Chapter Fourteen

After a timeout, Drehuddled with his team and Wyatt called a running play. The Denver weather was in the thirties with a light drizzle. He lined up behind the quarterback and sprinted forward. Wyatt held the ball at the exact right spot. Dre gripped it and continued forward. Youst and Hill blocked two linemen, giving him the daylight he needed. He raced forward, seeing Elan, the safety from the defense, barreling straight for him. With a fake to the right, he spun to the left. The safety caught his leg, but Dre broke the tackle. He ran the rest of the way, feeling the players on his tail. He crossed the goal line.

His teammates slapped his helmet and congratulated him as he jogged to the sideline. Once there, he sat on the bench.

All of the sudden, pain streaked through his side. Damn.

He got up thinking a change in position would help.

The stinging worsened.

He staggered back to his seat and draped a white towel over his head, trying to catch his breath. Surely he'd just run too hard.

Chills raced through him.

Eyes closed, he tried to relax. The spasms worsened with every breath.

"A.B.," someone yelled.

He yanked the towel off. Shit. He hadn't been paying attention. Denver was punting. Using every ounce of will in his body and mind, he stood.

Stabbing tore at his insides.

He shook his head and grabbed his side.

The running back coach hollered for backup to go in and rushed over. "What is it?"

With a groan, Dre plopped back onto the bench and curled into a ball. Closing his eyes again, he tried not to move.

The coach called for the trainers. Within seconds, they were peppering Dre with questions. "What's wrong?" "Are you out of breath?" "Are you hurt?"

Throb, throb, throb.He hissed through gritted teeth.

Someone's hand pressed against his forehead. "He's hot."

"He's been running," another said.

Dre blocked out their voices, trying not to move. The agony got more severe each second. Unsure how long they debated, or even what they said, he believed these men would get him where he needed to be.

Through his haze of pain, a deep voice came back into focus. "Mr. Biel, we're going to move you to the stretcher and take you to a hospital."

Unsure how much time had lapsed, or if he'd passed out, he opened his eyes. An ambulance waited a few feet away.

Oh, hell. They'd stopped the game. He really didn't want everyone's attention on him.

A paramedic hunched beside him. "Can you move at all?"

He attempted to straighten and lift to his elbow.

Flames of fire burned through his body.

Sheer agony.

He fell back to the bench.

"Can't." He concentrated on drawing shallow breaths.

"It's okay. Don't move."

Never moving again sounded like the best plan. How had he gone from running for a touchdown to being immersed in this hellish torture?

What the fuck is wrong?

Nothing like this ever happened before.

A pinch on his arm came a second before the pain eased. His eyelids instantly became heavy. Before he succumbed to the darkness, one last thought came to his mind. What is Quinn doing right now?

~

Sitting in a boothacross from Amanda, Quinn laughed out loud at the woman's hilarious account of finding two teachers in a compromising position on one of the school buses. She and Amanda had become friends over the last couple of months, often eating lunch together at school, but today they'd finally gotten together outside of school. Amanda's attitude about everything was upbeat, and Quinn enjoyed being around her.

The bar and grill had a wall of TVs displaying different live football games. Quinn steered her gaze away every time she caught herself looking at the screen farthest to the left showing the Dallas/Denver game. She never watched Dre's games, she just couldn't, but she did see plays here and there at Chasing Time. She also searched her phone or computer for Dre's highlights and statistics after his games.

Amanda, along with some other customers, cheered. She excitedly pointed at the TV. "Watch the replay."

Quinn turned her head and watched as Dre sprinted through the line, spun away from a tackle, and hauled ass into the end zone. Good for him.

A commercial came on, and their waitress showed up with their appetizer. When they were deciding where to go, she told Amanda she wanted to have some good onion rings. After her first bite, she knew why her friend had chosen this place. The onion rings were thin, lightly breaded, and bursting with flavor. Plus, they were served with three different delicious sauces.

As she took another bite, she faced the TV hoping to see the highlight again. The commercial ended, and they showed a quick shot of Dre sitting with a towel covering his head before the cameras changed to the first down play. She turned away and asked Amanda, "What made you move to Katy?"

"I needed a new start after my divorce. You?"

"Same, without the divorce." She scarfed down a few more delicious onion rings.

Amanda's brow furrowed as she pointed at the TV again. "Something must've happened. Dre's not going back in."

Quinn turned her head so fast the room spun. After an instant, her vision cleared and zeroed in on the screen where Dre was curled up on his side.

Terrified, her hands and body shook.

Get up, Dre!

Get up!

An ambulance drove onto the field and two paramedics rushed to Dre while another retrieved a gurney from the back.

People surrounded him and blocked the camera. Panicked, she called, "Did anyone see what happened?"

"Just saw him sitting down with a towel over his head when they came back from commercial after the touchdown," a male voice answered.

She'd seen that too.

Minutes later, the people around Dre moved away as the paramedics rolled him on the gurney to the ambulance. A close-up of his face showed his eyes closed.

Grabbing her phone, she hit Mama B's number. It rang and rang and rang. No voicemail and no one answered.

"Come on. Let's get you back to Chasing Time." Amanda slid out of the booth. "I'll find our waitress and pay."

Quinn punched Tracy's phone number. Busy. Stupid as it was, she tried Dre's phone. Voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message. As a last resort, she tried Jamaal's number. He didn't answer either. A second later, he texted, Not sure what is wrong with Uncle Dre. Mama B is on the phone with his agent now.

I'm on my way.

On the longest thirty-minute car ride of her life, her leg bounced up and down the entire time. She couldn't have kept it still if her life depended on it. It was either shake her leg or go out of her mind.

"He'll be okay," Amanda said. "He's strong."

Quinn's rational brain knew that truth. Her limbic system was another matter. The two-year-old reactionary part of her brain ran straight into panic mode. She'd have a complete meltdown if she didn't find out something soon.

When they arrived at Chasing Time, Amanda ran alongside Quinn as they entered the apartment building. It appeared everyone had heard of Dre's injury because the sitting room was full. People occupied every seat and were standing along the walls. When Grandpa and Grandma spotted her, they hopped up, hurried over, and hugged her.

Mama B entered from across the room, Mr. Cason at her side. "Dre's been taken to the hospital. I'm going to Denver." She pointed at Quinn. "If you want to come, pack a bag and meet me in front in twenty minutes."

Quinn turned to her grandparents. "I want to go, but don't want to leave you."

"Go," they urged without hesitation.

She kissed them each on the cheek and ran down the hallway toward her room.

With Amanda's help, she packed a bag. As they left her room, she stopped. "I need to get a substitute for tomorrow."

"I'll take care of it," Amanda assured her.

Quinn embraced her. "Thank you."

Jamaal waited in the foyer with a backpack hanging on his shoulder. "You're going too, Ms. Quinn?"

Before she answered, Mama B hollered from the hallway, "Change of plans."

Everything you want is on the other side of fear. ~ George Addair