Chapter Forty-One
EMERSON
They won the next five straight games.
And even after I was shown on the big screen, nobody asked Sanchez questions about his love life.
It seemed like everything was finally settling.
The only thing I hated was his away games. It’s not that I didn’t trust him; it was just that I knew what went on when guys got together. And I knew that there were plenty of girls who wanted nothing more than to seduce the crap out of someone like Sanchez.
Visions of Lily always popped up then.
So, I’d have Kinsey over, we’d laugh about it, and I’d shake it off.
We were at Jax’s place watching the guys annihilate the Jacksonville Tigers when I had a bad feeling. I couldn’t explain it, other than when I talked to him on the phone, I’d felt like I was losing it. I just . . . I didn’t want him to play. What kind of girlfriend was I? I even texted Miller to make sure that he watched out for Sanchez.
I knew the next play; Grant and I had kind of teased one another about how he knew my playbook so well it was about damn time I learned his. So I did, mostly because it turned him on, and I liked the dirty football talk it provided. Miller was supposed to get the ball, but there was double protection, and Sanchez was open.
Jax threw a prayer. It was a long shot.
Sanchez, being Sanchez, caught it, but not before getting hit so hard that his helmet flew off.
I screamed, covering my face with my hands.
He wasn’t moving.
“He’s not moving.” I couldn’t stop shaking. “Kinsey, he’s not moving!”
“Calm down.” She grabbed one of my hands. “Sometimes they tell the players not to move, especially if they’re worried about a head injury.”
“Okay.” Tears filled my eyes. “He’s okay, right? He’s going to be okay?”
She was quiet. Too quiet.
Her face went from green to pale.
Something was wrong.
The camera zoomed in. He was blinking, swallowing. The other team was on one knee, and Miller and Jax were hovered over him.
I started to hyperventilate.
“No, no, just breathe, in and out. There you go.” Kinsey rubbed my arm while we waited for information from the announcer.
“Folks . . .” He sighed. “I’m getting news from downstairs that Grant Sanchez is being taken to the hospital for a possible spine injury.”
It would be the end of his career.
The end of his life.
The end of everything.
“Please God, no,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
They cut to commercial. I was already grabbing my laptop and booking a ticket when my phone rang.
It was Miller.
“Get your ass down here now.” He didn’t sound like himself. “Em, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t—I should have been open. I’m so—”
“No.” I heaved out a sob. “It’s not your fault, Miller. It’s not, okay?”
“My agent’s going to call you with all the details of your flight. I’m taking care of it. Bring Kins with you. They’re sending the jet.”
The phone fell out of my hands.
Kinsey’s face went pale. “Did he say—”
“They’re sending the jet,” I whispered.
“Oh, Em.” Tears filled her eyes as she wrapped her arms around me and held me while I cried.
It was like moving through sand. I tried to pack but couldn’t even focus on what socks to bring. He could be dying, and all I could think about were stupid socks and if they matched and . . .
I broke down too many times to function.
I always wondered what could be worse. After losing Miller, losing our unborn child. What could possibly be worse? How could the human heart handle any more pain?
I finally knew.
I really did.
This. This was worse. Knowing that the love of your life is hundreds of miles away without you—possibly breathing his last breath—and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it but pray.
It was worse.
So much worse.
“The car’s here, Em.” Kinsey grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
Miller texted me updates throughout our flight. The guys won the game, and I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to feel Grant’s arms around me. I wanted to hear his laugh. I wanted to walk into that room and see him sitting up with a stupid grin on his cocky face.
I wanted more than I deserved.
It hurt so bad that I thought I was going to be sick.
After the car picked us up from the airport, the entire ride was tense, and Kinsey never let go of my hand. When I got to the actual lobby of the hospital, Bucks players were littered everywhere, most of them pale, dirty from the game, still in uniform.
Miller breathed a sigh of relief when he saw me. “Em!”
I ran into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably while he rubbed my back.
“Shhh . . .” He held me tight. His uniform rubbed against my skin. “It’s going to be okay. I know it.”
“How—” I cried. “How do you know?”
“Because . . .” He kissed the top of my head. “He’s a cocky bastard. He wouldn’t let a hit get him down, right?”
He was trying to make me feel better. But I knew there was only one reason they would send the jet for me.
One reason.
It was in all of their contracts when they were in a relationship.
If there was a chance they could die, they sent the jet.
If they were already dead, they sent the jet.
If they were breathing their last breath, they sent the jet.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was afraid to even say it out loud, so I waited, sandwiched between Miller and Kinsey, waited for something—anything.
No news was good news. I had to believe it. Right?
From what Miller said they were worried about damage to his spinal cord, possibly paralyzed from the neck down, broken neck, or a coma.
All bad things, very bad things.
“It could be a sprain too,” Kinsey piped up. “I studied sports medicine, and I know I’m not a doctor, but sprains can shock the body that way. I’m just . . . Don’t give up hope, okay, guys?”
I nodded.
The doctor walked in, his expression grim.
I don’t even remember falling to my knees, only that Miller caught me before I passed out onto the floor.