Page 123 of The Fake Out Flex

I bring it to my lips with a shaky hand and take a few sips.

She may be okay, but she's still dangling upside down.

A couple of guys in bright-blue polo shirts run over and unclip her, carefully bringing her to her feet.

She's on the ground.

She's upright.

She's safe.

I let out the breath I must've been holding since this action nightmare scenario began ten years ago, because that's how long it feels like these past few seconds have lasted.

"How are you feeling, Evie?" Mark Merril asks.

Someone hands Evie a KCFB microphone. Strands of hair cling to her cheeks and forehead, and her cheeks are flushed a bright red.

She smiles at the camera. "Oh, my goodness, Mark. That was beyond exhilarating, but let me tell you, I am very glad to be back on solid ground."

"I bet. Evie, how is everyone else doing?"

Evie waves to someone off-camera. A woman walks up beside her. "Gemma, hi! How was that?" Evie asks, positioning the microphone in front of her.

"So awesome!" Gemma smiles at the camera and gives the happiest two thumbs-up I've ever seen.

I grab my phone and fire off a message to Evie.

Fraser: Watching you live now. I didn't think there was anything scarier than being forced to listen to punk music. I now know that there is…I *think* I've recovered from my heart attack, but the doctor says I can't sustain any more shocks. I have practice now but will have a few hours free this afternoon before tonight's game. Call me to check in on the patient?

Through the fogged-up shower pane, I see Evie's number light up my screen. I've been keeping an eye on my phone all afternoon, waiting for her to call.

I turn the shower off, quickly dry my arms and chest, hook the towel around my waist, and answer the phone.

"Thanks for calling. You'll be glad to know all my vitals are returning to normal and my medical bill to you is in the mail."

"Great. Just send it to Levi's address, and I'll grab it off him never."

I step out of the bathroom. "What's wrong?"

"We're bantering. I just volleyed back to you. How do you know something's wrong?"

"I can hear it in your voice."

"Ugh," she sighs, giving up any pretense of being fine. "I'm totally bummed."

"Why? Are you facing a class-action lawsuit from other viewers who also had a heart attack while watching your segment this morning? Does that mean I'm not alone? Is there a support group I can join?"

Silence…and then, a tiny giggle.

It's not much, but I'll take it.

"Tell me what's wrong," I say, injecting a seriousness into my voice to let her know I'm done messing around.

"Well, it is about the segment, but thankfully, it doesn't involve lawsuits or viewer's medical conditions." She pauses. "Like always, it comes down to the numbers. Seriously, if I had a quarter for every time I've said the word numbers this past year, I could retire early. I'm getting so sick and tired of this."

"I'm not following."

Another heavy breath. "I was hoping this morning's segment would bring in massive ratings. Blockbuster ratings. I've been working so hard on this, thinking it was my big shot to finally get a breakout story. Maybe even go viral again. And, just as importantly, shine a light on a worthwhile cause. Show viewers that having a disability isn't a life sentence and hopefully inspiring them to live their own lives more fully."

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