Page 48 of Flame After the Fumble

“Could just be a rumor,” the other guy answers with a nonchalant shrug.

Violet turns back around and hits me with a confused stare. She leans over and whispers as soft as she can over the crowd. “Did you hear those guys? They said there’s a rumor that Ryan isn’t playing tonight.”

“What? No way. Ryan would have told you if he got hurt.” I’m not phased. One thing is certain—that boy is obsessed with her. She would be the first to know if he was injured and out for tonight.

“I guess it’s just a stupid rumor. When you’re good that happens.” She shrugs off the comments and we finally make it to the front of the line, order a boat of loaded nachos to share, and shimmy to our seats to watch the pre-game warmups.

My favorite part is the booming music through the stadium as we watch the guys do their thing. I make a mental note of some things I’d like to sketch later to capture this electrifying moment for my portfolio project. Before long, I spot Hartley as he runs straight to me with his sweaty blonde hair flopping on his shoulders. One hand grips his pads while the other flies through his hair, moving it away from his face. I wave frantically and blow him a kiss matched with a playful wink. If he’s going all in on us, I need to show him effort as well, but panic settles over my body when he approaches us. His jaw is set in stone, and his usual goofy playfulness is replaced with stricken anger. I scan the field, remembering what those guys said in the concession stand line. Leaning over to Violet, I scream over the rowdy crowd, “Where’s Ryan? I don’t see him with the running backs.”

Violet scans the field and quickly comes to the same realization. She jolts off the bleachers and descends a few stepsto make it to the metal barrier between the stands and the field. I follow close behind and catch her asking Hartley, “Where’s Ryan?”

“Vi, I’ll have to explain after the game. Some shady stuff went down. I can’t let myself go there or I’ll lose it.” His eyes shift to lock with mine. His pupils are blown and full of hurt, anger, maybe both. Nothing needs to be said between us. I nod, continuing to clutch the number thirteen chain between my fingers so tight it’ll bruise, giving him and Violet space to sort this out.

“Where is he?” she asks with clear panic in her voice.

“I don’t know. No one can reach him. We’ll talk later.” He tries to reason with her, but she’s out of our section before he can finish.

In a split second, I look to the exit to see the back of Violet’s head flashing through the crowd. I also see a lost Hartley in front of me and I don’t have a clue what to do.

“Go,” he mouths.

“But. . . you. . .”

He cuts in before I can finish my chaotic thought. “She needs you. Please. For me.”

Nodding frantically, I dash out of the crowd and out the exit in an attempt to catch up with the speed demon. “Violet! Violet, wait! I’m coming with you. What’s going on?”

“It’s Ryan. . . He’s. . . I don’t know. . .Hartley said—” She’s a babbling mess, and her thoughts are all over the place. I need to put my friend hat on and put my worried feelings for Hartley on the backburner. They can wait until after the game.

“Well, I’m not letting you drive by yourself. You’re too upset!” Placing my hands on my hips, I take a moment to catch my breath from sprinting through a college football stadium. “Don’t fight me. I’m coming.”

“Get in,” she says, and I release a sigh of relief that she won’t face this alone.

As we take the usual short drive into town, each block feels like an eternity.

What did he get himself into?

Why is he missing?

My mind races as I try to hold my composure for Violet’s sake. “What did Hartley say happened?” I ask timidly. I know she’s in a fragile state, and I don’t want to rile her up even more.

“He said something sketchy happened, but he couldn’t talk about it.”

“Maybe he’s hurt.” Although, I doubt that’s the case. My stomach twists and turns with the same feeling I had moments before I walked in on Layne cheating on me. Something’s not right—and I don’t think it’s an injury.

“If he got hurt, he would have told me. I have a feeling this is worse.”

I nod in agreement, even though I pray this is all a big misunderstanding. After driving in circles around town for hours, we stop at Downtown Tap to check it out as a last ditch effort. Ryan doesn’t drink, so the bar seemed like a longshot, but anywhere is worth checking at this point. Violet hightails it out the car and speedwalks past the bouncer and into the bar. I do my best to keep pace, but I fall behind. When I make it past the entrance, the sight is gut-wrenching. Hunched over the sticky bar lined with more empty glasses than I can count, is Ryan. He’s in bad shape—that much I can tell from a distance—but what’s worse is the agonizing look on Violet’s face as she comes to the realization that everything isn’t okay.

I keep my distance, giving them space to sort out the situation at hand. The booming sound of Ryan’s voice hits me square in the chest from across the barren bar when he says, “Figured yourbest friend would have mentioned how much of a screw-up I am.”

Hartley.

Stepping outside of the bar for air, I curl my legs into a ball against the exposed brick wall. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I text Hartley. I’m not sure if the game is over yet, but it has to be close.

Me: We found him at Downtown Tap. It’s bad, Hart. What’s going on?

Hartley: *link to sports article*

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