“Yes. He’s in 6A,” he says, pointing to the sign at the end of the wall, which indicates Tanner is in the hall adjacent to us.
“I’m going,” she says to me, walking backward as shethanks Dr. Denton, then invites me to follow after her to see Tanner.
When she turns and really books it, disappearing behind the hall, I swivel to face Dr. Denton.
“That statistic,” I start, halting him with a palm out, his chest nearly colliding with it before he stops himself, “is probably true. I don’t think you’d make something up. I’m sure you heard that on some boring old doctor podcast. But what those statistics don’t look at are the quality of those hits. They’re not all concussion hits.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t even matter. His mother is worried out of her mind about her son. She didn’t know if he was going to need surgery, or if he could talk, or… she just didn’t know. And then you had this beautiful gift of being able to give her good news.”
He nudges his glasses up his nose, and I’d love nothing more than to punch that nose. But it would only hurt my fist.
“Then you ruined it by trying to scare her.”
He pops his jaw a little as his eyebrows jump. “Maybe she should be scared.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but maybe now isn’t the time. Maybe now is the time you let her feel good that her son is okay.”
“He’s okaythis timebut who knows about the next, and the one after that.” He steps to the side, but not past me. Not yet. “There are great risks to this sport. And this mother should know.” He walks past, and I stand there, curling my fists at my side. Talk about fucking bedside manners.
Tanner is okay.
I take a deep breath and temper my exhale, trying to steady my pulse, not send it higher. Tanner is okay, and I find myself both massively relieved, and surprised to learn how worried I was. Fuck this guy and his agenda. I want to see Tanner.
I follow the signs down the hall, finding myself noddingand smiling, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m thinking about Clara June wearing my Bruisers sweatshirt or if it’s because Tanner’s okay or… both. Is it bad if the answer is both? My head aches as I make it to room 6A, and I take a deep breath to adjust myself before entering, taking my hat off as I lay eyes on Tanner.
“Coach,” he croaks, and I realize then that he’s definitely on some pain meds. Good ones. He smiles broadly, and I look to his hand, interlaced with Clara June’s. She’s sitting at his bedside, looking over at me, her eyes so much happier than they were a few minutes ago. I swallow against a lump in my throat.
“Glad you’re okay, Tanner. Real glad about it.”
His grin broadens, somehow. “You’re a good coach,” he tells me, and I find myself shifting weight in my boots. Fuck. Is this kid gonna have a heartfelt ramble? Because I don’t think I can take it right now.
I laugh to break the tension mounting inside of me. “Well, I should hope so. But I don’t claim this,” I say, motioning to the bed. “This was all you.”
He laughs, and so does Clara June.
Clara June has a beautiful laugh. Light and pretty, something I wanna hear close to my ear, when the lights are off, and legs are intertwined.
“I know, I know. Just a few steps off plan and here I am.” He looks at his mom. “And there you are.” His eyes snap to mine, suddenly and out of nowhere, rimmed with panic. “My jersey! Where is my jersey?”
“Tanner, the doctors cut it off you when they brought you in because they didn’t want to jostle your collarbone,” she explains softly, though he doesn’t seem to compute her response.
“I’ll get you a new one,” I promise him, and this promise,or the passage of a few seconds—who knows—has Tanner’s eyes relaxing and his demeanor shifting. He looks at his mom and beams. “I’m gonna be okay, mom, did you hear?”
“Oh yes, I heard,” she says, laughing again, and my knees threaten to go weak on me from that sound. I clear my throat to regain composure of the chaos in my chest. “Tanner, the Doctor has nothing but good news,” I say, looking at Clara June. She nods, confirming they’ve discussed. I like being able to talk to someone this way. Private nods, alluding to prior conversations, having common ground and mutual, vested interest.
“I heard. That’s good. Six weeks isn’t bad,” Tanner says, clicking the button for more pain medicine. Clara June gets to her feet, running her handing over his arm, resting a palm on his forehead.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” she asks, and my spine straights, aligning itself with the concern in her tone.
“I just like how it feels,” Tanner says, laughing, then laughing too hard and looking nauseous for a moment. The nurse comes in, checking things, lingering in the corner as she disconnects tubes on some device, purple gloves on her hands.
“She cut you off,” Clara June whispers to him teasingly as Tanner clicks his button again.
He grins at me. “Hey Coach, have you met my mom?”
The nurse turns. “That’s the pain meds, not the concussion. Don’t worry, mom,” she says, smiling at Clara June, who nods in return.
“Okay, thank you,” she sighs, grateful for the nurse. See, she didn’t need to hear Denton’s speech on CTE. I feel validated, even if only privately.
“You should meet her. She’s really nice. She’s going to be really mad when she finds out Rawley ditched the tutoragain, but other than that, she’s super nice.” He shrugs. “I mean,Ilove her.”
