I felt like I was floating on a cloud of happy—until Sean took off jogging across the field. His parents and Mr. Oxford PhD were standing on the sidelines waving at him like they were trying to hail a cab.
Should have known.
Jesse walked to me and said, “Who’s that?”
I sighed. “His parents and the dude they want Sean to date. Some brainiac.”
Jesse just raised his eyebrows. Right. Can’t fight city hall, as my dad liked to say.
With a sigh, I lined up to shake hands with the other team, then started toward the locker room, heart thumping miserably. I wished this day was over. It was bad enough to be around Sean when he wasn’t mine. But to have to see his parents again and the new dude on top of that? Not fair.
But when I got to the bleachers, Sean was standing talking to his parents and Jeremiah Osteen. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Funny, nobody touched Sean or hugged him. They were all staring at, and listening to, Jeremiah. That included Sean who was shifting from foot to foot. Not big, but kind of a small wobble back and forth. His hands were behind his back, and I could just see his profile, but his fingers snapped restlessly, and he looked—bored.
The thought made me stop, and DeWan ran into my back. “Whoa, big fella.”
I looked back. “Sorry, DeWan. Wasn’t watching.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I never thought you could do it, man, but Sean’s carry was as sweet as anything I could have done. It was almost as good as you.” He barked a laugh. “Hell, it was almost as good as Jesse!” Laughing, he walked past me into the tunnel.
I couldn’t take my eyes off those snapping fingers and restless feet. Sean McKinney wasn’t having a good time listening to the PhD run his mouth. And why was the guy yakking anyway? Hadn’t they seen that play? They should be telling Sean how great he was and hugging him and shit. Probably they didn’t understand flag and had no clue how awesome Sean had been, which was a fucking shame. He should be with someone who appreciated everything about him.
I walked toward the tunnel, trying to ignore the tiny tickle in my chest. A little thing kind of like hope.
We only had an hour before the next game, so we couldn’t go anywhere. When I got into the locker room, our team adviser from the fraternity, Mr. Hammerschmidt, had already piled a table with burgers, grilled chicken, raw veggies, and dip, and there were even some fries for those who believed in carb loading. We lay on the benches where there was room, sat on the floor, and some massaged one another’s backs. Jesse was sitting with his shoes off, and Mr. H was rubbing his calf.
Sean walked in looking annoyed, but the big cheer he earned spread a smile across his face. “Thanks.” He glanced at me. “Bubba must have thrown the ball to me just like that two hundred times. I finally learned to catch it.”
Tray yelled, “Go Bubba!” And that was great, but nothing meant as much as Sean’s little smile.
When we’d consumed all the food like some starving pack of lions, Tray called us together to talk about the next game. These guys coming up were fourth best in the league, but they’d only missed third by a couple points. They were way good.
After Tray had discussed plays, Jesse said, “I’ve got a problem. I pulled a calf muscle. It’s no big, but Mr. H says I shouldn’t stress it too much.”
Everyone probably sucked a little wind at that idea. Hell, we’d almost lost the last game with Jesse.
Mr. H stepped up to the group. “You can rotate Jesse in if you need him, but he can’t play the full hour. You’ve got Bubba. Use him.”
Tray looked at me and knocked my fist. What made me a good player was versatility. I was big and strong, so I was intimidating on rush, but I was really fast for a big man, so I could carry, which the other team usually didn’t expect. Still, I wasn’t as fast as Jesse. I said, “I’m there. Remember, Sean’s faster than me over short distances.”
DeWan laughed. “Not as much muscle mass to get up to speed.”
“And Dustin’s really good,” Rex put in.
Dustin smiled at him in thanks.
The team went out on the field made up of me, Tray, Dustin, DeWan, Rex, Jimmy Duke and Randy Rivers—two ALA bros who lived off campus but were flag regulars. Everyone else, including Jesse and Sean, sat on the bench. I scored two touchdowns in the first half that put us up by seven. For second half, I sat on the bench for the first five minutes as Jesse came in, but when the other team tied the score, Tray brought me back and sent Dustin out. Since the dean said we always had to have one Poin playing, Tray traded Dustin for Sean, maybe hoping lightning would strike twice.
In the first fifteen of the second half, we scored a safety that put us up by two, then, about forty minutes into the hour, the other team got a touchdown, and they were up by four since they missed the extra try. Tray was starting to get that stressed look. Never a good thing. I signaled him a thumbs-up, and he gave me a nod.
The ball was snapped, Tray went back and released the throw, and I started running, looking over my shoulder. The ball was coming right for me, and I reached up—
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it happen.
In flag football, no contact was allowed, so defenders were taught to block the offense and only move at the last minute. As I ran around one linebacker, the ball still soaring above me, I was aware of another huge guy to my right that had jolted into motion like a freight train, heading for me diagonally. And I saw Sean. He’d tried to head off the first linebacker, but seeing that guy give up, he stopped dead midfield, eyes on me. He didn’t see the big man coming up behind him, and the guy didn’t have time to stop. He plowed into Sean so hard they both went flying. Like slow motion, Sean went up, spun backward, sailed toward the ground, and landed with jarring impact on the back of his neck. He crumpled and laid still.
The whole stadium gasped in horror.
The screech of a whistle cut through the air at the same moment I heard myself scream, “Sean!”
I was running. Running was somehow happening. The ball forgotten, my whole brain and heart had flown out of my body and was back with Sean. Why couldn’t my actual legs move faster?
Still, somehow, I got to him before anyone else. I fell onto the ground beside his limp body, still as a statue, his skin so pale his hair glowed like some kind of neon sign.
“Sean, Sean. Please, please. Can you hear me?” My fingers sought for a pulse at his neck, and I leaned down to listen. Thump thump. Thump-thump. His heartbeat was steady. So hopefully he hadn’t broken his neck at least. But that didn’t mean a vertebra wasn’t cracked or nerves damaged. “Sean. Sean.” My lips, covered in salty tears, pressed against his cheek. I desperately wanted to pick him up and hold him, but I knew he shouldn’t be moved. Oh my God, he could be hurt so bad.
People were crowding around, and I leaned down to Sean’s ear. “Please, you’re so freaking wonderful and have so much going for you. You have to be okay. I love you so much, Sean. And I’m gonna fight for you. Just please, just be okay so I get the chance. I’ll do anything, please.”
His lashes fluttered, and then I was staring into his big brown eyes. No glasses. They must have fallen off, but all I wanted to do was stare into them.
He frowned. No really, he scowled with that big crease I knew so well. “What do you mean you love me? You broke up with me. That’s hardly consistent.”