I had to lean in to understand him because he was slurring his words so bad. “I’ll call them,” I said.
“If his parents aren’t here, someone needs to come with him,” Coach Brennan said. His eyes landed on me. “Nils, go with him. Keep me updated.”
I tried not to show how relieved I was he’d picked me, how the thought of Adan going to the hospital without me was unbearable. “Of course.”
“Coach Anders comes with me?” Adan asked through swollen lips, his voice small and vulnerable in a way that broke my heart.
“Yeah, kid. He’ll stay with you.”
The ambulance arrived quickly, EMTs efficient and professional as they loaded Adan onto a gurney. I climbed in beside him, fighting every instinct that wanted to hold his hand.
The ride was torture. I sat on my hands to keep from reaching for him, from smoothing his hair back or offering physical comfort. The EMTs had given him something for pain, but he kept making small sounds that tore at my heart.
“Hurts,” he said again, eyes finding mine through the swelling.
“I know. We’re almost there.”
“Scared.” His words were getting more slurred, and I could see the EMT frowning, checking his pupils again.
“Of what?”
He blinked slowly, the pain medication and head injury making him foggy. “Not being able to play.”
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Let’s not think about that now, okay?”
At the hospital, they whisked Adan away for X-rays while I handled paperwork. The Millard app had his parents’ phone numbers as his emergency contact, and I steeled myself for the phone call.
“Mr. Rivera? This is Coach Anders from Millard. Adan’s been injured in the game tonight…”
“What happened? Is he okay?” The panic in his father’s voice was sharp.
“He’s at Buffalo General getting checked out. There was a fight during the game. He took some hits to the face.”
“A fight? How bad?”
“Broken nose, possible jaw injury, and most likely a concussion. He’s awake and talking, but they want to do X-rays to be sure.”
I heard rapid Spanish in the background. That had to be his mother. Mr. Rivera translated quickly, then came back on the line. “I’m leaving now. It will take me thirty minutes to get there. You’ll stay with him?”
“Of course.”
The wait was interminable. They’d put Adan in a curtained-off area in the ER, and I’d convinced them to let me sit with him. He dozed fitfully, face swollen and bruised but somehow still beautiful to me. The harsh hospital lights made the bruising look worse, purple and black spreading across his cheekbone.
When no one was looking, I allowed myself one moment of weakness—reaching out to brush his hair back from his forehead, letting my fingers linger for just a second. His hair was matted with dried blood, and I had to fight the urge to ask for a cloth to clean it.
He stirred, eyes opening slightly. “Nils?”
“I’m here.”
“Good. Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
“Missed you,” he mumbled, still clearly affected by the medication. “Stupid seven months. Stupid rules.”
“Shh. Just rest.”
“Your hands feel nice. Always so gentle.”
