Page 4 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

“Perfect.” He slings his bag across his chest and heads for the door. “See you for dinner,” he calls out over his shoulder while tossing up the “peace out” sign as he walks out.

“You tell me when he’s bringing dinner, and I’m definitely coming over,” Sully says, smiling conspiratorially.

I laugh. “I will.”

After taking a quick shower, I’ve just returned to my locker when I feel the haptic vibration of my watch on my wrist. Looking down, I see that the school is calling. Uneasiness instantly sweeps through me, and my stomach drops out because why would they be calling? It’s stupid that unexpected phone calls give me a flash of anxiety, but after John, I can’t help the momentary irrational panic that ensues. Trying not to let myself get too worked up, I dig my phone out of my bag and take the call.

“This is Jonah.” I hate my shaky voice.

“Mr. Dallmann, this is Ms. Rice from Vivi’s school.” I start pacing on the pewter carpet in front of the cherrywood team lockers.

“Yes, how can I help you?” I ask. I can’t see Vivi being bad or getting into trouble; she’s nearly perfect. So maybe she got sick?

“Well, it seems Vivi had an accident today . . .”

Accident.

The word rings through my ears, and I stop hearing anything else she’s saying. Accident, that’s what they told me about John. They said there had been an accident.

“What?” I pause, feeling fear’s fingers wrap around me and start to squeeze.

“It’s nothing serious, but we will need you to come pick her up. She hurt her ankle, and it’s quite swollen.”

I let the words register and sink in.

Her ankle.

If emotions were tangible, mine would be like a balloon that grew larger with every passing second on this call. Only it pops just like that, and relief rushes over me like a cool breeze.

Will it always be this way?

Will I always have this type of reaction?

“How?” I ask, tossing my water bottle into my bag and zipping it up.

“I believe she tripped on the stairs and stumbled.”

Stumbled? She’s so graceful and coordinated, this surprises me.

“Is she okay?” I think about her being in pain and crying, and it makes me want to damn near burst out of my skin.

“Yes, she’s fine. Just upset about how this will keep her from going to dance tonight.”

I almost laugh. Almost. Of course that’s what she’s worried about.

“Alright. Thanks for calling. I’m on my way.”

With my bag in tow, instead of heading for my SUV, I detour to the offices of our sports medicine staff. One of the athletic trainers will know what to do.

Pushing through the double doors, I find Ryan sitting at his desk in the back of the room. He’s been a trainer with the team for at least five years, so he should know a lot of different people in town.

“Hey, Jonah. You okay?” he asks, scanning me to see if he can spot an obvious injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But I just got a call from Vivi’s school. I guess she’s hurt her ankle. What should I do?”

“Did they say how bad?” He frowns as he leans back in his chair and tilts his head.

“No, just that I should come pick her up. Where should we go?” I mean, it’s a legitimate question. Should I take her to the emergency room, an urgent care, call her pediatrician, or a specialist? I have no idea.