He looked at me intently, then pulled his phone out and dialed a number. “Where are you? Yeah, okay. How is he? Okay thanks. I’m sending Crawley over.”
He looked at me as he hung up. “He’s at Columbia Presbyterian. He’s being prepped for surgery.”
Even though I knew he’d need surgery, it still felt like another blow to the ribs.
“Fuck.”
“They’re on the third floor. You can go; we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“Yes, Coach, thank you.”
“Crawley, get your hand sorted while you’re there.”
I shoved my hand inside my pocket, wincing, but hoping he hadn’t noticed how bad it was.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Jasper turned to me as Coach walked off toward the dressing room. “He’ll be okay, man.”
“I hope so.” I ran my hand down my face. “Can you do me a favor? I’ve left a message for Emerson but her phone is going to voicemail and she was supposed to be coming here. Can you make sure Murray takes her home? He’s here, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to call from the hospital.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. We’ll sort it out.” He pulled me into a hug. “You go; we’ll be there as soon as this game ends.”
“Thanks, Jas. I’ll text you.” I picked my bag up from where I’d dropped it and ran down toward the parking lot where I knew Ralph was expecting me.
Thirty minutes later, I stormed into a private waiting room on the surgical floor where Felix was. A couple of the team assistant physicians, Ford and Erica, were sitting on the couches, their faces greyer than normal.
“What’s the deal?”
Erica took a breath. “Open femur break, but his knee was also fractured. His leg crushed behind him as he went into the boards.”
I slumped down onto a chair, my face in my hands. “Fuck. What does that mean for him?”
“We need to see what the surgeon says, but it’s going to be the rest of the season. Six months rehab minimum, I’d say.”
“But he’ll play again?”
Ford nodded. “Yes, he should do.”
My shoulders dropped and I pressed my finger and thumb into my eye sockets, squeezing away the moisture, overwhelmed with relief. I pulled my phone out, checking again to see if Emerson had messaged but she hadn’t. I’d tried her a dozen times on the way over but it hadn’t connected, and now I had no cell reception.
Fucking technology.
“Drew, has anyone looked at your hand?”
I’d almost forgotten about it as I glanced down. The knuckles were bruised and swollen, a gash across my left one from where it had collided with his teeth. I squeezed my fist open and shut a couple of times.
“Nah. It’s fine.”
He rolled his eyes, got up and walked out, returning a few minutes later with an ice pack and a suture kit, sitting down next to me.
“Where’d you get that from?”
“We’re in a hospital,” he deadpanned, pulling on some gloves and a mask, laying out a sterile cloth on the table. “Give me your hand.”
I groaned but placed it in his reach for him to examine.
“I don’t think you’ve broken anything.” He wiped it with antiseptic and numbing gel. I winced as the needle pierced my skin, but two stiches later and he was done, covering it with medical grade Band-Aid.
