Page 134 of Against the Clock

The cameraman’s talking to me, the stadium slowly emptying of fans.

I don’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in my ears.

I rip off the mic pack, tossing it to the cameraman. The mic follows, and I rush to where the stadium meets the field, to the door the players have disappeared through. The players and some of the press, the ones who routinely get locker room access.

My own press pass swings on a navy lanyard around my neck, and my heels sink into the turf before clacking along the concrete ramp that leads to Daniel.

Daniel, who got hit, who got hit and didn’t get up.

I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to cry, but I’m not sure I can hold back the tears.

A security guard yells something as I race by him, holding my press pass up and not breaking stride. Before long, I’ve found it: the locker room.

It’s loud in there, the sound trickling out as another reporter heads in.

I follow before someone can stop me—but I’m not a pro athlete.

The security guard’s hand wraps around my wrist and I yank it away, breathing hard.

“You can’t go in there, miss,” he says, sounding truly regretful.

“I have a pass.” The words come out too loud, a near scream, and he blinks in surprise, then recognition.

“You’re the girlfriend… Kelsey something, right? The reporter?”

“Yep, and I can be in there.” I jab my finger at the door and he gives me a long, speculative look.

“Go on. Don’t cause any trouble, though.”

I could kiss him. But I don’t, because the only person I ever want to kiss again is hurting, and I want to find him. I need to find him.

“I won’t,” I say, and I’m not sure it’s the whole truth.

But he lets go of my arm and I push the door wide open.

The locker room is chaos. The players are half-dressed, some in towels, and the reporters seem to have pinned several down to talk to, including the Matthews brothers, who look tired but happy.

“Jacob,” I yell, waving a hand.

“Kelsey,” he says, whipping his head toward me, his eyes wide with surprise. “You came.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

Darius makes his way to me, still in his grass-stained pants. “Come on, Kels, I’ll take you to him.”

He sounds serious, and despite his warm smile, my stomach churns.

“Is he okay?” I make myself ask, and the question comes out small. I wrap my arms around myself.

“He will be. He’s tough.”

I nod, and he gives me a long look. “Come on then,” he says.

Darius leads me through the hallway into what seems to be a weight room, then into a smaller room where a guy with a stethoscope over his suit jacket’s talking to Daniel.

He’s naked from the waist up, his forearms bleeding in a couple places, and his arm’s in a sling, icepacks all over his shoulder.

“Daniel,” I say, and my voice breaks on his name.

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