Page 70 of Write Me For You
“There’s my boy!” Chris shouted as Jesse stepped onto the field.
By the time the second half started, Chris was hoarse from screaming, and my cheeks ached from smiling. Jesse was on fire once more. It was like he couldn’t put a pass wrong; every move he made was perfection.
As a whistle blew, Emma took hold of my arm. “June,” she said, like she’d forgotten to tell me something. “Your story,” she said, and I saw tears quickly fill her eyes. “It’s so beautiful. Brutal,” she said with a watery laugh, “but beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, embarrassed.
“You know you’re going viral, don’t you?”
I did. But I never really talked about it with anyone. Outside of my family, Jesse, Chris, and Emma, no one knew it was me who was writing the story that had become one of the most read publications on the platform.
My face blazed at Emma’s mention of it. It was what I adored about writing. This thing I did, the worlds I created, the characters I gave life to felt so big and consuming, yet behind the scenes, I could live a normal little life—one of privacy and beauty and peace.
“Kind of,” I eventually answered.
Emma playfully rolled her eyes at me. “Kind of? June, this could be huge for you. Like, life-changing big.” That’s something else that had happened within the past month—the story of me and Jesse at the ranch, about our treatments not working, had exploded. To be honest, I was trying not to think about it too much. It all felt a bit overwhelming when I did. And I didn’t want it to take away my joy of writing. I wrote because I wanted to. I didn’t think I could cope with the pressure of having to.
A roar from the crowd pulled our attention, and I watched a throw by Jesse sail into the air. He had thrown it so far, my mouth dropped open at the skill…then it landed right in the end zone, in Sheridan’s hands.
The crowd around us lost their minds, and we jumped to our feet. Jesse’s face flashed up on the Jumbotron. My hands were over my mouth, but then my eyes narrowed. Jesse’s teamwas all jumping around him in celebration, but I was fixated on Jesse.
Every part of me froze. Something was wrong. My heart plummeted when, through the gaps in his helmet, I saw his eyes losing focus. I knew Emma and Chris had seen something too because Chris stopped jumping and Emma gripped my arm.
“Jesse,” I whispered to myself, just as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the field. A scream ripped from my throat, and I looked to Emma and Chris.
What was wrong? What was happening?
Terror, pure and strong, took me in its hold, and I watched the big screen as medics ran out onto the field and took off Jesse’s helmet. He was unconscious, that much I could see. The crowd began to quiet, realizing that Jesse was down and wasn’t getting back up.
“Get up,” I said to him. “Get up! Jesse, get up!” My voice was shrill and in the silence of the stands, people began looking at me.
My cell rang, and I saw it was Jesse’s mama calling. “Cynthia,” I said by way of greeting.
“What’s happening, June? Is he okay?” The game was televised today, which meant anyone watching this game was watching Jesse on their screens right now—not getting up.
“I don’t know… I don’t know.” My bottom lip wobbled. “I’m scared.”
Cynthia said, “I know you are, sweetie. So am I. But—” she went quiet, then: “June, someone is calling. I’ll call back.”
I nodded like she could see me.
A stretcher was brought out onto the field, and I watched helplessly as Jesse was placed on it, and the medics rushed off the field with the love of my life.
Someone nearby had a broadcast playing loudly on their phone beside us. “We’re not sure what has happened, but weknow that Jesse Taylor is a survivor of acute myeloid leukemia. In fact, he was diagnosed stage four last year, but he was chosen for a clinical trial that saved his life. He fought hard to keep his scholarship and his place on the Longhorns. I truly hope he’s okay, and it has nothing to do with his past health issues.”
Blood drained from my face. Was Jesse relapsing? Is that what was happening? Chris and Emma must have heard the broadcast too, as when I turned to them, they had paled.
Chris grabbed Emma’s hand, and she took hold of mine. “Let’s go. We’ll find out where he is. He needs us.”
We rushed through the stands, garnering curious stares. Then a whistle blew and the game was back on. I wanted to run onto the field and scream at them all for carrying on when Jesse, my Jesse, had just collapsed. But Chris was pulling us down the stairs, trying to find a way to the locker rooms.
The stadium was huge and packed with security, but just before we reached them, my phone rang again. “Cynthia,” I said.
“They’re taking him to the hospital,” she said, and told me which one. “I’m trying to get cover at work so I can get out there.”
“We’re going now,” I said, running for a nearby exit.
Chris and Emma followed. My head was full, and my nerves had engulfed me.
