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Rush(less): Alabama Earns Narrow Victory Without Star QB; No Updates on Girlfriend’s Injury Status
Easton Rush Should Play in His Girlfriend’s Honor Instead of Giving Into His Emotions
Will Easton Rush Play in Week Three?
38
EASTON
“Why hasn’t anyone given us any new updates today?” I glare at the doctor on a Friday morning. “All the staff has done is adjust the settings on these fucking machines.”
He sighs. “Mr. Rush—”
“Don’t you dare say the same shit you said an hour ago,” I say. “I’m tired of hearing that.”
“Both of these young ladies are very lucky to be alive,” he repeats his usual words anyway. “I’ve run through their list of injuries, and as a football player, surely you know that we’re not looking at a quick recovery.”
“Are we looking atanyfucking recovery?”
He sighs and scribbles on his clipboard. Then he tears off a sheet and hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“A prescription for some sedation medication. The pharmacist is on the first floor.”
“With all due respect, Doctor—” I crumple the paper. “Football and medication don’t go together.”
“You’re not playing football, though. You haven’t played in weeks.”
Bullshit. “I played last week, and I have a game against Clemson tomorrow.”
He furrows his brow. Then he places a hand against my forehead.
“Easton Rush…” He speaks slowly, enunciating every syllable in my name. “The game against Clemson was two weeks ago. You haven’t left the hospital since you got here, son.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes. It is.” He looks alarmed. “Your coach sent one of his interns here with clothes, your teammates brought practice footage, and your father has stopped by every night to check on you. Do you recall any of those things?”
“Yes.” I lie.
“Well, today is Friday,” he says. “Just in case you’re wondering.”
“Who are we playing tomorrow?”
“Ole Miss,” he says. “Why?”
I don’t answer.
I look over to where Mr. & Mrs. Crane are sitting on the couch, both engrossed in their cell phones.
They’ve been far too embroiled in arguments to say much of anything outside of “Hey there, Easton,” and “It’s another pretty fall day outside, huh?” to me. Despite the brewing animosity, their mother has not-so-subtly vlogged from their bedside in tears—focusing on her feelings, not their condition—and their father has started a multi-million dollar GoFundMe account.
He bought a brand new Jaguar last week.
“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” I say, kissing the bandage around Scarlett’s forehead. “I promised to beat the hell out of Ole Miss since they didn’t accept you…”
“You’re still mixing the twins up, Easton,” the doctor says. “Tully is the one on the left.”
