13. Spencer

CHAPTER 13

SPENCER

I t took me a second to know I was hurt. Or several seconds. A minute. An hour.

I was moving one minute, up on my feet. Driving hard for the goal, and then… then I wasn't. My legs were still moving, but nothing else was. A great weight was on me, crushing my chest. A pain in my leg, like a knife to my quad. Spreading heat — blood? Had I somehow been stabbed?

My perception broke up into splinters and fragments. Wisps of reality I couldn't hold onto. I had to get out of here, back to my game. Back on my feet. It would all be okay. I just needed, just needed…

I raised myself on one elbow. My head throbbed and spun. My stomach did a slow roll and I tasted bile.

"Don't try to move."

Who was talking? I couldn't see right. Sweat in my eyes. "Towel, need a towel."

"That's fine, we've got you."

I squinted to see, but time skipped ahead. I was moving, or the ceiling was, sliding by fast. Specks of white sailed above me, doves in the rafters. I tried to reach for them, but they dissolved into light. Somewhere, a whistle blew, and the game, yeah, the game…

Sirens were screaming, and I opened my eyes. Someone was killing me. Smothering me with a pillow. I jerked back, got my hands up, but my head was all fuzzy.

"Just oxygen," said someone, their voice far away. "It's okay, breathe deep. Count to five in your head."

I tried to count, but my brain wouldn't number. My count wouldn't… head. My five wouldn't summer?

"You're safe," came that voice. "Focus on me."

Was this, was I having a panic attack? It felt more like dying. Hadn't I been stabbed?

Am I dying? I said, but no words came out.

Next thing I knew, I was in a white room, counting the trembling dots on the ceiling. Were those dots supposed to wobble like frogspawn? I laughed, and I wondered if I was on drugs. I heard fabric ripping, felt cold on my leg. Someone leaned in, their form all fuzzy. I thought of Izzy, but it wasn't her. This was someone different, wide-set, fair-haired. She smelled of disinfectant, and I tried not to breathe.

"Keep breathing," she said. "It'll help you stay calm."

I breathed deep through my nose and let it out through my teeth, then I did it again. And again. And again. Some of the static cleared from my vision. I blinked, tried to focus, and cleared my parched throat.

"What happened? What's wrong with me?"

"Do you know where you are?"

I peered to either side of me, my vision clearing. "A hospital," I said. "My leg, am I?—"

"What's your name, first, middle, and last?"

"Spencer Andrew Nash."

The doctor glanced behind her, maybe checking my chart. "What's today's date?"

I frowned. "April twelfth. Did somebody stab me?"

"In a sense," said the doctor. "You took a blade to your thigh, under your padding. You're going to need stitches."

"Stitches… shit…" My focus was slipping, a fresh wave of panic. I fought it back, sucking deep breaths. The doctor was waving her hand in my face.

"I need you to look at me. How many fingers?"

"Fingers, uh…" They wavered, then came into focus. "Three."

"How many now?"

"Four and a thumb."

"All right." She straightened. "You have a mild concussion. We'll do a CT scan as a precaution, but it looks like you got lucky. You should be okay."

I drifted awhile as my stitches went in. I didn't really feel them. They must've numbed me. What I felt mostly was pain in my head, and a low, constant nausea creeping up my throat. Sick waves of dizziness came when I moved, so I tried not to. I lay still and breathed.

At some point, they took me for my CT. I might have passed out for that, because it went by in a blink. One minute, the tech was there, situating my head. The next, they were wheeling me back through the halls, the ceiling lights blurring over my head. Then I was lying by myself in that white room, or maybe a different room, but just as white. I wasn't alone, but I felt like I was, voices talking over me but never to me.

"—says he saw it. Awesome game, but?—"

"—his face. Yeah, wipe it off."

Someone swabbed my right cheek with a wet cloth. It was too cold, and a shiver ran through me.

"See? There, much better. That ought to?—"

"No, you don't get it. I need to see him." One voice cut through the others, and my senses sharpened. I tried to sit up, but strong hands held me down.

"Izzy," I croaked.

"Of course he knows me. Look at my driver's license and then look at his. You'll see our addresses match. You'll see we're?—"

"Izzy!"

"Oh my God, Spencer!"

Someone leaned over me. "Do you know her?"

"Yeah. That's my, uh, roommate." It hit me I'd been about to say something else. Girlfriend , maybe. Wait, had I said it? My thoughts were still muzzy, like wading through mud: I could get where I needed to, but not fast or clean.

"Spencer," said Izzy, and half my pain drained away. It felt like my limbs all went loose at once, and when my tension went, it took my hurt with it. I gasped with relief and she took my hand.

"Shh."

"It's so good to see you. I thought— I thought?—"

"What?"

I laughed. "I don't know. I have a concussion."

"Yeah, yeah, you do. You fell pretty hard." She folded my hand in both of hers, bumped her thumb over my knuckles, stroked my cold palm. "I heard them say at the nurses' station you needed forty stitches."

"Forty, that many?" I squinted up at her face. With my vision still blurry, she had a halo, a gentle white aura over her head. She looked like an angel, and I felt myself grinning.

"What are you smiling for? You scared us all half to death."

"Us all? Who else?" I strained to see past her.

"Leon. Your friends. My phone's been going crazy." Izzy brought my hand to her lips and kissed it. "Leon'll be here right after work. He'd be here already, but he needs to find cover. His sous chef skipped out, so?—"

"It's okay." Another thought struck me, and I looked around for a TV. "The game, did we win?"

