AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Instead of following my own advice, I pay for an expensive all-access pass so I can stream every game, not just the ones that are televised locally. I watch every single minute Slater is on the field.
Today’s game is particularly meaningful because it will likely be Slater’s last start for the season. Randy was medically cleared and was a partial participant in practices this week. Barring any setbacks, he’ll be the starter after their bye week.
Slater has said all the right things when in front of the camera, but I can’t help wondering how he’s really feeling. Not that I have a right to know any longer. I completely blew up our relationship, and now he never calls me. It’s nothing less than I deserve after the things I said.
As soon as I got home, I did what I never thought I’d do. I called my father and calmly and concisely told him how I’ve felt since I was ten. Then I called my mother and did the same. It was kind of awful. For them. And for me. Thankfully, clearing the air helped.
Suffering in silence is not healthy.
I wish I felt like I could call Slater. It’s different with him because I blame myself for pretty much everything. How do I apologize for breaking up with him when all I wanted to do was hold him close?
As Sacramento enters the fourth quarter, they’re up by seven. They move the ball slowly down the field, grabbing a few yards at a time, always forcing themselves into a third and short situation. They’re nearly in field goal range when Slater fakes the handoff and drops back. He’s looking downfield for a receiver, but somebody missed a block, and Higgins, the opposing team’s outside linebacker, is coming right for him.
Slater must see him coming because he throws the ball into the dirt.
The pocket collapses. It’s too late for Higgins to stop. He crashes into Slater. It isn’t a particularly hard hit, but Slater gets jostled around as he falls to the ground. Half the players on the field get tangled in a heap on top of him.
The refs blow their whistles a million times, as they’re prone to do when there’s a pile of guys. Slowly, players start to stand up, pulling each other to their feet.
Slater doesn’t get up.
It doesn’t look like he’s moving.
My entire world freezes as I stare at the television.
The broadcast team—probably realizing Slater is down—shows the play from another angle. The impact from the hit by Higgins pushed Slater into Murphy, his own teammate. The back of Slater’s helmet contacted with the front of Murphy’s, and Slater’s neck was wrenched awkwardly to the side. They show the replay from four different angles. Every angle shows the same thing—there’s nothing unique or unusual about the hit.
It’s a penalty—roughing the passer—but it wasn’t dirty. If Slater had still been holding the ball, it wouldn’t even be a penalty. The defense is supposed to get in the face of the quarterback. It’s their job.
They show the replay again, this time in slow motion. I’m desperate for them to go back to the field in real time. Is Slater up now?
When they finally go live again, the players are standing nearby, staring at Slater. He’s surrounded by medical staff, so it’s impossible to tell what’s going on.
He’s probably fine. He’s probably fine.
My hands—clammy and cold—clench in my lap.
The broadcast goes to commercials. My phone rings. I don’t stir. I stare straight forward, willing the game to come back on. When it does, Slater is strapped to a board. The cart is on the field, and I still can’t see if he’s conscious. The camera angle is bad, or there’s something they don’t want us to see. Which is it?
The broadcasters speculate about his injury. They think he has a concussion, but they aren’t doctors. What do they know?
The sideline reporter has nothing to report except that an ambulance is waiting to take Slater to the hospital. The crowd stands and claps as the cart drives toward the tunnel. The only part of Slater that’s visible is his feet. Don’t they usually let the player wave to the fans? Why are the medical staff crowded around him, not letting us see anything?
The broadcast goes back to commercials. These commercials are killing me. I’m sweating profusely, but I’m still cold. What if he’s really hurt?
When they return to the game, Jacob Drisk takes the snap. Randy is still inactive and Drisk is the third-string quarterback. Play resumes as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. The team kicks a field goal, and the sideline reporter informs the audience that the ambulance has left. She doesn’t have any other details. Why doesn’t she have details?
My phone rings again. This time, I pick it up.
“Are you watching?” Kelsey says. She sounds breathless.
“Yes.” I notice the tears on my cheeks. “What do you know?”
“Not much.”
“Why’d you call?” I swipe at the tears. It doesn’t stop them from coming. I hold back a sniffle. I don’t want Kelsey to know I’m crying.
I haven’t moved from my spot on the sofa. I tuck a blanket tightly around me, although it doesn’t seem to warm me up.
