Page 34 of Everything In Between

TWENTY-EIGHT

jersey

“Get up,” I whisper, wishing there was a way Hayes could hear me out on that field. “Get up!” Turning to Hayes’s mom—Merilee—next to me, I ask, “Why is he not getting up?”

“That was a hard hit,” his mother murmurs beside me.

The stadium has fallen into hushed silence as their quarterback lays motionless on the field. The sun shines down on the turf from the open-air stadium, but as the game comes to a halt, the day seems to dim.

The athletic trainers trot out to him, huddling around his body and blocking my view of him. From my position in the box, I stand up on my tiptoes as if that will give me a better view of what’s happening down below.

Concern fills me as I wait for him to do something, anything, and I twist my fingers together into a tight knot.

Come on, Hayes, get up.

I step closer to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and hugging her close. As much as Hayes means to me, that’s her son down there.

“He’ll be okay.” I try to reassure her, though my voice breaks at the end of the word. “He’s gotta be.”

Hayes’s mom and I stand there holding each other, waiting for any type of signal that he will be okay. Hayes’s father squints down at the field with a grim expression, waiting for Hayes to pop back up to his feet, like he always does.

My throat goes dry when an emergency medical cart drives out onto the field. The people attending to Hayes quickly jump into action to get him onto the stretcher and into the vehicle to wheel him off field.

I cover my mouth with my hands with a gasp. “Oh god.”

“Come on, Jersey.” His mother grabs my hand and drags me out of the VIP box. My heart is pounding in my ears the whole way. I can’t seem to stop the incessant anxiety-ridden thoughts from ricocheting through my mind.

He didn’t get up. Was he moving? Was he breathing?

Why didn’t he get up?

Is he going to be okay? He’s gotta be okay.

She leads the way down to the team quarters of the stadium. It’s a wonder I walked at all the way my ankles are wobbling in my boots. Time seems to disappear until Hayes’s mother stops one of the trainers walking toward the diagnostic room.

“I’m Hayes Vogt’s mother,” she explains and points to her husband and then to me. “This is his father and Hayes’s girlfriend.”

The trainer’s eyes flash between the three of us, but then she nods.

“Hayes is getting his preliminary check right now. He took a hard hit to the knee.” I blink rapidly, willing the burning behind my eyes to disappear.

Hayes’s parents are both cool, calm, and collected, listening intently and nodding as if this is not their first rodeo.

It likely isn’t with a quarterback for a son.

“We’re still trying to determine what the next course of action will be.

We’re discussing transporting him to the hospital so he can get an MRI.

That way we’ll have a good sense of what we’re dealing with, but he’s done with this game. ”

The trainer gives us a grim look before heading back into the diagnostic room, leaving me standing with his parents in the hallway, watching as the doors to the medical room swing shut.

Wrapping my hands around my torso, I try not to shiver, but it’s no use.

It’s just as warm down here as it was in the VIP suite, but full body shakes take over.

Hayes’s mom wraps her arms around me and leads us to a place where we can sit and wait. A cell phone ringing cuts through the heavy silence and Hayes’s dad pulls his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. He locks eyes with his wife and tilts his head toward his phone. “It’s Riley.”

“We’re fine here,” his mother says and gives her husband the go-ahead. He walks away, putting his phone to his ear.

“Hey, kiddo . . . Yeah, we’re waiting to hear what the diagnosis is,” he says gently to his daughter.

My chest feels tight, and I try to take a deep breath, counting down from fifty as I lean against Hayes’s mom. “What happens to a quarterback if he busts his knee?” I ask her quietly.

She smooths her hand over my hair and rocks us back and forth. “It depends on what he injured. He may need surgery or he may be able to get by with physical therapy. His doctors will have more answers for us.”

“Will he be able to play again?” My voice is shaky as I voice my fear. I hate that I’m feeling so vulnerable, but my worry for her son seems to overshadow anything else right now.

“I hope so, sweetheart,” she whispers, holding me close in a way only a mother knows how.

When I finally pull away from his mom a few minutes later, I wipe my face and force out a humorless laugh. “Sorry.”

