after the game.”
My mother laughed. “Joe, you already offered to treat for dinner, earlier today. What makes this special?”
“I saidsteak, Carrie. And I’ll toss in a couple of bottles of wine, and maybe even cigars and brandy for Leo, Shane and me.”
“Sexist, much?” Lisa muttered as the teams lined up again. Her fingers were gripping our shared armrest tightly, and her nerves must’ve been contagious, as my stomach jumped a little when the whistle blew.
It wasn’t much different than the previous play, actually. Gideon shuffled in the pocket, his eyes darting left and then to the right. I saw a New York defensive end gunning for our QB, but Corey Iverson got there in time to buy Gideon a few more seconds. Leo was downfield, and I caught my breath when I realized he was wide open.
Gideon must have seen that around the same time I did—or maybe it just seemed that way—because his arm went back and the ball flew through the air. Leo jumped, reaching, and made a beautiful catch.
“YES! Yes, yes! GO!” Joe was screaming. Lisa was grasping at my arm in a death vice, biting her lip.
Leo pivoted and sprinted toward the end zone. He’d just crossed the goal line—accompanied by a piercing scream of delight that came from his mom—when a New York cornerback ploughed into him, knocking him to the ground in an inadvertent late hit. Leo held onto the ball as though his life depended on it, even after the whistle signaled the end of the play.
The Rebels’ cannon fired, and celebratory music erupted from the PA system. Lisa smothered me in a bear hug, and Joe was giving high-fives to anyone who’d hold up a hand. But in front of me, Ellie was leaning forward, and when she turned her head, her eyes were troubled.
“Corey?” I searched for his number, worried that he’d taken a hit I hadn’t seen or gotten hurt in that last tackle. But no, there he was, trotting toward the end zone ... where a couple of Rebels and even two New York players were kneeling next to a prone body.
The refs were there, too, waving to the Richmond sideline, and the coach and someone else I didn’t recognize—was that Steve, the team’s trainer?—jogged over.
My heart, which had been thumping in joy a few minutes before, now came to a sickening, thudding stop.That was Leo. It was his body sprawled over the green grass, and he wasn’t moving.
Next to me, Lisa had gone still. The whole crowd had quieted as the announcer’s voice came over the PA system.
“That’s number twenty-two Leo Taylor who’s down. Taylor just scored for the Rebels. Coaches and the trainer are out there, checking on the situation.”
I hadn’t realized that I’d brought my hands together under my chin, clutching at the collar of my coat, as I murmured the same words over and over again.
“Get up. Get up. Get up.”
It seemed like an eternity before the coach stepped back, giving me a clearer view of what was going on. I sagged in relief when I saw that Leo was sitting—still holding the ball. He pointed to the New York player who’d tackled him and then down to his knee.
A cart rolled onto the field as the coach and trainer helped lift Leo to his feet—well, foot—and into the back of it.
“God, not the knee.” Joe rubbed his jaw. “The knee ... that could be bad. At this point, that could be a career-ender.”
Something inside me snapped, and I wheeled on Joe Taylor. “Shut up. Would you just fuckingshut up? He’s sitting up, can’t you see that? He’s awake. He can talk. He wasn’t knocked out, and he’s—he’s going to be okay.” I reached down for Ellie, grabbing for her hand. “I need to get down there, El. Can you get me to the locker room? That’s where they’ll take him, right?”
I wasn’t sure why I thought Ellie could get me to any place I myself couldn’t go, but I knew I needed whatever expertise she might have right now. Ellie always seemed to know who to talk to in order to get stuff done, and that was what I needed. I had to get to Leo.
“Of course. Come on.” She stepped over the person next to her to get to the main aisle.
I glanced at Joe, who was still staring out at the field. I knew I should apologize, but right now, it just wasn’t in me. As I shimmied past Lisa, she grabbed my hand.
“Text me as soon as you know anything.”
“I will.” I squeezed her fingers and then shook them loose so that I could follow Ellie.
As we reached the door to the box, I turned in time to see Leo settling onto a cart, which then sped away down the sideline toward the tunnel.
