Chapter 20 – Grace
“Tommy!” I’m squealing, pushing my way down the stands toward the court. My heart’s racing. That was a dirty move by that New Hampshire player, and everyone saw it. He just totally kicked Tommy in the ankle! You can’t do that! He didn’t even attempt to make it look like an accident either. They should ban him from the league and kick him out of school.
I push past the fans who are all on their feet, some of them looking as concerned as they would if they just heard their mother got sick, but none of them as are worried as me.
That’s my man out there, I think. It’s amazing how quickly something terrible can clarify things for you. I want Tommy and I want to be his and that’s all there is to it. There is zero confusion inside me when it comes to us, and I can only imagine what he’s going through right now. I need to be there for him.
Someone spills water, I hope, on my arm as I brush by them toward the court. I hop a handrail and brush past the band and race right out onto the floor toward Tommy.
“Hey, hey!” A security guard shouts at me from behind me. He starts to chase after me, but I’m at Tommy’s side before he reaches me. “You can’t be here!” He starts to say, but Tommy, despite all the pain he’s in, looks up and sees me and waves the guard off.
“It’s okay,” he says. The guard backs off and Tommy reaches out his hand to me. My heart swells until my chest feels it’s about to burst, and I feel my eyes well up as I take his hand in mind and squeeze. He squeeze back, hard enough that he almost hurts my hand, and I understand the amount of pain he’s in.
I know Joey is looking at me, and probably every other member of the team, but I don’t care. Right now the only thing that’s important is being there for Tommy.
“All right, buddy,” the coach says. “Let’s get you off the court. Here we go.”
Two guys who look like medics or doctors or something of the sort come up beside Tommy and slide their arms under his and lift him to his feet. He winces in pain and squeezes my hand even tighter. I walk with him as he struggles across the court toward the locker room.
We pass through the hall and turn into the locker room and the two men set Tommy down on one of the benches. He lays his head back and I kneel down on the floor beside him, my face close to his.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him, stroking the side of his face with my hand.
“You don’t know that,” he says, in a moment of honesty and vulnerability that floors me. I feel myself choking up, but push it back down. Now is not that time for that. I have to be strong for him.
“Yes, I do,” I reassure him, looking at him with strength in my eyes that I hope will find its way to him. “You’re Tommy Mason. A little kick to the shin can’t stop you.”
Despite the pain, Tommy has to chuckle. A laugh forces its way out of his lips and he smiles at me. I lean down and kiss his forehead. I can tell the rest of the guys on the team are wondering who the Hell I am but aren’t saying anything.
“All right, Tommy,” the doctor says, coming up behind me. “Let me have a look at it.”
The doctor, a fit-looking guy in his late thirties who looks like he played sports in college too, takes Tommy’s leg gently and examines it.
“This is gonna hurt a bit,” he says. “And I apologize. But hang in there for me. Joey, gimme that ice pack.”
Joey hands the doc an ice pack. He sets it under Tommy’s ankle and rests it on the bench. Tommy’s hand tightens around mine and I lean closer to him, stroking the back of his head with my hand.
“It’s okay,” I whisper in his ear.
The doctor examines Tommy’s ankle, and every time he squeezes, Tommy flinches and tightens his grip on my hand. He’s strong, and it hurts, but I’m not going to let him know that. I’m here for him now, not the other way around.
“It fucking kills,” Tommy says through gritted teeth.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell him. “You’ll be fine.”
I really don’t know what else to say, but every time I hurt myself as a child, my mom would give me constant reassurance and even if I didn’t believe her, it helped to hear it. So that’s what I’m doing now for Tommy.
The doctor runs his hands up Tommy’s ankle, feels the joint, his calf, his foot.
“Any pain in the foot?” He asks. Tommy shakes his head.
“Just – the ankle,” he manages to say. The doctor keeps feeling around. The tension in the locker room is palpable. The rest of the team must be freaking out, especially the coach. Their star player is injured, possibly with a break, and definitely out for the rest of the game. Things are suddenly not so certain.
“Well,” the doctor says, dropping his hands and placing another ice pack on Tommy’s ankle. “You’ll need an x-ray, but I’m not feeling any obvious breaks. Probably a bad sprain.”
“Jesus Christ,” Joey says with a deep exhale of breath.
But Tommy doesn’t relax. His face is twisted in pain.
“See?” I whisper in his ear. “I told you.”
“Goddamn it!” Tommy gasps, putting a hand to his forehead. “That son of a bitch. It’s fucking broken, I know it.”
“Don’t say that!” I plead with him.
“I’m gonna break his fucking nose,” Joey growls, slamming a fist into his palm.
“No, you goddamn well are not!” The coach corrects him. “You hear me? None of you are going to come back on that bastard. I don’t care if he calls your mom a slut when you see him at a frat party! I don’t need any more of my boys off the court. I even catch wind of one of you talking shit to that kid and you’re gonna be doing sprints until your feet fall off. Understand!?”
The entire room goes quiet and I look around to see the whole team standing there like a group of sons that have just been scolded by their father.
“I’m done,” Tommy groans. “I fucking know it. I’m done—”
“Shhh!” I say, caressing his face with my hand. “Don’t talk like that! You are not done! It’s just a sprain—”
“You don’t know that,” Tommy protests. “If it’s broken – and I need surgery? I’m fucked!”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” I tell him. “It’s going to be all right.”
I can see the pain on his face and a vulnerability I’ve never seen, nor did I expect to. And somehow it draws me in even more. He’s such a presence. Tommy Mason, the basketball stud, and yet here he is letting himself be completely open with me in a moment of complete lack of control.
“All right, let’s get you up,” the doctor says. “And to the hospital. Guys, can you give him a hand?”
The doctor motions to Joey and Brant. They come right over and slide their arms under Tommy’s and help him to his feet. He winces with pain, doesn’t put any pressure on his ankle.
“Can I do anything?” I ask him. He shakes his head. “Call me, okay?”
He nods and does his best to smile as the guys help him away. All I can do is watch him go. I wish there was something I could do for him, but this is out of my control. All I can do is hope.
In my heart I know Tommy will be okay. But does he know it?