Page 49 of The Check Down

Mug in hand, I opened the fridge to grab the coffee creamer. Instead, I froze at the sight of a tiny orange dragon perched on the shelf next to the bottle. Plastic and no taller than my pinkie. Another one, blue this time, was waiting for me on top of the spoons in the silverware drawer.

I’ve found twenty more hidden around the apartment in the last week—nestled on my candle, by my toothbrush holder, on top of the TV remote. He even hid one inside one of the tennis shoes I leave by the back door in case of dash-to-the-car emergencies.

When I brought them up, he shrugged and said, “Huh. Dragon invasion. Weird.”

My prankster roommate and I have settled into a routine over the past couple of weeks. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he’s out the door before my alarm goes off. Those are my late days on campus. I have classes until five, and then I usually swim a few laps at the natatorium before I return home. After I shower away the chlorine, we chat in the kitchen. His dinner is always grilled chicken or fish with broccoli and a protein shake from some superhealthy delivery service. Since I have early classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we meet up over breakfast, where he downs a massive bowl of cereal while I inhale my coffee.

Tuesday afternoons, of course, are still reserved for our Memphis Magic meet-ups.

Since Griffin is out of town this weekend, I shower and get dressed, then stroll to the nearest coffee shop, enjoying the brisk mid-October morning. My stomach does a little flip when I notice the Blues jerseys in line ahead of me. But when I overhear their conversation, my heart clambers up my throat.

“That’s what SNN reported this morning. Lacey is questionable for today’s game. Mundy said it would be a game-time decision.”

Dread hits me so violently I have to suck in a breath. Is this because of the headache? Has it gotten that much worse? Knowing Griffin, it would take something awful to force him to sit out a game. He talks about football like it’s a cherished family member. He’s hinted to me about how low he sank when the Tors released him and he thought his career was over.

“Ma’am, do you know what you want?” The barista’s squeaky voice pulls me from my fretting. So lost in my worries for my friend, I didn’t even realize the men in front of me had placed their orders. I consider forgoing an order altogether so I can rush home and switch on a sports channel, but the purple-haired teenager’s put-out expression keeps me on course.

“A latte and a muffin, please.”

She asks me so many questions about my drink order, I’m not even sure what I’ll get at the pickup counter. But as soon as I’ve got the hot cup and crinkly bag in hand, I dash back to the apartment.

Television tuned to the Sports Now Network, I pace in front of it, clutching my latte. The anchors discuss every other team playing today in excruciating detail, breaking away to on-field reporters in every city in Americaexceptthe one I’m invested in.

Finally—finally—the anchors highlight the Memphis-Washington game. They cut away to a blonde in a fitted navy blazer who’s standing on the sidelines of an empty field. I pull up short and narrow my eyes at the screen.

It’s Andrea/Andi, the woman Jack wasprofessionallyflirting with last month.

“Lacey’s status remains a game-time decision. The seven-time Pro Bowler is suffering from a flu-like illness, and team sources report that if he does take the field, he will receive IV fluids to prevent dehydration. Lacey has been an integral component of the Blues’ offense this season, scoring three touchdowns in the last four games. He’s become one of Dempsey’s favorite targets. It’ll be interesting to see how Coach Mundy and offensive coordinator Rasheed Dobbins adjust their schemes if Lacey is unable to play.”

Flu-like illness. Okay, that’s better than an injury. But it’s going to kill Griff if he can’t play today.

The Blues’ game is scheduled for the afternoon, so I distract myself with laundry and essay grading until kickoff.

At exactly three-thirty, I switch to the channel airing the game and freeze when the camera pans the Blues’ sideline and I catch a glimpse of number 89.

He’s hunched over on the bench, head in hands, and from what I can see of him, he’s pale as a ghost. But he’s toughing it out for his team. I fall a little bit in love with him for being so resilient.

One of the commentators, not Andrea/Andi, to my delight, gives an update. “As for the Blues’ veteran tight end, it’s been reported that Lacey has been suffering from flu-like symptoms since early this morning. Let’s get an update from Candace, who’s on the Blues’ sideline.”

“That’s right, Tom,” the woman who must be Candace says. Her dark hair is pulled back, and she’s dressed in a blue professional-looking wrap dress. “It’s been reported that Lacey turned in early last night, complaining of a headache, and woke sometimebefore dawn with a fever, chills, and nausea. As a precaution, the team isolated him at the hotel, and he was driven separately to the stadium rather than arriving on the team bus. Coach Mundy told us before kickoff that he left the decision to sit out or play up to the two-time Super Bowl champ, and when asked about Lacey’s answer, he laughed and said, quote, ‘That kid’s got no quit. He demanded he be allowed to suit up and claimed that if Jordan could do it in the ’97 NBA finals, he could darn well be there for his team today.’ Now let’s send it over to Steve, who has the latest about Washington’s game plan for today.”

Watching the game is pure agony, not because I’m not a sports girlie, but because my friend is suffering through it. Even though he remains on the sideline for most of the plays, it’s evident that football is in Griffin’s blood. Every time he steps on the turf, he gives everything he can. The few times the camera zooms in on him, his blanched face reflects true grit and determination. He makes a few key catches, and as soon as the whistle signals a play is dead, he jogs over to the bench and collapses. Most of the team steers clear and gives him space, but Beau and the other tight end, Devon, check on him once or twice and smack his pads when they walk away.

Me? I’m a ball of emotion the entire three hours. Proud one moment, frustrated the next—with Griffin, for insisting on putting his body through this, and with the coaching staff for allowing him to.

Paige sends me a two-word text at halftime that makes my eyes leak:

You okay?

I want to ask her how she does it, how she watches Beau put himself in harm’s way week after week, knowing there’s a chance one play-gone-wrong could change their lives. Before I can, miseryscorches my stomach. Because Griffin isn’t mine to worry about in the way Paige worries for her fiancé.

Rather than spill my secret fears and longings to my friend via text, I send her the most succinct, honest response I can:

I’ll be okay when I know he’s okay.

After the game, I spring into preparation mode. Griffin’s fridge is already stocked with electrolyte-dense sports drinks, but I make a quick grocery run to pick up saltine crackers and applesauce. Then I do a Google search for the best chicken noodle soup in the city and place online orders at the top three results. Lord knows, if I attempt to make it myself, it would probably make him sicker. Back at the apartment, I change the sheets on his bed—and find a tiny purple dragon snuggled between the clean towels in the linen closet—even though his housekeeper changes them every Thursday. Fresh sheets never fail to help me feel like a new person when I’m sick.

I’m in the middle of attempting to write a battle scene in my dragon story when my phone lights up. My pulse takes off at the sight of Griffin’s name. It’s after ten, so the team’s plane must’ve landed.

---