Page 151 of Altius
Dr. McEwen’s brows snapped together. “Move!”
A group of players thundered down the field. Knox and Amir were chasing down a wide receiver, and all three were heading straight for us.
My quick reflexes and years of strength training got me to safety in a flash.
Knox lunged, barely missing the tackle. He skidded, but his momentum was too great. A cleat clipped the ankle of a chain crew member, sending him staggering—right into Dr. McEwen. Knox careened wildly as he tried to avoid slamming into anyone else.
They all fell to the ground in a chaotic, groaning heap.
With a desperate dive, Amir got his arms around the receiver, catapulting through the air. He landed helmet-first on the turf, crushed by the receiver’s weight.
Whistles and yellow flags littered the field.
One of the coaches hauled Knox back to his feet. After yanking off his helmet, Knox gripped his face in pain. He spat out a mouthful of blood and one of his front teeth.
Dr. McEwen was still on the ground, winded from the impact. I tried to help him, but he shook his head and pointed at the field.
“Amir. Go.”
Darting through the assembled crowd, I saw that Amir was struggling to get to his knees. Not good.
Adrenaline propelled me forward.
Before I could reach Amir, Garvey hauled him up. Amir couldn’t find his balance, stumbling forward like a marionette whose strings had been cut loose.
I suspected he had a head injury. A concussion, most likely, but I had to assess him first—and get him away from Garvey.
I ran faster, wondering where the other medical personnel were. A glance over my shoulder confirmed they were tending to multiple injuries.
Amir’s ankles seemed made of gelatin as he wobbled toward me. I grabbed his arm to help support his weight. Thankfully, Garvey still had a hand on his elbow, or I might have dropped him.
“D-doc,” Amir slurred, “don’t feel good.”
“Where—head, neck, back?”
“Head. Real bad.”
“What about your neck?”
Amir swayed to the left, prompting me to redouble my grip on his arm. “No, it’s okay.”
Reyhan arrived, panting hard, and elbowed Garvey out of the way, fueled by professional focus, taking hold of Amir’s other side.
“I think Knox’s jaw is dislocated,” Reyhan said, words coming out in a jumble. “Blood everywhere. We’re on our own.”
Garvey drove a fist into his palm and swore. His beady eyes swiveled, fixed on Amir, frustration hardening into obstinacy. “If we’re down a player, you can’t take him.”
“Concussion protocol says otherwise,” I said, angling Amir away from Garvey and heading toward the sideline.
“Grounds all wobbly.” Amir staggered to the side.
“It’s okay, we’ve got you,” Reyhan said, rubbing his shoulder. “Just hang in there a little longer.”
“He just needs to walk it off,” Garvey snarled at our departing backs.
My shoulders tensed on instinct, but I forced them down. Garvey had no power over me. Not professionally. And certainly not as an alpha.
Tyler rushed over, red hair dripping with sweat, his gaze glassy from the pheromones addling his system. The blackeye Knox had given him during practice two days ago was a venomous purple beneath the stadium lighting.
