“Break!” Charlie belts out, and the circle claps once and breaks apart.
We take the field, and I quickly realize there are only three of us coaches left uninjured. Even if we’re a bunch of has-beens playing a third of a real game, some of these guys are taking it too seriously. The panic from earlier finds its way back into my throat. I gulp, feeling the thick moisture clinging to my tongue as we get into our starting positions. I may have some minor abilities left, but some of these guys are barbarians. I wouldn’t put it past them to try to whittle out those of us left standing just because they can.
The pressure of my tape job restricts my wrists as I press my fingers into the turf. Daylight is almost completely gone now with the bright stadium lights illuminating the field. The bleachers are barely visible underneath the striking white that shines on us. I glance to my left, catching one last look at Kate. She beams at me, like I’m the only one she sees out here in the sea. For a moment, she’s all I see. Cast in moonlight, she glows like something out of a dream. Her smile is soft and intimate, brown eyes speckled with auburn and gold. Even from thirty feet away and clouded in dim evening light, I can see them perfectly.
It’s just me and her, and all the unease I’ve felt swimming inside me since this morning starts to fade, like the sun behind her, being replaced by the calm stillness of the moon and stars. A wave of confidence fills me, igniting my adrenaline like a gas fire. It could be comparable to the kids surrounding me, like some unstoppable force of nature. A meteor plummeting toward Earth couldn’t stop me now. I’m doing it.
I’m telling her everything. Tonight.
I’m telling her that I am crazy about her. That I have been for five years, and I can’t imagine my life without her.
I’m telling Kate that I’m in love with her.
And then…everything goes black.
Chapter twenty-six
Kate
“Keep him awake fora little bit longer. I think he’s safe to shower, but don’t let him be alone too long.”
Steven’s instructions are loose marbles in my head, thrashing every which way. Watch for vomiting. Watch for seizures. Slurred speech, agitation, more vomiting. He communicates this to me like I’m not sitting here stunned and traumatized from what I just witnessed.
One second I’m giving Malcolm one last thumbs up, and the next I see him lifted into the air and taken to the ground with blunt force. The biggest senior from South blazed a path across the field and tackled Malcolm so hard I could hear the impact from the sidelines. I had to watch as the giant climbed off his limp body as he lay flattened out on the turf.
Steven and Daniels rushed the field in seconds, but I couldn’t move. My body was in shock. Seeing him lie unconscious did something to me that I’ve never experienced before. My fight-or-flight response was paralyzed at the sight of Malcolm’s unmoving body. Relief washed over me when I saw him move his legs.
“Call me if you need anything.” Steven gives Malcolm one final look over, shining his fancy pen light in each eye for good measure. “I think he’s going to be fine.”
“You bet I’m fine, buddy!” Malcolm sounds half-drunk, and the giddy laughter he lets out every few seconds really adds to the effect.
His obscure behavior eases some of the pent-up anxiety squeezing my chest. I sniffle and wipe the wetness from my cheeks. I haven’t stopped crying since they helped him off the field an hour ago. Steven presses a hand on my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze as he leaves our room. Malcolm waves at him manically with both hands high in the air. His shoulders dip as he lets out a happy hum, his blue eyes glazed over with innocence. Another tear escapes the corner of my eye. They are acting of their own volition. I have no control.
“Knock, knock.” Malcolm presses his hands against his cheeks as he giggles. With his concussed glee, he keeps whispering jokes to try andcheer me up.I look at him expectantly, forcing a smile. “Orange…” His smile stretches so far it might jump off his face. “Orange you glad I didn’t say yellow?” Hysterics take over, leaving him breathless and cackling at himself as he continues to squish his cheeks.
Another dang tear slithers its way down my face. Malcolm stops laughing and watches it drip off my jaw and onto my leg. His eyes are solemn as he wipes up the wet trail with his thumb. “Why are you sad?” This is the tenth time he’s asked me, his memory still wonky from the hit.
“I’m not sad.” I force another smile, wiping my cheeks and sitting up straighter.
“But you’re leaking.” He points at my cheek.
There’s a childlike curiosity in his voice, and it only adds more to my confusing emotions. I was terrified for him, and something nearly broke inside me at the image of him lyingthere helpless. It feels pathetic to think a big guy like Malcolm getting tackled was enough to undo me. He played football for years. He’s been trampled over in practice so many times I’ve lost count. This shouldn’t be any different. But it is, and I have no idea how to process it right now.
“I’m just emotional. I was so worried about you.” My words come out shaky, and I have to shove my palms into my eyes to block the tears from flowing. Again. It’s embarrassing how much I’ve cried over a concussion.
“You were worried about me?”
The more the event replays in my head and the turning of my insides that follows, it’s becoming clear to me thatworriedis an understatement.
He bats his eyes at me playfully. The guy is out of his wits. This is the most lax I’ve ever seen him, even after the accidental drink mix-up at the New Year’s party two years ago. He sang “Piano Man” on top of a toy piano he found in Emma’s coat closet, a cappella and off-key. It was a miracle he didn’t snap the thing in two. Even then, he wasn’t nearly as befuddled as he is right now—giggling, blushing, and stumbling on every second word. It’s adorable, yes. But it’s not Malcolm. And I keep getting choked up watching him wander aimlessly around our room, gazing into the abyss like he’s pondering life from a different point of view.
Malcolm stumbles toward the bathroom, gripping his lower back with both hands. “My back,” he mutters.
“You were hit pretty hard.” I reach for his anti-inflammatories on the bedside table. “Maybe you should take a hot bath.”
“Oh yeah?” He stands up a little straighter. “A bath, you say?” He wiggles his eyebrows as a sly smirk pulls at his lips. “Care to join?”
“Malcolm. Geer.” I toss the medicine bottle at him, which he catches with ease. Glad to see his motor skills are still intact.
