Mikey hesitated. “Good. I’m on my way to give…” The rest of his words were muffled. I stuck a finger in my other ear to block out the noise from the guys around me.
“What? I didn’t hear that last part.”
“Sorry, was asking Truman to wait a minute. I’m just dropping—” The sudden sound of a car honk followed by screeching tires came through the line. It was followed by a gasp and Mikey’s scream, the loud clatter of the phone hitting the pavement, and then muffled shouts and unidentifiable noises.
“Mikey!” I yelled into the phone. “Mikey, what happened?” The locker room around me went silent as I stood from my bench. It was a car crash, obvious from the horrible noises. “Mikey!”
“Tiller?” His voice sounded weak and faraway. I could barely hear him. “Call 911. Near… near… spice shop…”
Peevy’s hand was on my shoulder, and his face was creased with worry. “What can I do?” he whispered.
My voice was thick with shock. “Find a number for 911 in Aster Valley, Colorado. I don’t know how, but call them and…” My brain scrambled to think of what the name of Truman’s shop was. “The Honeyed Lemon shop on the main street there.”
Peevy immediately pulled out his phone, and I realized several other players were doing the same. I hoped they were trying to help rather than gossiping.
“Mikey?” I begged into the phone. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re okay.”
All I could hear were the sounds of people shouting, muffled noises of people possibly trying to help, and other unidentifiable commotion. I kept my eyes closed as if that would help me hear better, but the only distinct voice I could hear was my own ragged one begging Mikey to answer me.
At one point, I thought I heard the sound of sirens. It was quickly followed by a more authoritative voice I hoped like hell was a cop or EMT. Part of me wanted to shout into the phone, demanding answers, but the rational part of me knew to stay quiet and let them do whatever needed doing.
Someone’s strong hands guided me back down to the bench where I sat numbly and waited. People moved around me in the locker room, getting into uniform and talking quietly among themselves. Someone asked someone else if they should tell Coach, and Markus and Peevy both hissed a “no” before Markus suggested moving me to a separate room.
Derek Mopellei squatted in front of me and reached up to quickly thumb tears off my face I didn’t even know had fallen. “He’s going to be okay,” he said in his calm manner. “Deep breath.”
Finally, after an impossibly long time of listening to what was now clearly emergency response personnel, someone picked up the phone. “Hello?”
My entire body flooded with fear until I gagged with it. “Mikey, I croaked. “My… my Mikey. Is he okay? Is he…?”
“Sir, two hit-and-run casualties are being taken to Aster Valley Emergency. That’s all I can tell you at this time.”
“Is he—” The call cut off so quickly, I grunted in surprise. I tried calling it back, but there was no answer. “Fuck!” I shouted, wanting to hurl my phone across the room in helpless frustration.
Suddenly, I realized I was wasting time. I shot to my feet and grabbed my bag out of my locker cubby before bolting toward the door. A shout of “Where the hell are you going?” rang out as I sailed by. Markus tried to stop me, to tell me I needed to dress out in my uniform for the game, but I shoved him away. “Stop!” he tried again, so I spun around to face him.
“I’m going to Colorado. If you think this game is more important to me than that man, you’re mistaken,” I hissed at him. “And if Coach wants to fight me on this, I’m happy to trot out all of the medical specialists who advised me against playing. Now, go get Coach and tell him his son has been in an accident.”
Antone’s eyes were big. He stepped up next to Markus and shook his head. “No fucking way, man. We’ve been through this before. When we were in the playoffs against the Broncos—this was before you—his boy Eddie was in a motorcycle accident. Broke his tibia and needed surgery. We interrupted the game to tell Coach about it, and he still hasn’t forgiven us. We lost by one point. He made it very clear that as long as Eddie was in good hands with the right medical care, there was no reason to interrupt the game. Fretting at his bedside could wait. Those were his exact words. Mikey understands that. He understands there’s nothing Coach can do to help him in a hospital. He’s no doctor.”
Markus nodded. Even our kicker, old-timer Trace Elliott, nodded aggressively over Markus’s shoulder. “He’s right. Coach will fuck you up if you bring him this shit right now.”
I stared at them, unable to grasp not wanting to know if my child was okay or not.
Markus continued. “What I’m saying is, Mikey will understand if you get to his hospital bed at midnight instead of eight. What’s the difference?” He frowned and reached for his phone. “I’ll find someone to go be with him.”
I yanked his phone out of his hand and was about to throw it on the floor when I had an idea. “Not necessary. There’s nothing you can say to stop me from going to see Mikey right now.” I tried to say it in a calm voice, but I didn’t feel one speck of calm on the inside. I felt terrified and angry. Terrified for Mikey and so damned angry that his parents wouldn’t feel the same sense of urgency to get to him.
I hoped he never found out. My heart broke for him. He thought my dad placed too much emphasis on football, but it was nothing like this.
I made eye contact with Markus as I handed him back his phone. “You need to do whatever it takes to get me on a private jet from Buffalo to Aster Valley, Colorado, ASAP. If you do this for me, I will forgive you for telling me not to do this.”
His jaw ticked for a beat before he nodded and took the phone.
I bolted out of the stadium while arranging for a ride on an app. As soon as that was done, I dialed Winter Waites.
“Hey, Tiller. I hope this means they’re not playing you tonight.” He sounded happy and relaxed which meant he didn’t know what had happened.
“I need your help. Mike—” My voice cracked. I swallowed and banged the phone against my forehead before trying again. “Mikey was in some kind of accident in front of Truman’s shop. He’s being taken to the hospital. Can you… can—” I sucked in a breath.
His voice was all business when he cut in. “Yes. I’m on my way there right now. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out what’s going on.”
“Thank you.”
“Hang in there, okay? He’ll be in good hands. It’s a regional hospital, but it’s top-notch. And they have a helicopter if he needs to go somewhere else.”
I nodded and hung up before dialing my mom. Meanwhile, my car pulled up and I hopped in, grateful the app already told the driver where to take me.
“Honey, I thought you were playing in the game tonight?” Mom asked when she answered. “Your father’s all set up in the den already, watching the pregame.”
“Something’s happened. Can you go to Aster Valley? Mikey’s been in some kind of accident.”
“Oh no, what kind of accident?” She called out to my father in the background, and within seconds, he was on the line. “Tiller? Where is he? We’ll head there straightaway.”