Izzy's laughter was shaky. "Yeah, you won. The Owls got in a goal or two once you were out, but with the score you already had, they never stood a chance."

Leon came running in not ten minutes later, still in his chef's whites, his hair flying wild. My vision was clearing, so I got the full effect, and after the night I'd had, I couldn't curb my reaction. I laughed and I laughed, then I laughed some more, laughed myself breathless while Leon stood frowning.

"If this is the thanks I get?—"

"Sorry, sorry."

"I had to call half my crew in on golden time."

I pinched myself hard to stifle my laughter, but then I spotted the jam on his neck. Fresh gales tore free, and Leon threw up his hands.

"You're a shithead, you know that? I'm glad you're alive." He leaned down and hugged me, a quick, awkward squeeze. Then he gave me a smack on the meat of my bicep. "Don't scare us like that."

"I'm fine, I swear. Just kind of a headache."

"You're not fine yet," said the doctor, striding up behind Leon. "But your CT looks good, and you seem to be making sense." She held up two fingers. "How many?"

"Two," I said. "And they're looking less blurry."

"Good. Can you count backwards for me, by sevens, from a hundred?"

I frowned, trying to focus. I'd always sucked at math. "Uh, one hundred… ninety-three. Eighty-six? Seventy-nine. Uh, sixty, uh, no. Seventy-two. Sorry, I'm bad at math."

"No, that was fine." The doctor set down her clipboard. "You're okay to go home if you'll have someone with you."

"He's got us," said Izzy, and gripped Leon's arm.

"Good. You'll want to stick close to him for twenty-four hours. He can sleep if he wants to, but not on his own. Wake him up every hour or two and make sure he's still lucid, and bring him straight back if his symptoms get worse — any dizziness, nausea, double vision, slurred speech. Anything looks off to you, you give me a call. But from what I'm seeing, what he needs most is rest."

I rode home with Izzy, Leon following behind. The road whooshing by us made me feel sick, so I closed my eyes till I felt us pull up the drive. Izzy and Leon crowded in to support me, each grabbing an arm as I climbed out of her car. I tried to shake loose at first, but it didn't seem worth it, and I let the two of them herd me inside. They started for my bedroom, but I shook my head.

"No, couch," I said.

Leon's grip tightened. "You're not going to sleep?"

"Not yet." I pulled away from him and hobbled through the kitchen. My leg didn't hurt that bad, but it felt tight.

"You should rest," said Izzy.

"I will, just… just on the couch." I didn't want to explain to her, sleep felt too risky, like a slope I could slide down and never come back. I'd lost whole chunks of time between my fall and right now, bits of my life carved out and gone. I'd heard one of the medics say no loss of consciousness , but if I hadn't passed out, where had I gone? If I went there again, would I ever come back? No, I wouldn't sleep till my head felt less blurry. Till I knew if I went out, I would be back.

"Movies," I said, when Izzy still looked doubtful. "It's just, uh, my leg hurts. I need a distraction."

"All right," said Leon, and steered me through to the living room. Izzy must've been watching me when I went down, in front of the TV with her beer and her snacks. She'd knocked over what looked like a whole bowl of pretzels. Leon set about cleaning them while Izzy fetched me a blanket. She draped it over me, though I wasn't cold.

"I need to get back," said Leon. "But we'll take shifts, okay? You watch him till, uh, I'll be home around three. Then I've got till morning, then?—"

"Then I'll take off work." Izzy sat down beside me and grabbed the remote. She started scrolling our DVR, and I felt my eyes blur. I closed them to rest them and let myself drift. Leon was lingering, not wanting to go, peppering Izzy with nervous advice — don't let him eat too much. Don't give him beer. There's more blankets if you need them, a few in my room. Just call me, okay, if anything happens. If you need anything. If ? —

I smiled, feeling warm. Izzy and Leon. How lucky was I to have found them in college? To have found them again when I moved back here? To have them here now fussing and picking, bugging the pants off me because they cared?

"I'm going," said Leon, and still didn't go. He didn't leave till Izzy had picked out a movie, some old black-and-white thing she'd found God knows where. I squinted at it.

"What is this?"

" Attack of the Killer Shrews ."

I pulled a face. "What the hell is a shrew?"

"Funny enough to keep your mind off your leg, I hope." Izzy pressed play, and the movie kicked on, B-horror soundtrack, jumpy screen, the whole bit. It was pretty funny, then really funny, and soon we were clutching each other, helpless with laughter. I pointed, still shaky.

"Are those dogs in raincoats?"

"No, I think they've got bathmats strapped to their backs."

"Damn, look at that one! Did it just bark?"

"Maybe shrews do bark?"

"What the hell is a shrew?"

By the time the end credits rolled, we were curled in a heap, me halfway lying in Izzy's lap. She was stroking my hair absently, and it felt good. When she reached for the remote, I snatched it up quick.

"I'll pick the next one. Don't, uh… don't stop."

She went back to petting me and I scrolled through the menu. It still made my head hurt when I tried to focus, so I picked a movie at random and I pressed play. Some romcom came on, some doofy teen thing. Soon we were giggling, and then things got fuzzy, and I could feel myself drifting to sleep. I waited for that fear to come, of slipping off the world, but it didn't seem possible in Izzy's arms. She had me. I could sleep. With her, I'd be fine.

"Feels good," I mumbled, halfway to sleep. "Safe with you, nice…"

"Huh?"

I tried to think of the words to tell her thank you . To tell her about all the time I'd skipped, and how it had scared me, but that was okay now. I was good. She had me.

What came out was a sigh as I found her free hand. I took it and held it and slid into sleep.