29. Kiss of Death
29
Hadley
The atmosphere is electric, and I’m more excited about this game than I’ve been at any other one I’ve attended. The crowd is amped up because this is the team we beat in the championship last season, and there’s no doubt the Hammers are looking for a little retribution. They’re also the number two team behind us this season, and a win would bump them up to first.
So in a nutshell, it’s an important game to the fans, the players, and the entire Bandits organization.
But for me? I’m excited because this is the first game I’ve attended as Foster McKenna’s girlfr––
Wait. Am I his girlfriend? We haven’t technically had a conversation about labels, but surely, he’s not seeing anyone else. Right?
No. I know he’s not. He spends all of his free time with me, and earlier this week, we…took things to the next level. Foster wouldn’t expend all that time and energy taking things slow with me if he was still seeing other women, would he?
No.
“What’s going on with you, Hadley?”
I turn toward Tessa, who’s watching me with a furrowed brow. Feigning cluelessness, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“You’re glowing again,” Roxy cuts in, leaning forward in her seat so she can see Tessa. “She’s glowing, right?”
“She was,” Tessa says slowly, her eyes on me though she’s speaking to Roxy. “But now she looks like someone just kicked her puppy.”
I haven’t told the girls about taking things to the next step with Foster. I don’t know why. It’s not like I want to keep secrets from them. We tell each other everything. I guess I just wanted to hold onto it for a while. Keep it just for me…and Foster, of course. Enjoy the little bubble we’re wrapped in for a while before letting the rest of the world in.
And I’m sure as hell not about to get into it now. Not in a sold-out football stadium, surrounded by thirty thousand or so strangers.
“Girls night tomorrow?” I offer.
They nod, and Skye proves she was listening by leaning over Roxy and saying, “I’ll have a table reserved by the bar. I have to work, but I should be able to carve out some time.”
The game starts, and the defense jogs out onto the field. Roxy leaps to her feet and screams, and as if he senses her––there’s no way he can hear her over the noise in this place––Miles looks up from his spot on the field and raises a fist in our direction.
The quarterback gets the ball and drops back a few steps, and I see Miles do some maneuver where he bumps into a Hammers player, then chases him downfield.
“Bump and run, baby!” Roxy shouts, then screams again when the ball sails right over the Hammers player’s head and bounces along the turf.
A concessions worker comes by, and we all order hot dogs and sodas. He assures us he’ll be right back, and I grin at Tessa.
Her fiancé is the starting quarterback of our team, and he tried like hell to talk Tessa into reserving a press box for the season. We’d have privacy, unlimited food and drinks, plus a great view of the field. But Tessa didn’t want a press box. She wanted the same seats we sat in last year, in the middle of the roaring crowd where Riggs could look up and see her at any time.
So, they compromised. Tessa got her season tickets renewed, and Riggs set up our own personal ma?tre d’ service. We’re escorted to our seats when we arrive, and our server stops by throughout the game to bring us free food and drinks whenever we want them.
It’s not a bad deal, and unless we have to pee, we don’t ever miss a second of the games.
By halftime, the Bandits are winning seven to zero. We get the ball first in the second half, and I can feel Tessa buzzing next to me as she nervously bites at her thumb nail.
“Relax,” I say, reaching over to pull her hand away from her mouth. “We’re going to win.”
“I know,” she says on a sigh. “I’m just nervous. The Hammers are better than they were last year.”
“And so are we,” I say.
She knows everything about football, whereas I know next to nothing, but somehow my reassurances soothe her. She offers me a smile and mouths the word thanks.
The crowd goes wild when the team runs back out onto the field as the halftime clock winds down. I catch sight of Foster, and as if he feels my gaze, he turns and scans the crowd around me until his eyes lock on mine. I can see his smile through the faceguard on his helmet, and he lifts a hand in the air to wave. I wave back, then on impulse, blow him a kiss. He opens and closes his hand like he’s catching it, then presses his fist against his chest.
“Oh, sooky, sooky,” Roxy sing-songs, snapping me out of the romantic haze I’d fallen into.
“So cheesy,” Skye gripes, taking a drink of her soda.
“It is not,” Tessa yells over me. “Roxy, smack her for me.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Skye says when Roxy lifts her hand with an evil grin.
“Looks like we have a lot to talk about tomorrow night,” Tessa murmurs after leaning in close to my ear.
I feel my face heat with a blush, and she chuckles before straightening and leaning back into her seat. The Bandits’ offense jogs out onto the field after the kick off, and I swear, every person in the stadium jumps to their feet, including us. The teams line up, and Riggs’ deep voice rings out, shouting a bunch of words that sound like gibberish.
My eyes track Foster when the ball is hiked. He takes off like a shot, zipping through the defense and into the wide-open field. I look over at Riggs just as he rears back and throws the ball. It flies like a rocket through the air toward Foster, who now has a defensive player hot on his heels.
They both look over their shoulders as the ball approaches, and Foster leaps into the air to catch it. His hands close around it, and he pulls it into his chest. The defensive player leaps, too, wrapping his arms around his body and tangling their legs together as they both fall to the ground.
The crowd explodes as the referee signals the catch. The girls squeal and bounce around me, but it’s all white noise beneath the sound of my blood whooshing in my ears.
Foster is still on the ground.
I watch with horror as the referee drops to one knee and touches Foster’s shoulder. Riggs and Miles race toward them, followed by the rest of the offense, the head coach, and some other sideline personnel. The crowd around him blocks my view of Foster, and I barely feel it when Tessa slips her hand into mine.
The crowd falls silent. The sudden absence of sound makes me dizzy.
Or maybe the fact that I haven’t taken a breath in nearly a minute is making me dizzy.
