They rammed their feet into the concrete floor, pounding their hands together as a methodical cheer rose to the roof of the small room.
“GO AND GRAB WHAT’S YOURS!”
The cheer reached its apex.
The room suddenly became a flurry of action. The players huddled together, a huge swarming mass of muscle, adrenaline and excitement. In unison they recited the Lord’s prayer, Wesley’s arms around Jamie Harrison and Steve Young—in front of him Donovan, who had finally quit throwing up and was ready to play.
Two by two, in a practiced formation, they spilled up through the tunnel and onto the field.
The crowd went wild.
Commentators voices blared over the speaker system, the band started up—whistles were blown, sixty-one thousand people in the bleachers cheering the teams on.
“It’s going to be a wild ride,” one of the line-backers muttered to Wesley as he strapped on his helmet.
“It is,” Wesley replied.
He stood still for a moment, feeling the icy air blow over his body. The sunlight was crisp and sharp. Nothing in the sky but the white-blue of a cold Detroit winter afternoon.
Wesley heard himself calling the first play, huddled around his teammates. They dispersed, taking their positions on the field and getting into formation for the kickoff.
Wesley felt a sick churning in his gut. The whistle blew again, and the game was on. He caught the ball, backing out and lobbying it down the yard line to be picked up by the running back who pummeled through the Lion’s defense, taking it down to the end zone and scoring the first touchdown for a six-point start.
Wesley could feel the team relax into the game. Their moves became slick and sure; his throws connected like magnets, steady hands catching the ball and taking it up and up, further toward the end zone. The crowd screamed, thumped, lost their heads while the eleven players on the field remained laser-sharp and focused, tracking the Lions every-move. The line-backers knocked down Lion’s like they were bowling pins.
After the second quarter, the Bears were sixteen points to Lion’s seven.
Half time, the changing room felt like it was full of electricity—the players were buzzing off one another, trying to keep their cool but that whisper of victory was close enough that each of them could smell it, sinking in with the rancid sweat and adrenaline-acid that poured out of their bodies.
Ice packs were applied, the aches and pains starting to be felt—but shoved aside desperately with the need for more, for the glory that was almost certainly theirs, waiting for them on the field. Wesley applied the ice and drank the water, trying to appear tired. He wasn’t even close. His bear ran through his body like lightning, rejoicing at every body-slam, every tight breath that burst against his lungs as he ran the field.
In no time at all they were back in the game.
The third quarter began like a dream. Wesley was handed the ball, throwing it up to Palmer, their running-back, who smoothly ran all the way—fifty-five yards, with four other Lion’s players trying to chase him down as the Bears took another touch-down.
Wesley could have wept at the beauty of that play.
In the final moments of the game, with none of his receivers open, Wesley had no choice but to run up the field with the ball. Sprinting across the field, yards from the end zone, Wesley knew that he was well-covered by the left tackle, Ace Hicks and plowed on into the end zone for a final touchdown.
Before Wesley could appreciate the win—before it could sink in and register that they’d beaten the Lion’s by miles—he was side-tackled by a Lions offense who hadn’t register the moment either. Wesley, taken by surprise, was thrown down—his leg shifting inward. He stumbled, hearing the disjointed snap of his spine against the boot of the Lions player, and then his body hit the floor with a sickening thud.
Wesley’s vision went black. He could hear the scream of joy, followed by the unsettling silence as his team, and the onlookers, realized he was down.
“Oh shit, shit! Reed—I’m so sorry man, I’m so fucking sorry –” Wesley could hear the regret and shame of Ace, crying over his body.
Wesley tried to reassure him that he was fine, but the blackness was taking over, and he felt his body go limp.
Chapter Eleven
“If you don’t feel the spark…” Mia shrugged, sucking on a strawberry milkshake.
“He texted. Asked me out again.” Chloe placed the phone on the diner table after reading the message, but she hadn’t yet replied. Half of her felt like she needed to go out with Todd again, to be sure—and most importantly, to remove the last vestiges of Wesley from her mind. The other half knew she wasn’t into him, that she should just get on with her studies and forget all about it.
“I vote for not another date.” Harper said firmly. “Do you really want to date a footballer player?”
“Not this particular football player,” Mia smirked.
Chloe pulled a face at her friend.
“No football players. Maybe you’re right, Harper.” Chloe sighed. “Damn football. Honestly, I’ve had enough of it.”
Harper nodded in agreement. They had come to the diner purposefully, everywhere else seemed to be playing the game, the Bears and the Lions.
“I entirely agree with you—except for Torres, who is different. Obviously.” Mia blushed as she said his name, twirling her milkshake glass round on the Formica table.
“Of course. Except Torres!” Chloe laughed. It was nice to see Mia so besotted. She mentioned his name a lot, and sometimes she would get a far-away look in her eyes, and both Harper and Chloe knew that her mind had wandered off to the handsome, dark looks of Torres. It did often mean that they only ever had half their friend—like today—when she kept her phone on her lap to surreptitiously check her texts.
“Can you maybe try again, for me?” Mia said, “so we can double date?”
“Sure, I’ll date Todd for you Mia,” Chloe rolled her eyes.
