The rushing of my pulse in my ears drowned out the boos.
Please. Don’t do this. Get up.
A scream, a bloodcurdling cry, ripped through the arena.Bray.
My hands shook.Get up.
Bray pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He shook his head slowly as if he was trying to clear the haziness.
I sucked in a breath.
He collapsed again, and the air rushed from my lungs.Bray, move. Get up.
A hand closed over my shoulder.
I reacted. There was no thought.
I had to protect him.
He needed me.
I tore my eyes away from Spencer and spun, my fist already cocked.
A man.
His hands were up like he was surrendering. He soothed, “Woah, woah, dude. My bad.” He pointed a few rows back, two seats from the aisle.
Keeley.
She was as white as a ghost. Hannah was in her arms, wailing. She waved to me, beckoning me to go with her.
I watched as she shuffled past the people closest to her and raced down the aisle.
I followed, clambering past people to get to her. I shot down the stands, taking the concrete steps three at a time, trying to catch up with her.
She handed Hannah to one of the people dressed in a team polo shirt and hopped over the boards. She took Hannah back and stopped to speak to one of the coaches.
I didn’t slow down, hurdling the boards at full speed. I needed to get to him.
I slammed against the chairs, nearly tipping them. One of the players—I didn’t even see who—steadied me.
I raced blindly down the tunnel, searching for the medical center.
“Spencer, wait,” Keeley called.
I skidded to a stop, and she jogged toward me, holding Hannah tight as she caught up.
I needed her. Fuck me, I needed her.
Hannah was wailing and laughing at the same time. It was a contradiction that made the moment surreal.
She gripped my shoulder, lending me her strength. “It’s okay. He’s okay.”
“I need to see him.” My voice was thready, panic lacing my words.
“Spencer,” she soothed, and cupped my face with her free hand. “He’s okay.”
“How do you know that?” I demanded. I was trembling, unable to stop.
