So, I pulled out my phone and applied for a loan for the amount I’ll need to complete the project at the youth center. That way, when it’s finished and I pay back the borrowed money on my own terms, no one can say I needed them to do it.
Not even West.
My eyes are scanning the last line of text in the email when a sound from the crowd pulls me out of my head. It’s not their usual cheers and screams. It’s something sharper, a collective gasp just as Joss clutches my arm.
I feel like time slows as my gaze snaps to the field, taking in what I’m seeing below as I rise to my feet.
West clutching his shoulder as he writhes on the ground.
Both teams taking a knee.
The coaches and officials rushing the field.
“Wh—what happened?” I’m breathless as the question leaves my mouth. I want to know anddon’twant to know all at the same time.
“He took a hit,” Joss says. “He went down on his shoulder and it just… I don’t know.”
Her voice is panicked, matching the emotion bubbling inside my chest.
“I have to get to him.”
The words have barely left my mouth when I sprint through our suite to the exit. I can’t even think straight, taking wrong turn after wrong turn as I navigate the stadium. There are footsteps behind me. Some I’m sure are our security guys keeping up with me, but when I glance back over my shoulder, I’m not surprised to see all the girls trailing me as well.
“Mrs. Golden,” a voice calls out, and my steps halt.
The team liaison rushes toward me as she takes a call.
“I found her. We’ll be down in a minute,” she says into the phone before addressing me again. “I can take you down to be with your husband once they have him off the field, but only you and Ms. Francois Have clearance. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Just call and let us know he’s okay,” Dez says, squeezing my hand as I nod.
“Okay. I’ll text.”
With that, Joss and I fall in step beside the liaison, following her lead to the staff elevator.
A million thoughts are racing through my head as we descend, and none of them are good. I’m thinking about West not taking care of himself because he’s been so busy taking care ofme.I’m thinking about whether this is it for him and whether he’ll have to give up the sport he loves so much. I’m thinking about what our lives will look likeif things are as bad up close as they looked from the suite.
“Breathe,” Joss whispers, and I slip my hand into hers, needing whatever comfort I can find right now.
“Shit, Joss. What if…”
“Don’t,” she cuts in. “We don’t know what’s what yet, so let’s not assume.”
I hear her words, I want tobelieveher words, but luck hasn’t been on our side lately, and I can’t help but think this will be yet another thing.
I’m tearing up as the elevator doors part, and we’re moving swiftly again.
“I can’t take you out on the field during gametime, but we can wait for him in the tunnel,” the woman says, and I nod, feeling like my heart might beat right out of my chest.
The rest of the walk is a blur, and hardly a walk, actually. We’re nearly running, and I feel lightheaded as sunlight brightens the end of a long hallway leading out to the field.
Please, let him be okay.
Please, let him be okay.
It feels like forever and a day passes before the first silhouette comes into view, then it’s as though the tunnel isflooded with bodies. But even with all the chatter, the roar of the medical cart’s motor… I hearhim.
I squeeze Joss’s hand tighter as the distinct sound of West cursing and groaning in pain echoes off the walls, piercing my heart. The trainers and medical team rush past, and they’re moving so quickly I can’t even make my presence known, can’t let him know I’m right here and willbehere.