“What? He is cute. You can’t deny that. But like I said—no spark, no go.”
“You’re right.”
Before Chloe could change her mind, she text Todd back. It was short and sweet, thanking him for the date and saying she had a lovely time, but that she wasn’t interested in him that way. Finishing the text, she pressed ‘send’, and then put the phone back in her bag. As soon as she was done, she felt a huge sense of relief.
Chloe started laughing at herself.
“Okay, I really need to chill out. Maybe give dating a rest.”
Harper and Mia looked at her in bemusement. “Rest?” they said simultaneously.
“So, I’m not much for dating. I’m much better at studying,” Chloe declared with satisfaction. “So I’m just going to live vicariously through you, Mia.”
“Hey—what about me?” Harper asked indignantly.
“Wait.”
Mia held up her hand, halting the conversation. She brought her phone up to the table.
Chloe had been wrong. Mia hadn’t been waiting for Torres to text, she had been live streaming the Bears and Lions game.
“Shit. Chloe—Reed’s in trouble.”
She placed the phone on the table. On the screen they could see the ambulance, and a body being loaded onto it via a stretcher.
“T-t-turn the sound on!” Chloe stuttered.
Mia pushed the volume right up.
…he’s taken a serious blow. Reed hasn’t gotten up, that fall did not look good. I wouldn’t want to be in his position right now—nor the rest of his teammates. This is a serious issue for the rest of the season—to lose their star quarterback at this time…
“Turn the sound off,” Chloe gulped. She felt sick. Like the ground had just fallen away from beneath her.
“Where would they have taken him?”
Mia took the phone back.
“The closest place would be Henry Ford Hospital,” she said.
Chloe picked up her bag, pulling out her phone.
“I’m getting an Uber—
”
“Do you want us to come?” Asked Harper.
“No, no—it’s fine. I’ll see you guys later.” Chloe rushed out of the diner, tapping away at her Uber app. The closest was only five minutes away. Her whole body had started to run with a hot sweat, a horrible prickling sensation at the back of her neck. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Wesley—but all she could see was the stillness of his body, lying on the stretcher. Unnatural stillness.
Finally, the Uber pulled up and she hopped in, quietly praying on and off for the entire hour long ride to downtown Detroit.
She looked at her phone. She was wondering why her parents hadn’t called. Surely, they’d seen the accident on tv? She felt too tense, too nervous to phone them. She didn’t want to be the one to tell them, not yet, not if they hadn’t seen the game. She would call when she knew more.
Finally, the Uber pulled up outside the hospital.
Chloe ran inside and through to reception.
“I’m looking for Wesley Reed,” she blurted out to the receptionist, “I think he’s in the Er—he would have just come in about an ago.”
The receptionist studied her for a moment, and then with glacial slowness turned to her computer.
“Ma’am, are you a family member?”
Chloe hesitated only momentarily, “Yes, yes—I am.”
“I’m going to need some identification.”
Chloe belatedly realized that getting in to see a star quarterback was hugely different than seeing her Wesley. She fumbled with her bag, drawing out her identification card. She fumbled in her haste, letting it fall to the desk.
The receptionist manicured fingers picked it up and studied the information.
“Your name’s not Reed,” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“No. But I’m still family.”
“You need to take a seat, ma’am.”
“No,” Chloe said forcefully. There was no way she was going to be palmed off into the waiting area when Wesley was in agony somewhere in the building. “No way. I’m seeing him. I’m his only family in the city. I’m not about to let him go through this alone. You’ve got to let me up there. Please, I’m begging you.”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to call security, we can’t let anyone that isn’t a relative in to see him –”
“I am a relative. Or close enough. He’s my fiancé.”
The receptionist looked as though she found that highly doubtful. She also glanced at Chloe’s hand, which was clearly without an engagement ring.
“Please,” Chloe said again. “Just let me up. He needs me.”
“What he needs is the medical staff. You need to take a seat. I’m not going to ask again.”
“Fine,” Chloe snapped, snatching back her ID card and looking around the waiting area. She found a seat near the main entrance but was careful to ensure that she had a clear view of the receptionist.
Chloe sat and waited.
A few minutes later she got her chance. A family approached the reception area, blocking Chloe—and the main entrance—from view. She dashed through the doors, not knowing where exactly she was going, but sure that somewhere in the hospital she’d find Wesley.
She found the elevators, and a list of all the departments. She wasn’t sure whether she should check the emergency department, or whether he’d been already admitted and taken to a room. The words swam before her eyes. Maybe this hadn’t been a great idea. She had nowhere to start.
Two doctors in white coats rushed past her.
“Spinal cord injury. He’s just been brought in. It will be a miracle if he ever walks again. First injury of the season,” she heard one of the doctors saying to the other.
It was the best chance she had.
Immediately, Chloe turned and followed them along the long hallway, twisting and turning around multiple corners till she was completely lost.
Eventually they entered a smaller section, with what looked like four operating rooms leading from the main area. The doctors rushed into one, shutting the door firmly behind them.
Chloe walked up to the glass.