She gives me a kind smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart. There’s nothing to apologize for.” I wipe my nose, embarrassed by the way it’s dripping down my face from my tears. His mother politely doesn’t comment on that fact. “Would you like to stay here and wait for him? Or go back home?”

Home.

It’s not home without him, though.

My throat feels tight. “I’ll wait for him.”

We sit together for a few more minutes, long enough for Hayes’s dad to return from his phone call with Riley.

I regain control of my breathing but continue to count down from fifty, starting over each time I make it to zero.

Inside, I’m telling myself that Hayes is okay, he’s not seriously injured.

His trainers and medical team will take care of it.

“You know, I remember the very first time Hayes had an injury on the field,” she says. Her voice is level, calm, as if her son isn’t in there having medical tests run on him. Turning to her husband, she asks. “Do you remember?”

He nods and leans against the wall. “How could I forget? He was a freshman in high school, starting out on junior varsity.”

I turn to her in anticipation. “Yeah? How did you cope?”

She chuckles, her eyes glazing over as she recalls the memory. “He was so excited to be playing, and in his very first game, he got tackled right to the ground and ended up spraining his ankle so bad he had to sit out half the season.”

I already know this event probably shaped who Hayes would become as a player for the rest of his career. “What did he do?”

“Oh, he was so upset those first few days,” she says, nodding to herself.

“But then after that, he seemed to look at things differently. He still attended every game, even on those crutches, and he watched, and he paid attention. When he finally got back into the game himself, he had a broader understanding of what was expected of him in that role.”

“Wow.”

A fond expression appears on her face as she remembers her son at that age. “That’s Hayes. His whole life, he’s always been one to look at the glass half full whenever he can, rather than letting circumstances get him down.”

“Do you think he’s upset about this?” I ask.

“Undoubtedly. But he’ll find that silver lining. And I’m sure it will have a lot to do with you being by his side.” She leans toward me and nudges my shoulder with her own. “I’m so glad you’ve found each other. He’s been alone for far too long.”

I give her a sad smile. “I don’t think he’s been alone at all. I don’t know how he could be with parents like you and Andy. You’ve raised an amazing man,” I tell her, my voice soft. I peer up at his father to see him watching me with glassy eyes. “It’s been a privilege to know him.”

Merilee gives me a warm smile. “He has said the exact same thing about you, dear.”

I can’t get over how much they love him.

How much I’ve grown to love him.

The fluttering in my belly and soul-crushing affection I feel whenever I’m with him only confirms the feelings.

I am completely in love with Hayes. Watching him drop to the field and not pop right back up has activated a whole new kind of fear inside of me—the fear of being unable to experience this life without him.

Being robbed of sharing the highs, and the lows, and everything in between with him.

Somehow, this man has finagled his way into the deepest recesses of my heart and set up camp there, with no hope of ever leaving.

Not that I want him to leave. Ever since Hayes has come into my life, I’ve known nothing but happiness and contentment. I can’t picture a version of my life he’s not a part of.

Time ceases to exist for a while as I’m lost in my hopeless thoughts of infatuation over him, but finally, I hear that low voice that knows the exact tune of my heart and soul call my name.

“Jersey.” As soon as I hear his voice, I straighten my neck, catching sight of Hayes on the stretcher as they wheel him out of the diagnostic room. He stops the EMTs right before they adjust the stretcher to load him into the emergency rig.

In a few long strides, I’m next to him, taking his hand and squeezing it tight. “Hey there, handsome.” I curse when one traitorous tear sneaks out of the corner of my right eye and falls down my cheek.

Hayes’s amber eyes track the movement, and he squeezes my hand. He plasters on a tight smile and, in a shaky voice, says, “I’ll be okay. It’s just a scratch.”

I laugh through the emotion that’s threatening to explode out of me and shake my head. He and I both know this isn’t just a scratch.

“They’re sending me to the hospital for an MRI.” His face is pale, missing that usual luster it usually has. I can only imagine that his thoughts are running a mile a minute, thinking about what this injury could mean for the rest of his season. “Will you guys meet me there?”

