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Max plays along, crossing his arms in his jersey and propping the iron up on his forehead for a few shots and then looking through the mask for a few more. I get a great closeup of his eyes through the helmet that I think the marketing guys are going to want to use for the season and we call it a wrap.
We’re walking back to campus across the giant parking lot between the school and the stadium when my phone starts to ring nonstop. I’m sure it’s Laney wanting to chew my ass out for somehow making Matt stir up controversy, so I ignore the firsttwo calls, but when the third vibrates in my pocket I excuse pull my phone out to answer. I glance quickly at the screen and see Flynn’s name and number, and my stomach drops.
My mom.
“Flynn, what’s up?” I naturally pick up my pace and Max asks what’s going on as he tries to keep up. I hold up a finger and try to focus on my brother.
“Mom drove herself to the ER, so she’s okay, but?—”
I don’t hear the rest of what my brother says. Once he utteredERI shot into panic mode and handed over my camera and school bag to Max. I’m running through the lot now and panting into the phone. I take a shortcut through mid-campus to get to where I parked by the gym and put my phone on speaker before I toss it into the cupholder.
“Cutter, I said she’s okay. You don’t have to freak out, man.” The problem I have with what Flynn is saying is that nobody freaks out over mom going through any of this, and that means nobody shows up for her when she hits rough patches. If mom needs me, I want to be there.
“Tell me what’s happening again. I’m heading to Mercy.” I shift into reverse and peel out of the lot.
“It’s just a cold, and with the chemo, they want to have her stay overnight. She’s not going to want you dropping everything to come sit in a hospital with her, Cutter.” Flynn lecturing me is like being told what to do by a Muppet. Of all my brothers, he’s the most irresponsible and reckless.
“Yeah, well, I’d rather her be mad having to put up with my company than wondering why she’s eating green Jell-O in a hospital room alone because her five kids are too busy warming benches in Bakersfield or playing some board game counting down for bath time.”
“Wow, man. Cheap shots. You can rip on me and Todd all you want, but don’t give Pat and Andrew crap for having families, dude.”
I pull up hard at the stoplight and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Sorry, Flynn. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I worry about her is all.” My heart is racing and my leg is teeming with energy, ready to push the pedal through the floor when the light turns green again.
“I know. That’s why I said don’t worry. Mom told me not to bother you. That’s why she called me instead, just to make sure someone knew. But I knew you’d want to know. Try to take a breath, though, yeah? She’s really alright.”
I do my best to take Flynn’s advice, drawing in a long breath through my nose while my eyes zero in on the flaming red LED lights above the road. They switch to green and I give the Jeep gas as I blow out through my mouth.
“Call me when you know more,” Flynn says.
“I will,” I say before ending the call.
It takes me about ten minutes to carve through what should be a twenty-minute drive, and once I get inside and get her room number from the main desk, I dash to her wing. I slow to a walk before I make it to the nurses’ station and spend a few seconds checking my phone while I catch my breath. The only message is from Max who says he’ll drop my bags off at my house and to keep him posted.
With a cooler head and a slower heart rate, I round the nurse’s station and head to room four seventeen. The sound of True Crime TV has never soothed my soul more.
“Now why would you go and call Flynn instead of me, Ma?” I plop down in the chair by her bed and she doesn’t even look my direction.
“Damn him. I told him not to tell you,” she gripes, picking up the remote from the folds in her blanket and muting the TV. She tosses the remote on the rolling tray table then picks up a cup and shakes it.
“Since you’re here, can you get me more ice?” She has some liquids going through her IV, so I glance over the chart to try to get a handle on what’s going on with her.
“I’m allowed to have ice!” She shakes the cup again, more vigorously this time, and hits me with a tight-lipped glare.
“Fine, I was just making sure. You’re getting some vitamins it looks like. What did the doctor say?” I step one foot out into the hallway, flag down one of the attendants, and mouth “ice.” She nods so I head back into the room.
“It’s just your average cold bug, but my immune system is working at a two, so they’re adding some more defense.” She holds up the drip line and gives a soft laugh. My mom and dad always talked about our gameplay on a scale of one to ten. They both knew the game well, and since my dad quit playing because my grandfather was apparently a real hard-ass about winning, my parents never wanted to put negative words in any of our heads after a bad loss. Still, when mom says I looked like a two out on the ice, it felt pretty damn bad. Which means she’s probably not feeling so hot either.
“Well, you came to the right place. Thank you for not being stubborn and trying to tough this out at home. However, if you could just get over this idea that I don’t have time to help and call me, that would be great.” A nurse steps into the room with a small bucket of ice and a new pitcher of water. She pours a fresh cupful for my mom and checks her line before leaving.
“It’s because youdon’thave time. I know you head out tomorrow for the season opener. You think I’m not following every game like usual?” She takes a long sip of water then plunksthe cup back on the table like it’s a punctuation mark to her response.
I shake my head and breathe out a soft laugh before taking her hand and sitting down by her again.
“You’re stubborn,” I say.
“And how the hell do you think you got the way you did?” She squeezes my hand back and then pats the top of it with her free hand.
