Page 129 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

The ambulances are screeching to a stop just like the police cars.

I don’t know what I’m thinking—I’m not fucking thinking—when I scoop Mikayla into my arms and rush to the set of paramedics coming with a stretcher.

“J-Jayce? I… I’m fine. I’m… not the injured here.”

“You’re going to pass out,” I state facts. “I see it in your damn eyes, Mickey. Don’t argue with me.”

“I-I’m not!” She still goes against me, but her breathing is ragged.

“Shit. Mikayla? Just breath. Pucking hell, the car is too far. You picked up a puffer today, didn’t you?”

Puffer? What is she? Like Maddox and his asthma.

“I… don’t…” She trails off, and I catch the way her eyes suddenly roll back.

Fuck!!

“Help her,” I stress to the paramedics the moment they reach us.

She’s on the stretcher and has an oxygen mask pressed against her face in seconds.

Dimitri is saying a bunch of shit quickly, her name, age, and date of birth.

How does he know all this stuff? He doesn’t know this shit.

He curses when they ask him something specific, then he has his phone out. He calls someone, and sure enough, the phone is on speaker, and the one person I didn’t want to hear is on the other line.

Maddox.

He calls the captain of the Vipers instead of our coach? How stupid is that?

I bite my bottom lip hard, trying not to shake in envy.

The sheriff is here, but I can’t think right now.

My eyes are just glued to my girl.

My girl.

Unconscious.

On a stretcher.

Looking like her mom…

“Winchester!” The deep voice startles me, but I look to see the tall sheriff standing there with a knowledgeable look in my eye. “You ain’t looking good, buddy. You should go with the paramedics.”

“What about…” I trail off as I look around.

This mess.

The crowd of people and their cameras were pushed farther away, the police blocking off the area and trying to figure out the traffic situation.

It feels less condensed—less suffocating—but I still feel like I’m struggling to stay focused.

“We’ll handle it here. We’ll question you after you’ve gotten checked,” he orders and points to the ambulance, where they’re already lifting Mikayla’s stretcher into the back. “Hop in with them and go to the hospital. I’ll let your dad know where you are.”

“T-Thank you, Sheriff,” I voice as he gives me a nod.

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