I part my lips and inhale, wriggling my fingers free of Tessa’s death grip so I can clasp my hands in front of my mouth. Now that I’ve started breathing again, my lungs are working overtime, damn near to the point of hyperventilation. Tessa squeezes in close to one side, and Roxy and Skye move in closer on the other, wrapping their arms around me and each other as we wait for some sign that Foster is okay.
A utility vehicle zooms out onto the field, and the players crowded around his prone form back up to give the medical team some room to work. My eyes sting as I see them wrap some kind of brace around his leg before sliding a spine board beneath him. Four men lift the board onto the back of the utility vehicle before jumping into the seats and driving toward the tunnel that leads to the Bandits’ locker room area.
I see Foster lift a hand in the air just before the crowd goes wild, cheering and chanting his number over and over again.
“Does that mean he’s okay?” I ask Tessa.
“I don’t know,” she says, her expression still filled with worry. “But it means he’s conscious, and that’s always a good thing.”
“I need to go,” I say, pulling free of the arms still wrapped around me.
“Let us go with you,” Roxy says, but I’m already shaking my head before she gets all the words out.
“No. Stay. Watch the rest of the game.”
“I’ll go with her,” Skye says, and when I start to argue, she talks over me. “I’m coming, Hadley. Get your stuff. Let’s go.”
Skye rode with Roxy to the game, so we head for my car when we get to the parking lot. I toss her the keys when she asks, knowing on some level that I’m in no condition to drive. Tears are pouring down my face unchecked, and I’m freaking out on the inside.
Just before I close the car door, I hear sirens. Skye hears them, too, and she starts the car and zips out of the parking spot before I even get my seatbelt on. We both see the ambulance pull from the lot, and Skye follows behind it all the way to the hospital.
By the time we park and head inside, Foster is nowhere to be seen. The medical staff won’t give me any information since I’m not family, but that doesn’t stop me from finding a chair in the waiting room.
I’m not leaving until I know he’s okay.
The next two hours drag by in a haze of worry and anger. I stand up every time I hear footsteps on the clinical-white tile floors, but no one comes with an update for me.
The stress is exhausting, and I start to doze off, but snap awake when Tessa, Riggs, Porter, Miles, and Roxy crowd into the waiting room. The girls rush over to see how I’m holding up, and Riggs moves forward to squat down in front of me.
“I talked to the doctor,” he says slowly. “He broke his leg in three places and had surgery to insert two metal rods and several pins to piece the bones back together. He’s in recovery now, and we’ll be able to see him as soon as they transfer him to a room.”
“They wouldn’t tell me anything,” I say, almost as if in a daze. “I begged them to talk to me, but I’m not family.”
“He has me listed as his emergency contact,” Riggs says quietly. “That’s why they were able to tell me.”
“Of course. He doesn’t have any family, does he?”
I break down, dropping my head into my hands. I don’t know what’s worse––the fact that Foster is injured or the fact that if he hadn’t added Riggs to his emergency contact list, there would be no one here for him. No one to get updates on his condition and treatment.
“Excuse me.”
The voice breaks through the silence that had fallen, and we all look up to see a man in scrubs standing in the doorway. I push to my feet, and Roxy takes my hand and squeezes it.
“You can go see him now. Just three at a time, though.”
We follow the nurse down the hall, and while the others try to let me go in first, I insist Riggs, Porter, and Miles go. I need to clean myself up and get these damn tears under control before I head in there. I don’t want him to see me like this.
The girls wait in the hall with me while the guys head inside. Tessa gives me a wad of tissues, and I blow my nose and dry my eyes. Roxy pulls a compact out of her purse and pats some powder on my nose and underneath my eyes while Skye produces a tube of tinted lip balm from her pocket and offers it to me. I thank her and smooth some on my dry lips.
The door swings open and the nurse pushes it all the way to the wall as he passes through. The locking mechanism clicks into place, and the nurse smiles at us as he passes by. With the door propped open, we can hear the guys talking inside.
“Did we win?” Foster asks, his voice thick and groggy.
“Yeah, we won, buddy. Thanks to that amazing catch, Porter scored on the next play and we held them at zero for the rest of the game,” Riggs says.
“Stupid,” Foster says. “Stupid mistake.”
“It was an accident,” Miles says softly. “Could’ve happened to any of us.”
“I wasn’t focused,” Foster shoots back, his voice angrier. “I didn’t have my head in the game.”
My chest hollows out at those words, and I feel my heart crack in half. Oh, God.
This is all my fault. Foster was thinking about me. Didn’t I catch his attention right before he ran out there? Didn’t I blow him a kiss, distracting him and throwing him off his game? That simple gesture was a kiss of death for his season. He’s not going to be able to play for what? Weeks? Months? A year?
I don’t hear anything else they say to each other. The buzzing in my ears as I panic over my culpability in this whole mess drowns out everything else.
I made this happen. Foster is in this hospital because of me.
When the guys come out, the girls pop in for just a minute to wish him well before leaving so I can go in to see him. My feet drag on the tile as I head into the room. I look everywhere but at Foster. I don’t want to see him like this. I don’t want to see what I did to him.
“Hey, you,” he says, and I almost start crying again at the smile I hear in his voice.
How can he be happy to see me?
I finally meet his eyes, and he doesn’t quite cover up the flinch of pain in his features before I see it. I find myself flinching, too, but force myself forward to sit in the chair next to his bed.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, my voice monotone and robotic.
“I’m okay,” he says. “They gave me the good drugs, but it still hurts, a little.”
“Do you want me to call someone? Maybe they can give you more.”
“Hadley.”
“What?”
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“Are you, really?” I ask, the question loaded with doubt.
“I don’t know,” he replies on a sigh. “They said I may never play football again.”