They rushed Sean to New York Hospital directly from the field. ESPN reported that his shoulder was severely dislocated and his collar bone was broken in two places. He also had three bruised ribs and possibly a concussion. It was too early to tell, of course, but the ESPN commentators predicted that Sean would be out for much, if not all, of the season.
I felt helpless. I couldn’t call Sean or get in to see him.
I only knew what the public knew, which wasn’t very much.
The next day, the surgical team that had put Sean back together held a press conference at the hospital. I draped my Sports Insider credentials around my neck, stuffed my hair into a Kings baseball cap, and went to cover the press conference. It was probably as close to Sean as I was going to get for a long time.
I stood off to the side during the press conference, holding out my phone to record the doctor’s comments. Sean came through the surgery fine, he was awake and alert, they hoped for a speedy recovery, but they could not predict how long he would be out of the game. That’s all. Thank you for coming.
I glanced around at the faces of the other reporters there. It was just another story to them. Their faces ranged from apathy to mild interest. I envied them. They were just there gathering fodder for the reports they would later file. They weren’t connected to Sean Donovan in any other way. They weren’t all on the verge of tears, nor had they lain awake all night wishing they were in Sean’s arms.
I was the only one who knew the real Sean Donovan.
In a crowded room of a hundred people, I felt totally alone.
After the press conference, I was forwarding the sound file to the office from my phone when I heard a friendly voice call my name. I looked up to see Leon Lewis smiling down at me.
“You’re Katie,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, like a bass drum. He gave me a toothy smile and stuck out a huge hand that engulfed mine when we shook. “I’m Leon.”
“I know,” I said, forcing a smile. I realized that I was wearing my press credentials on a lanyard around my neck. If he had glanced down, he would have seen the laminated card that had my picture and the words: Kate Asher, Sports Insider Online. I casually unclipped the laminated card and slid it into my back pocket.
“You here to see Sean?” he asked.
“Um, I’d love to see him,” I said sincerely. “But I don’t think they’re letting anyone from the press up to his room.”
“You ain’t press,” he said, giving me a scolding look. He nodded toward the elevators. “Come on, he told me all about you. He’d love to see you.”
“He would? Are you sure he’s up to it?”
“Yeah, he’s already awake and bitching about the food,” he said as I followed him to the elevators. He pressed a thick finger into the button and sighed. “Maybe you can get him to behave. He likes you.”
“He does?”
He narrowed his eyes at me and bobbed his head. “Oh yeah, he likes you a lot.”
* * *
I let Leon lead the way down the hall to Sean’s room. Following behind him was like driving behind a semi-truck. I couldn’t see anything on the other side of him. I’d never seen a man so tall and wide.
“Hey, look who I found,” Leon said, walking into Sean’s room with a big grin on his face. He stepped aside to let me pass. When I saw Sean in the bed, all bandages and metal rods and screws, it made me sick to my stomach. He really did look like he’d been mowed over by a train.
“Hey,” Sean said, his voice a weak whisper. He held out his right hand and wiggled his fingers at me. “I was hoping you’d come.”
I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me,” I said. My eyes welled with tears despite my best efforts to hold them back. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”
“I am okay and I feel awesome,” he said with a smile.
“He’s a little doped up,” Leon said. He went to the other side of the bed and rested his big hands on the bedrail. “He’s gonna be okay, but the docs say he’ll be here for at least two weeks, then rehab for a while. God help his physical therapist.”
“Katie will take care of me,?
?? Sean said, the words slurring past his lips. “We’ll go to the cabin and she’ll take care of me.”
“Sure,” I said, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. “I’ll take care of you. Whatever you want.”
I heard a familiar voice in the hallway outside that made me cringe. A harsh, female voice, like a low growl. I didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. It was Madge Sinclair, talking to someone on the phone.
“I’d better go and let you rest,” I said quietly, hoping I could slip out without being seen by Madge.