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“Hi, kiddo. Are you having fun?”
“Benny and I drew lots of pictures. I drew a cat and a doggie. Now we play with dolls and have a tea party!”
“That sounds like the best day.” I fix her jersey and the sight of Dallas’s numbers across her chest makes me choke up. “We’re going to leave a little early, okay?”
“Okay. Do we go home?”
“We’re going to go home, but we’re going somewhere else first.”
“Oh. Okay. Can I have my backpack, please?”
I force out a smile and grab her pink bag. “Tell Ms. Ann thank you.”
June waves and blows a kiss. “Thank you.”
“Was it bad?” Ms. Ann asks quietly.
I nod and bite my bottom lip. “He got tackled on a blocked field goal. He wasn’t moving when I left.”
She squeezes my hand. “He’s going to be alright.”
I nod again and wipe my eyes. “Thank you for watching her.”
“Mae Mae sad?” June asks, and she touches my cheek. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m okay, princess.”
I don’t want to freak June out, so instead of sprinting like I want to, I walk calmly toward the elevators and wonder what the protocol for this situation is.
They normally take players into the blue medical tent for concussion evaluations with neuro-trauma consultants, but with how severe the hit looked and Dallas’s lack of movement, my bet is he’s going straight to the hospital. Dallas told me the name of the one the Titans use, and I try to remember what it is.
I have to make a split decision. Do I take June to the hospital? Do we go to the apartment? Do we wait here and just hope for some news? Before I have a chance to decide, my phone lights up. A number I don’t have saved in my contacts is calling me, and I answer right away.
“Hello?”
“Maven? It’s Maverick. Where are you?”
I almost sob when I hear his voice. “I’m with June. We’re almost to the players’ garage.”
“Don’t move. I’ll meet you there.”
The minutes feel like hours, and when Maverick rounds the corner, I start to cry again.
“Hey,” he says, and his face is pale. He pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapping around both June and I. “I’ll take JB to my apartment. You should be there when he wakes up.”
“Is he—” I don’t know how to ask this next part. “Do you think he will?”
“I saw his hand moving on the stretcher. That’s a good sign. My guess is he got the wind knocked out of him. Definitely concussed. Maybe a broken rib, too. The guy is a twig.”
“Compared to you,” I grumble. “I think he’s a wall of muscle.”
“You should see me without a shirt on, then.” Maverick winks, and for the first time in ten minutes, I relax. “You’d think I was Superman.”
“Superman!” June echoes.
“Superman!” Maverick says again, and he takes her from me. He lifts her over his head and pretends to fly her around. “You’re coming home with me, kid.”
“No Daddy?” she asks, and she looks around, trying to find Dallas.
