Oh.
Huh.
Someone’s unhooking my pads.
More fresh air.
Fuck yeah.
“He’ll be okay,” Addie says. “We’ll take good care of him.”
“Why isn’t he moving? Oh my god, he’s so pale.”
“He overheated, but he’s in good hands. The best hands. Look. Doc’s on the way.”
“I’m okay,” I say to Paisley.
Someone shoves the straw back in my mouth.
I lift my head again and push up onto my elbows.
Still swimmy, butfuck, it feels better without my pads on. With a breeze blowing on me. Under an umbrella.
Shade.
She got me shade.
“I’m okay,” I repeat to Paisley.
There are three of her.
Four of Addie.
Bad sign.
“Hey, Superman, how about you relax right now and let the trainers and doc do what they need to?” Addie says to me.
Not badass Addie.
Patient Addie.
The same Addie who sat on my couch with me a few years ago and helped me talk through a massive crisis in confidence when I thought the team was going in a direction I wasn’t fit to lead them in.
I miss that Addie.
Iwantthat Addie.
I’ll get her back.
I will.
No matter what it takes.
Right now, pretty sure it’ll take cooling off.
“Eighty degrees might be too warm for full pads, huh, sport?” someone new says. “I’m Doc Engleberg. Work with the Fireballs. We’re gonna get you inside and get you all patched up. Anything you’re allergic to?”
“No allergies,” I report.
