Mia
“This game is so tense,” I say, looking at the woman next to me. Since I don’t usually attend games, I hardly know some of the other wives. “I thought this would be an easy win.”
Maverick is on fire, connecting with his receivers and handing the ball to rushers without a single fumble. It’s the defense letting the team down, making enough stupid mistakes to keep the game close.
The woman next to me doesn’t answer, she just goes back to scrolling through her phone. When I arrived at the owner’s suite, the reaction to my appearance was mixed. People I knew well and considered my friends greeted me with smiles and hugs while some of the others in attendance glanced at me with pinched mouths and narrowed gazes.
“You better not bring us bad luck,” the owner, Jim Spaulding, jokes. “Maverick told us when you attend games, we always lose.”
“Not today,” I tell him with a wink.
Except, Maverick and his team are on the verge of losing their lead and during the next few plays, I worry it’s because of me. I tell myself it’s only the second quarter, there’s still a lot more football to play but when the offense cannot convert on third down, I hang my head and consider leaving. When the opposing team manages a field goal, tying the game, my stomach is in knots. I can’t stay and cause Maverick and his teammates to lose.
I turn my back, unable to watch. Maybe if I look away, it will help.
When the crowd erupts, some of the knots dissipate, hoping Maverick and his teammates were able to get the first down. I glance up at the screen in the suite to watch the replay but instead, my husband is on the ground, flat on his back. The replay shows him taking a brutal helmet-to-helmet hit from one of the linebackers. I gasp when it happens, and tears immediately begin to sting my eyes.
A hush settles over the suite as we all watch, with our breaths held, what’s happening down on the field.
The trainers rush out to the field to assess Maverick, and his teammates gather in small clusters, watching and waiting just like everyone else in the stadium. I notice Edmond Piper kneeling, his helmet in his hand, his head bowed seemingly in prayer.
“You should go down there,” Jim Spaulding tells me in a gentle tone.
“Is it bad?” There’s a hesitation in my voice but the answer is obvious. If the team’s owner is sending me down to the field, of course it’s bad.
“I’ll take you down,” he answers.
We walk through the stadium and the entire time, I manage to hold back my tears and to keep my fears buried until I know more. We make it to the sidelines just as the medical cart makes its way onto the turf.
I want to run onto the field, to see if he’s awake, to tell him how much I love him, but I know I need to stay put. Everything around me seems to unfold slowly. Someone removes Maverick’s helmet, setting it to the side. Someone else slips a stabilizing collar around his neck. A group of people seem to trot out onto the field to help move Maverick onto a stretcher and finally, onto the back of the cart.
“Can I go now?” I look up at Jim through watery eyes and when he nods, I sprint toward the tunnel leading to the locker rooms.
The cart moves sluggishly through the tunnels of the stadium but instead of heading to the medical examination room, it heads toward the player’s entrance where an ambulance is waiting outside in the parking lot.
I stop. This isn’t good.
“Are you coming,” one of the trainers yells from the cart. His voice shakes me out of my haze, and I rush to catch up.
The paramedics and trainers load Maverick into the back of the ambulance and I clamor for a glimpse of him. If I can see his blue eyes, then I’ll be all right. He will be all right.
Once he’s settled in the ambulance, the group parts to let me through. “Please be okay,” I whisper over and over as they help me inside. There isn’t much room, so I crouch next to Maverick, still whispering, “Please be okay.”
My eyes close and for the first time in my life, I say a prayer. As I finish, my eyes flutter open and I get my first glimpse of my husband.
His eyes are closed. His skin is sweaty and ashen but he’s breathing. I reach for his hand, grasping it tight. “Wake up,” I tell him. “Please wake up, Maverick.”
My other hand trembles as I lift it to brush my fingers along his cheek. His skin is warm but his eyes, those beautiful artic blue eyes, remain closed.
My head turns and my gaze lands on one of the paramedics. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie,” she replies.
As much as I want to cling to the false hope of a lie, I need the truth. I need to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario. “The truth.”
The paramedic shrugs. “I don’t know. The doctors will know more once he’s had a CT scan.”
“But is this normal?” I look down at Maverick and sink my teeth down on my bottom lip, worried he might never wake up.