She could see a body lying on the hospital bed, covered with white sheets. There was a doctor already commencing surgery, looking intently at the mid-section of his patient. Chloe peered closer, trying to see if the patient really was Wesley. One of the doctors moved, exposing a pile of shredded clothes that had obviously been cut from the body. She recognized the distinctive blue and orange of the Chicago Bear’s uniform.
It was him.
Chloe felt a knotting twist her gut. The image of Wesley, lying there helpless—with masked strangers prodding him with instruments and suction tools—made her sick to her stomach. She could only really comprehend healthy Wesley, larger than life, muscled and tan, laughing at something she’d said, or gently throwing barbs back and forth with Josiah as he tossed hay barrels onto the back of the pick-up. Wesley had always seemed invincible to her. Robust and strong, a rock that would always be around to help her through the difficult times, would always anchor her back home. Until he wasn’t.
Now they were both miles from home. Chloe hadn’t felt homesick since she’d arrived in Michigan, but she felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of it now. She wanted to go home, be with her family, have Wesley saunter in from the fields smelling of sunshine, fresh air, and sweat. Or better yet, she wanted to turn back time—to stay in those golden moments she’d shared with Wesley by her side, moments that she thought would last forever.
She watched one of the doctor’s tear of his mask, yelling something at a nurse. The nurse looked startled and upset, then she and the two other doctors who Chloe had followed to the room all peered into the wound where the surgeon had been working.
They started to argue, pointing at Wesley’s back and looking perplexed.
The surgeon tore of his mask, rushing out of the room and past Chloe—leaving the gaping staff behind.
He was soon followed by the other two doctors, and the nurse.
“It must have been an incorrect diagnosis—but this is inexcusable. How could any of us get it so wrong?” said one of the doctors. He sounded fearful and upset.
“I don’t understand either. But it happens. Chase down Dr. Callaway, tell him it’s not his fault, but this is going to need to be taken to the board.”
The two doctors left the room, leaving the nurse standing by the door—a clipboard hanging loosely by her side. She looked lost and utterly bewildered.
“I saw them bring him in,” she said quietly, speaking to no one. She was completely oblivious to Chloe’s presence.
The nurse looked down, checked her chart and then resumed staring into space. A moment passed, and her beeper went off, jolting her into action. She left the room hurriedly, and Chloe was left alone.
She flung the door to the operating room open, rushing over to his bedside.
Then she, too, stopped suddenly, bewildered.
Where the sheets had been arranged to expose a section of Wesley’s back, and where she had quite clearly seen the surgeon cut and suck and dig into him with terrifying abruptness, she now saw nothing—just smooth, unblemished skin.
“What in god’s name–” she whispered, her hand hovering over his body—almost too terrified to touch it.
Wesley groaned.
Chloe rushed over to the head of the bed. Wesley rolled, turning upright. His hair was in disarray over his face, his bright, iridescent blue eyes staring up at her, all the more vibrant in the surgical lighting of the room.
“Chloe?”
“It’s me.” She gently pushed back the hair away from his face, her palm gently resting against his forehead.
He smiled briefly, that lazy, gentle smile that made her heart flutter with nerves and lust and a million other feelings that raced through her body.
Then he yawned, stretched, and Chloe could hear the bones in his body realigning with a crack.
“Wesley—what the hell’s going on? I
thought you were…”
“Shit.”
He looked around the room, past Chloe. It finally dawned on him that he was in a hospital. He sat up, his eyes darted downward, taking in the surgical gown, the bed, then he looked over at the equipment—the surgical tools, knives and the heart rate, pulse and respiration machines he was hooked up to.
“There are going to be questions,” he muttered.
“What’s going on? Were you actually hurt? Knocked out? I heard the doctors. They said something about your spine being detached. Did they get it wrong?!” Chloe tried to keep the alarm out of her voice, Wesley was clearly fine, but she couldn’t understand what had just happened.
“We need to get out of here, then I’ll tell you everything, but, help me, first?”
Chloe nodded.
“I need some clothes–”
Before he could finish the sentence, another doctor entered the room. Chloe hadn’t seen this one before. He looked older than the others. The badge on the coat and his suite beneath made him appear more senior.
“You’re up.” He observed slowly, his face a blank look of astonishment.
“Yeah, I’m good to go doc.”
“I need to check you. Again. I think we may have made some error’s in our original diagnosis…” he trailed off, staring at Wesley like he was a ghost.
“It happens,” Wesley replied with a good-natured shrug.
“Not in my department. It never happens…not like this.” He walked over to Wesley, stethoscope out, and placed it against his chest. Without any preamble, he placed his hand on Wesley’s back, running it along his spine.
“Stand up, please.”
Wesley did as he was told, moving off the bed with apparent ease. The doctor staggered back.
The doctor’s hands clasped his chart to his chest, staring at Wesley with an intensity that Chloe herself was experiencing. Looking at Wesley, after seeing the accident on television, after seeing him being operated on…she could hardly believe that he was standing there, so healthy, so strong.
“We must have made…a mistake,” the doctor said again. He sounded like he didn’t really believe his own diagnosis, but faced with Wesley—what else could he think?
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