Page 88 of Most Likely to Score
Clutching the ball like the precious cargo it is, I take another huge step, and one more, until all the air spills from my lungs as he hits hard again.
My ears ring.
My bones rattle.
The collision echoes through my body as I crumple. My knee slams against the grass, then the rest of me smashes to the earth in a crush of limbs.
The safety’s legs tangle up with mine, and the heavy weight of his body shoves my knee harder against the ground.
Harder than I’ve felt before.
Then, everything turns into déjà vu.
This must be how Garrett felt when he fell.
37
JILLIAN
My heart jams my throat.
Fear attacks every cell in my body.
A player’s down. But not just any player.Myplayer.
I rush to the window of the press suite where I’ve been watching. I press my fingers to the glass, and my veins flood with a primal, wild fear.
Jones lies on the field, grappling with his right leg.
“Oh God.” A tear streams down my cheek, and I snap my gaze to the TV screen as the camera zooms in on him. The trainer’s already there—the coach, too. Harlan kneels next to him, offering a hand.
The shot of his face shows Jones wincing. The pain seems to ricochet through him, and I wish I could take it on for him. My feet are glued to the floor and my eyes to the screen. I can’t look away.
“We don’t know what happened to Jones Beckett, and whether he can walk it off or not. But that was one tough fall as Collings rammed into him right at the end zone,” the announcer says. “I’ve seen these kinds offalls before, and sometimes you get right up, and sometimes you don’t.”
Shut up, I want to say. He’ll get up.
To the screen, I mouth,Get up.Please get up.
Jones rolls to his side, his big, beautiful hands clutching his right knee.
Harlan slides an arm under him, the trainer on the other side as Jones hobbles off the field with them.
I run like hell from the suite, down the hall, and to the elevator that’ll take me to the locker room. He’s not even going to the sidelines medical tents. They’re taking him to the locker room, and that means it’s serious.
“C’mon,” I mutter as I wave my ID tag at the card reader, and I wait and I wait and I wait. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I try to find some information, but that’s stupid. That’s pointless.
ESPN has no more data than I do.
This is happening in real time, and I need to get to him.
38
JONES
They say all good things must come to an end. They say anything can happen any given Sunday.
But I’m not thinking about football as Miles, the trainer, becomes my crutch, taking me to the lower floor of the stadium where the team doctor waits. Harlan stays behind to play.
