Then he starts coughing, and the sound is awful. Deep and wet. I just stand there with the phone pinned to my sweating face, listening to him struggle for breath. I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life. “Jamie,” I say finally when there’s a break. “Are you…”
He hacks again.
Frank Donovan is trying to get my attention now. He’s pointing at his watch, and then the showers. He must want me at his post-game press conference.
I wave him off, or I try to. But he camps out in front of me. So I ignore him. “Jamie,” I plead when he stops coughing again. “I love you, but I have to hang up and call Jess. Has she heard that cough?”
“Dunno,” he mumbles. “Sleepy now.”
“Okay,” I say, my mind reeling. What am I going to do? “Sleep well if you can. But if your sister needs you to go to the emergency room, you’re gonna go, okay?”
“Nah,” he whispers. “Night.” The line goes dead.
“FUCK!” I shout.
“What’s the problem?” Frank asks.
I’m too freaked out to answer him. I dial Jess and listen to it ring. When her voicemail eventually picks up, I disconnect and try again. Nothing. “Hey, Eriksson?” I call.
“Yeah?” He’s toweling off in front of his locker.
“I need a favor. Try to raise Blake on your cell. It’s an emergency. I need him in my apartment.”
Eriksson doesn’t ask questions. He jams a hand in his suit coat pocket and pulls out his phone.
I redial Jess. Where the hell is she? On the fourth try, she answers. “Wes?”
“Where are you?” I demand.
“At your house!” She sounds oddly breathless.
“Really? Because I just spoke to Jamie and he’sdelirious. He thinks we have something called a Chiweiler. And his cough sounds like a death rattle.” I shudder just saying it. “Where’s Blake?”
“Uh, Blake? I’m not sure.”
But in the background I hear sudden strains of “Who Let The Dogs Out,” which is Blake’s ringtone. “Hey. Is that him?”
“He just walked in.” Now she sounds flustered.
“Okay, listen. Jamie needshelp. He said he was in bed. Get Blake to break the door if it’s locked. You might have to take him to an emergency room.”
“Oh my God,” she gasps. “I’ll call you back in ten.”
“Is everything okay?” Frank asks when I’ve hung up.
“No, it fucking isn’t. You know any doctors?”
“Doctors?” He gazes at the ceiling, considering the question. “We retired a team doctor about three years ago. He lives in Rosedale. Why?”
“There’s something wrong with Jamie. He has a fever and this awful cough. Fuck. I should never have left town.”
Frank’s face sags. “Sounds like pneumonia. Maybe he’s come down with a secondary infection. He should go to emergency.”
“I KNOW!” I holler, and everyone in the room—including a few reporters—turns to stare at me. “I know,” I say more quietly. “Get me this doctor’s phone number. I need help.”
TWENTY-ONE
JAMIE
