I fold my hands in front of me, twisting from side to side. “Get up, Mase.”
“Ari… he’s not getting up!”
“Fuck.”
Outside of the few who were near Mason, the rest of the team is just now realizing their quarterback has yet to rise.
Brady is shoving his way through their bunched-up teammates on the field as Chase is rushing from the sideline in the same second.
I clench my teeth, tears brimming in my eyes as the fear shooting through the boys blows through me. They get a few feet from Mason, but both are quickly pushed back by several people on the Avix coaching staff. They shout, trying to see beyond the group of people rushing to my brother’s side, but are forced to stay put.
Brady tears his helmet off, lifting it as he shouts in rebuttal, but all it does is draw two more linemen his way. They act like a shield, blocking and driving him backward. He tosses the helmet, gripping his head as he turns away and my hands come up to cover my mouth.
I jolt when my phone vibrates on the coffee table, my chest squeezing as I answer.
“Dad!” I panic.
“Arianna, it’s okay,” he assures me in a low, calming tone. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”
I try, but it’s choppy and causes a strain along my ribs. “Dad, he’s not moving.”
“I know, baby. We’re watching. Am I on speaker?”
I press the speaker button. “You are now.”
“Cameron, honey, you doin’ okay?” he asks gently, knowing without asking she’s right beside me.
She nods even though he can’t see her, biting at her nails. “Mm-hm.” She sniffles
“Good, that’s good. Your moms are both right here, your dad too, Cam, and the Lancasters,” he tells us, and Cameron reaches out to squeeze my hand.
I drop my ass onto the table, and she stays standing beside me.
We stare at the screen as the medics stabilize Mason’s neck, three others crouched around him, his teammates not far away.
“Is Mom okay?” My legs bounce.
“She’s scared,” he tells me honestly. “But we all are. We’re all together, though, and that’s what matters. Mason knows we’re with him, even if we’re all in different places.”
I sniffle. Jumping to my feet when Noah steps onto the field.
A ref tries to get him to move back, but he argues, and I hold my breath as his coach, standing a few feet from Mason, spots him.
The coach rushes over, saying something, and Noah pats his shoulder, jogging toward the endzone.
“What is he doing?” Cameron whispers, and I shake my head.
“What’s who doing?” my dad wonders.
Noah reaches out, grabbing a hold of the giant camera just to the right of the goal post, and I gasp when the network splits the screen, Noah’s face displayed across the second one.
The commentators stop talking about the trajectory of Mason’s hit and begin taking guesses as to what the quarterback is doing, but they don’t have the slightest clue.
I do.
Because as soon as he knows for sure he’s alive, Noah stares straight into the camera, straight into my eyes… and he nods.
Everything inside me cracks, breaks, and then fuses back together. I collapse onto the sofa, tears pouring down my cheeks.
“He’s okay,” I rasp.
“What do you mean, honey?” my dad urges.
Cameron’s head snaps from the screen to me. “How do you know?”
“Noah,” I tell them both. “That’s what he’s saying. He’s letting me know Mason’s okay.”
Cameron’s tears fall and she drops onto the couch. “I fucking love that guy.”
A croaky chuckle leaves me, and I smile. “Dad, he’s okay.”
“Honey… he’s still not moving.”
I nod, but only moments later, Mason bends his knee and my mother’s gasp chokes me up.
The medic staff stands, repositioning themselves near Mason’s shoulders, and as they do, Mason lifts his left arm into the air, letting all those watching know, he’s okay. The cart comes out onto the field, but Mason isn’t put on a stretcher. The crowd goes insane as he’s helped to his feet, and then slowly set on the back. He’s carted away and my parents celebrate on the other end of the line.
We talk for a little longer, and my dad assures me he’ll call if they get any news. Mason being eighteen, there’s a chance none of us will hear a word until he’s able to call us himself.
Hours go by before my phone rings, and when it does, it’s from Brady.
Cam and I scrunch into the screen.
“Brady.”
“Hey, girls,” he says softly, a sad grin on his lips, Chase right beside him. “You heard anything?”
“Not yet. What do you know?” Cameron asks.
“They took him to a hospital a couple miles away to follow concussion protocol, run tests and shit.” He sighs. “That’s all we got from Coach.”
“Can you go see him?”
Saddened, they shake their heads. “We’re getting on the bus from here, but a trainer went with him. Coach says he’ll update us when he can, but without Mason’s permission, they can’t tell him shit. Coach thinks they might have doped him up, so he’s probably coming in and out.”