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Jacob is down. Teammates gather around him, prone in the grass. A couple coaches jog onto the field, but by the time they reach him, he’s staggering to his feet, wobbly and shaking his head at their words. With an uneven gait, he returns to the sideline.
The head coach says something near his ear. Jacob sags and is led to a bench where team personnel close ranks around him. I get one step toward the stairs when John’s hand wraps my fingers, tugging. “No, Hollie.”
I spin. “He’s hurt!”
“Yes, but he’s walking and talking, and the last thing he wants is mommy running down there.”
“But—”
“Trust me on this one.”
My chin flies up. “How would you know?”
His cheeks spasm. “Every man knows.”
I tug, and he releases—my hand, that is. His arm curls my waist. “Wait, Hollie. Let it play out.”
John’s words murmur near my ear. His warm breath produces shivers on my spine. His hand tingles through the layers of clothing. I want to lay my head on his chest and be still.
I insert space, fold my arms, and glue my eyes to Jacob. The game and concern over who’ll win fade to background blur. One of the assistant coaches stands next to Jacob, and a local doctor, the father of one of his teammates, crouches in front of him. He examines his eyes and appears to ask a series of questions, Jacob nodding once, shaking his head to the rest.
My palms are clammy and my heart is thudding like I drank one of those awful energy drinks I’ve forbidden Jacob from touching. The doctor stands, slaps Jacob on the back, and returns to the sideline to watch as the fourth quarter begins.
This time, John cups my elbow when I take a step. “Don’t, Hollie.”
I launch a scowl. “I need to make sure he’s okay!”
“Someone already did. If they’d thought he needed a doctor, they’d have called you and called for help.”
“What do they know! Bunch of stupid jocks.”
Rare laughter sputters out before he quickly sobers. “I’ll go.”
I fist my hand on my hip. “He’s my son.” Emphasis onmy.
“Yep, butyourson is a man, and I can guarantee you he will not thank mommy for running down there. Let me talk to him, Hollie. Trust me on this one.”
Chapter 16
John
By the time I get down to the fence, Jacob has moved to the rear of his assembled teammates, helmet in hand, straining to see the action on the field.
“Carpenter!” I call over the crowd noise. On my second shout, the kid turns, eyes flaring when he spies me.
I’m struck by his size. He’s as tall as I am, and in all the pads and gear, he looks twice as big as usual. Sure enough, Hollie is going to have to come to terms with the fact that her boy is growing up.
I fold my arms on the top of the chain-link. “How’s the old noggin?”
“What are you doing here?” The edge of disdain his voice normally holds during our conversations is slightly tempered.
“Isn’t this where every smalltown Texan is supposed to be on a Friday night?”
He snorts. “Yeah, right. I don’t think you count as smalltown.”
I chuckle. “You might be surprised.”
He shakes his head. “Hey, wait. Is Mom okay?”
