River’s shot went smoothly through the hoop, and the crowd cheered. He walked with nonchalance in each step, and I had to refrain from rolling my eyes at the cockiness. Acting like you’re so incredible that you’re not even surprised your shots go in the net only works when you’re as attractive as River.
When the fourth quarter hit, River got some time on the bench. I could see him twisting his body, attempting to be inconspicuous as he reached for his shoulder and winced ever so slightly. Carson whispered something to River, possibly a reprimand, and got a scowl in return.
Gabriela’s loud declaration about Eli’s brother and the smell of weed seized my focus, and I watched as he attempted to quiet her before others became aware. She wasn’t wrong; he did reek of weed, but I wasn’t going to point it out. The bickering lasted so long that when I refocused on the game, River was on the court again.
I felt like my mother every time she watched me handle the stove between the ages of ten and fifteen—teeth-chattering nervous. River shrugged away the pain, clearly thinking he was hiding it well. He wasn’t, at least not to me.
The ball was passed from person to person, and the opposing team intercepted at one point and made a basket. River kept pace with the game, but the way he lagged when without the ball gave him away.
Eventually, Carson got the ball back, his abnormal height giving him the advantage as always. He scanned the court on his way up and locked onto River.
The ball flew across the court, hurling toward River with immense spin that only a seasoned player could put onto it. An opponent dove to intercept and ended up flat on his face. I bit back a snicker.
But the humor vanished when the same guy who had slammed into River earlier appeared out of nowhere with arms stretched wide, attempting to block the pass. Their shoulders collided, and this time, only my best friend hit the floor.
River was on the floor, clutching his shoulder, his eyes tightly shut while he fought to stop himself from yelling. The large screen displayed him straining, and the cameraman paused before recognizing the gravity of the situation, prompting him to stop filming.
Everything around me slowed, and suddenly I was on my feet and gawking down at the court. I watched apprehensively as medics rushed to him, equipment in hand.
Before I knew what I was doing, my feet were maneuvering through the bleachers to figure out a way onto the court. My heart throbbed in my ears while my vision tunneled as I ran, and suddenly I felt like I was ten years old all over again, rushing toward River after he twisted his ankle while practicing.
I was halfway down the stairs when someone grabbed my arm. I didn’t bother looking back while I tried to tug away, but when they yanked me backward, I spun around with irritation.
Javier gripped my arm so tight I was afraid it’d leave a mark. “Alex, hold on a minute. You can’t go onto the court.”
“What if he broke his arm? He needs me.” I was shouting, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about the dozens of eyes on me. His fingernails scratched me when I jerked away.
The pounding in my chest had turned into ringing in my ears, and I was more than willing to knock down everyone in my way to get to River. Was he dying? Probably not, but it was killing me not being by his side. He didn’t have his parents, but he had me.
Eli tried to chip in, but I was rushing down the stairs like a madman before he could get it out. I shoved through the crowd of prying fans wanting to see the commotion on the court, and I nearly froze when I saw the closed gate and half-wall blocking me from the court. Luckily, I was somewhat athletic, so I jumped over it, but barely managed to land on my feet rather than flat on my ass.
Amidst the medics and teammates scattered around, River was visible, crippled in pain. They surrounded him like bodyguards, obstructing my view of him, and standing on my tiptoes wasn’t helping since everyone was as tall as skyscrapers.
I felt a hand grip my shoulder, and when I turned, I was face-to-face with the referee’s black-and-white uniform.
“You can’t be on this court, kid,” the ref said, his tone void of emotion.
I was debating whether to plant my feet stubbornly in detest against being pulled away, or to comply so that I didn’t get in trouble with the school for interfering with the game, when a strained voice sounded.
“Let him stay.”
The attention from everyone on the court that was once directed at River was now on me.
Actually, everyone in the stadium was looking at me, and I doubted it was simply because I was insane enough to force my way onto the court.
But all fears vanished the moment my eyes fell on the guy I could never get out of my mind. Despite his squinting and pained expression, he tried to offer me a smile.
As everyone moved out of the way, I immediately went to him. I knelt to his height, my knees hitting the floor, and brought my hand to his face, where I stroked his cheek, feeling his sweat on my skin. His jersey was creased in some spots but smooth in others, and he coddled his arm.
“Are you alright?” I asked, panting.
River’s back was being supported by a medic who was careful not to touch his hurt shoulder. “Could be better, but it’s only my shoulder. I can’t believe you just ran through all of those people.”
“I had to make sure you were okay. That jerk kept running into you.” Remembering the douchebag who played dirty, my eyes scanned the opposing players to glare at him. “Who the hell plays like that?”
Now it was his turn to cup my cheek. “Don’t worry about that.”
“This is your last chance to make it to March Madness! He did that on purpose, Riv.”