“Of course we will, sweetheart,” his mother answers, stepping up behind me and placing her hand on my shoulder.

Hayes meets my eyes again and I notice his typical glint is gone, replaced by a deep-seated worry. “Jersey, will you take my car? It’s still in team parking from yesterday before we were bused to the hotel. The keys are in my bag. That way, we can go straight home whenever they release me.”

“Of course.”

Hayes nods and then drags my hand closer so he can kiss the back of it before letting me go.

His trainers and the EMTs get him settled in the ambulance and close the doors behind him. His parents wait with me while his trainers collect his bag and personal items from the locker room before handing them to me.

We do a lot more waiting at the hospital in a private waiting area while Hayes is with his doctors.

The entire time I seem to hold my breath, my chest aching with the pressure of the unknown.

Eventually, a nurse comes out to tell us Hayes has finished all the necessary testing and is ready to go home.

Hayes looks weathered as they wheel him out in a wheelchair, and I can tell he doesn’t want to be here right now dealing with this—he wants to be with his team.

I stand up and hurry over to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing the side of his cheek. “Are you okay?” I ask, stepping back and giving his mom the chance to hug him too. His father claps him on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff. “As good as I can be, I guess.”

“Will you need surgery?” his mom asks, cupping her hands on his cheeks and hitting him with that motherly worry.

He lifts his head again. “Unsure yet. I’m supposed to meet with the orthopedic surgeon tomorrow to go over next steps.”

“Well, we’ll deal with whatever happens, right?” his mom says, attempting to be optimistic.

He gives her a tight smile. It’s not his usual happy expression, hinting at his inner turmoil beneath the mask he’s putting on for his mom. “We sure will.” He glances between all of us. “Do you know how the game ended?” When no one answers right away, he deflates. “Was it bad?”

Andy grimaces and nods.

Hayes drops his head to his chest and huffs out a long breath. “Damn it.” He takes a moment, his jaw muscle ticking. He seems defeated when he turns to me. “Can we go home now?”

My throat tightens and I nod. “Of course.”

“Will you drive? They doped me up on some muscle relaxers and pain meds.”

We take our time as we make our way to the exit.

While we walk, I call the number for the hospital’s valet to bring the car around to the front doors.

The minute we step out of the hospital’s doors, we’re swarmed by reporters and cameras.

Their questions fly at us, each one sending my nerves on edge.

“Hayes, how are you feeling?”

“Mr. Vogt, do you think you’ll be back in the game next week?”

“Hayes, what did your doctors say?”

“Jersey, do you feel guilty for distracting Hayes?”

“Jersey, how is your new album coming along?”

“Jersey, is it true you’re dating Corey Shrader again, too?”

I know they’re doing their jobs, trying to get the shot of Hayes’s current state after such a significant injury, but they’re only making a difficult situation harder.

Against my better judgment, I swing around and glower at them. “Don’t you all have something better to do? Leave us alone!”

Hayes eyes me with an eyebrow raised and holds out his hand for me. I weave my fingers through his and we focus again on getting to the car, keeping our heads down. The car is waiting for us right outside, so it’s not too much of a hassle.

He settles into the passenger seat, and I hop into the driver’s side. As I pull out of the parking lot, I scowl at the reporters still snapping photos of our departure. They have no understanding of privacy.

All my irritation disappears once we’re on the road, and Hayes quietly says, “I’m glad you were there tonight.”

“Me too,” I whisper, turning to him.

He exhales and rolls his head along the headrest to give me a somber smile. “I had great plans to bring home a win tonight. Sorry for disappointing.”

The emotion that I had discovered, but tucked away for later, comes rearing back at full force and my eyes burn.

I will it back, blinking rapidly and focus on the road.

Overcome with love for this man who is always so focused and driven, I extend my hand over the console, wanting to ease his hurt in any way I can while still getting us home safely.

He threads his fingers through mine, and I squeeze his hand. With every fiber of my being, I reassure him. “Hayes, you could never disappoint me.”

“The good and the bad, right?” he asks, a muted twinkle appearing in his eye.

I nod, my eyes starting to burn again. “And everything in between.”