Page 82 of Shot Taker

One at a time, the guys peel off. Miles first, then Atlas. Rookie. Jayden. The coaching staff too.

I keep pacing the room. Still in my hoodie over a practice jersey, plus shorts, my Kobes on my feet.

“You won’t get to see him tonight.”

I look up to meet Harlan’s eyes.

He rests a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. My attention goes to my knee, the scar there.

Harlan retreats and returns a moment later with faded blue polyester folded in his hands. “At least put these on so you don’t freeze.”

Harlan leaves me with the scrubs. I drop them on the chair and do laps of the ward. People spot me, but the nurses don’t care.

I’m not famous here. I have no power.

I return to the nurse’s station. “Let me see him.”

“You can’t right now, Mr. Wade.” She frowns.

I rub a hand over my face. “I need to see him.”

She starts to argue, but another nurse clears her throat. “You can go in.”

I head into the room full of beeping machines. He’s lying in the bed, tubes and monitors hooked up everywhere. For once, he’s quiet.

There’s no chair, so I get one from the hallway and carry it in.

* * *

NOVA

The past week, I’ve been going to the wall.

Literally.

The mural has consumed my waking moments.

But when Brooke came home looking stricken and told me about Coach, I couldn’t sit at home.

Twenty minutes later, I’m at the hospital. Through some emotional appeal, the nurses finally allow me in.

Clay is slouched in a tiny visitor's chair at his coach’s bedside.

In the bed, the man who always looked sprightly and energetic is still and pale.

The anger and betrayal I felt seem small compared to the scene in front of me.

I rest a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “Hi.”

He doesn’t respond.

I start to pull back, but Clay’s hand covers mine. “Hi.”

“How is he?” I ask.

“Not good.” The words are barely audible.

“How long have you been here?”

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