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More people are jogging out onto the field now. Everybody in the stands is rising to their feet. I can hear whispers as I rush at the railing. The announcer’s saying something. Fuckit, he's not moving!
And then I hear, "MILLER!"
He's still lying on his side, with a whole swarm of people around him. He’s not moving. Surely he’s not actually yelling.
But I hear it again: "MILLER!"
Fuck, that’s Ezra! That’s him! There’s a body board now on the ground beside him.
I'm not even consciously aware of the decision. One second I'm standing at the rail, feeling sick. The next I'm diving over it, not realizing there's shrubs on the other side until I'm on them, getting scraped through my clothes.
I fall off the shrubs onto the hard grass of the sideline, and a few Bama players turn to stare. My heart is racing as I scramble up, locking my eyes on Ezra, who’s now on his back with EMTs by his head. I think I can hear him saying something, but there’s too much crowd noise to be sure. Then his back arches and he yells, “MILLER!”
Fuck! He's maybe twenty yards out. I think that I can make it if I run hard. My stomach drops into my quads, but it’s not even a decision. Ezra needs me—I’m there.
My face and chest burn and my heart pounds so hard I feel dizzy as I dart out onto the field. Once I start, some of the nerves fall away, and I run faster, harder. I'm almost to him when some guy breaks from the swarm and steps into my path, holding his arms out. I run around that fucker, drop to my knees, and bump a referee who’s crouched by Ezra.
I hear myself say, "I'm Miller!"
I feel thousands of eyes on me, but all I see is Ezra with his pale face and his clenched teeth. His eyes are glassy, and I realize his teeth are chattering. He’s shaking all over. Fuck.
I reach for his arm. "Hey there, angel."
As soon as his gaze finds my face, tears start spilling down his cheeks. He reaches for me, but I’m grabbed from behind. “Sir, you can’t be here!”
I look over my shoulder—it’s one of the refs. I feel panicked as I try to break free of his grip. "I'm his next of kin!”
“Stay back, or I’ll have you hauled off,” the man snaps as he lets me go, and when I turn back to Ez, he’s being moved onto the stretcher.
I get my first look down the length of him, and I'm gut-punched to see what has to be a broken leg or ankle. Jesus.
“Mills?” He reaches for me as the EMTs strap him down. Suddenly, everybody’s talking. The ref is telling me again I have to get off the field.
Someone with a booming voice says, "We're gonna move him, everybody back up!"
"It's okay," I call to Ez. I try to step closer, but that fucking ref grabs me again. “What the fuck?” I jerk my arms out of his grasp. “I’m not doing anything, dude.”
He lets me go again, and the stretcher is unfolding; the thing has legs with wheels that pop out. Ezra’s arm is reaching toward me, but there are lots of people between us, so I can’t see his face.
Everything is chaos as the swarm around him starts to move toward the sideline.
"You can't be near an injured player," the ref tells me gruffly. I want to fucking throttle him, but I know that won't help me. "That’s fine. But I'm going with him in the ambulance because I'm his only family here."
I start following the Ezra swarm, thinking I’ll get close to him once there’s distance in between that ref and me. But I hear, “Miller!”
It’s a hoarse yell, and it makes my chest squeeze. I jog closer. “Hey, can I get near him? I’m his family,” I say to someone in a crimson Polo.
The guy frowns at me, and Ezra moans my name again, and then the crowd is cheering, everybody on their feet, just fucking roaring in a way that’s almost scary. Ezra sticks his arm up, giving a wave, and the crowd roars louder.
Then we’re on the sideline and his teammates are all shouting to him. I realize he’s strapped onto the stretcher; I can tell he’s scared because his hands are clawing at the straps.
Finally, there’s space beside him as the swarm disperses, coaches and refs returning to position as we’re left with mostly EMTs and game staff. Tears fill my eyes as I plant myself right by his head.
“Hey there, angel.” He looks pale and heavy-lidded as his eyes find mine, and then—just like before—the tears start sliding down his cheeks.
“Oh, angel. I’m so sorry.” I lean down, fighting the urge to kiss him, he grabs onto me. “Please, Mills! Don’t let them take me!”
