I shrugged. Tatum had his job, and I had mine. Thirty minutes on the game clock, and three more games and we’d have some off-season space to figure out what the hell we were going to do. Sneak around for another year or…
Now wasn’t the time for what-ifs. Now was the time to stand in front of millions of viewers and dance like a fucking force of nature.
I closed my eyes, tuning the roar of the stadium out, and exhaled. Everything in your head that tells you you’re small and insignificant. Every voice that tells you to stay where you are because familiarity is better than failing—let it go. It’s like Tatum was with me. Little birds like you fly through hurricanes and laugh at the wind as it pushes you to new heights.
The second half of the game was much of the same. Tatum was playing all gas, no breaks. It was unlike him. He wasn’t a cautious player, but he was smart. Usually, Tatum and Gideon operated like they were one person. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Tatum up and told me that they had figured out how telepathy worked.
Something was off.
The boys huddled up before dropping into their places along the line of scrimmage. It was second and goal. The center snapped the ball back to Gideon and they scattered, getting into position for the play. Tatum had his shoulders low, weaving between the defense as he bolted for an open pocket.
Gideon fired the ball straight into his hands.
The sickening clatter of helmet hitting helmet echoed like a water drop in a cavern. Players swore colorfully as bodies collided and a single red helmet rolled across the turf. Referees blew their whistles, and the game came to a halt as medical professionals flooded the field.
“Fuck!” Gideon shouted as he ran down the field.
Priyanka gasped from her place beside me. “Oh my God.” She pointed to the jumbotron.
Tatum lay on the green turf, lifeless. The helmet that had rolled across the grass—his helmet—was a few feet away.
I went numb, and my knees buckled. I couldn’t cry—couldn’t make a sound.
“Wren,” Priyanka said softly. “Do you need to sit down? You’re really pale.”
The referees finished watching the replay and made the call. The echoed words reverberated through the sound system. “Defense was leading with his helmet. Personal foul. Unnecessary roughness. Defense, number thirty-six. New York, number thirty-six has been ejected from the game. Fifteen-yard penalty.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Seth McBride was sliding his helmet on as the offensive coordinator talked his ear off. I didn’t miss him giving the chin strap an extra tug, making certain that it was secure.
No.If Seth was going in for Tatum that meant…
Tears welled up in my eyes as I caught a glimpse of Tatum’s limp body on the field. Gideon was kneeling beside him.
Helmet to helmet collisions were nasty. They most always came with a concussion, if not worse. They were game-enders for some, career-enders for others, and life-enders for a select few. Five years of standing on the sidelines, I had seen it all.
I was on the cusp of vomiting. Please, Tatum. Please. Open your eyes.
The medical staff rolled him onto the spineboard, and fastened him in. As if in slow motion, I saw his fingers flex, beckoning Gideon closer. Gideon leaned down, nodded, then said something to one of the polo-shirted medics.
“Holy moly, I can’t believe that happened. I mean, the game’s been a little more aggressive than usual because it’s the rivalry game, but still.” Priyanka rattled on as the players resumed milling about the field.
Number thirty-six from New York was ranting to his coaches about being thrown out of the game. Seth jogged out onto the field as the announcer’s booming voice notified the fans of the substitution. He stopped at the caravan carting Tatum off the field, exchanged a few words, and a fist bump. Instead of joining the huddle of players getting Seth up to speed, Gideon walked beside the stretcher, leading his team where it mattered.
I tried my best to hide the fear inside, but a lone tear streaked down my cheek.
“Wren.”
I looked around. I didn’t know where my name had come from, or maybe I hallucinated it.
The clump of medical professionals came to a halt.
“Wren!”
Was that Tatum?
Gideon turned away from the spineboard, pointed directly at me, and nodded.
“What the hell?” Priyanka looked from Gideon to me.