Imaginary Lines

Page 52

  Shoshi snared us before we’d gone far and dragged us into her childhood room. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve just been listening to Dad’s business partner tell me about his new biomarker or whatever for like the third time in a row. Hello, Abe. I’ve decided that if you’re going to stick around I’d like you to fix me up with one of your teammates. ”

  Abe shot me a look, and then a similar one at my cousin. “You’re mad, you know that?”

  “Mad and bored. Look, we just have to get through the evening, and then Mom’ll give us all presents, and then we can escape. Here, I snagged some wine. ” She poured us all glasses and then downed half right away. “God. Family. ”

  I gave her an impulsive hug. “Some family’s all right. ”

  She swatted me away. “Ew, you really are in love. I can’t stand lovey-dovey couples. Great. ”

  I waved at Abe. “Except for my full roster of potential boyfriends. ”

  She brightened. “Right. Okay. ”

  Abe shook his head. “You’re both ridiculous. ”

  After a protective glass of wine, the three of us headed out. It was actually a fun evening, to all three of our surprise. We played dreidel with some elderly friends of her parents, and then Abe schooled us all in a few rounds of poker. Shoshi ran interference on her parents, so Abe only had to answer a few prying questions. At the end Aunt Beth gave all of us designer coffee and chocolate.

  “You know what?” I told Abe as we walked back to his place. “It took a couple of months, but this place feels like home now. ” I tugged my hat down a little more securely over my ears. “A little too cold, for sure. But I like it here. ”

  Abe smiled down at me, and I impulsively stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. Then I slipped my hand in his. He was home. Everything else here was wonderful, and I loved my job and friends and roommates, but honestly, Abraham was home. He was happiness and magic and everything I’d ever wanted. I’d never really believed in miracles, but there he was. A miracle. My miracle.

  Better than long-lasting oil any day.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  That Sunday, the fifteenth game of the regular season, everyone in the press box chattered excitedly, even the reporters who didn’t usually talk. The Leopards game against the Bisons had been long anticipated; their rivalry was heated and legendary, and if the Leopards won this game, they’d clinch their shot at the playoffs.

  At halftime, we were leading 17-11, but by the fourth quarter they’d tied the score. We could barely breathe for worry. When Abe intercepted a drive, I let out a breath of relief, and smiled triumphantly as he cradled the ball and ran parallel to the ten-yard line.

  And then the opposing wide out came out of nowhere and tackled him, throwing both of them through the air to land with a resounding clap against the turf.

  All the breath left my body.

  The referee whistled.

  Out on the field, two separate teams stopped battling each other and immediately clustered around the fallen; from the sidelines, team doctors and officials started running out toward the knot of people.

  I’d left my seat before I even realized my body was moving, pushing past the other reporters and out the door. I rushed down the stairs and out onto the sidelines, arms and heart pumping as I dashed onto the field.

  It was only after security stopped me and Mduduzi pulled me back that I realized the other reporters had also run down, many armed with cameras, all trying to see past the screen of medical professionals and players that circled Abe. Mduduzi turned me in his arms, bending down so his face would be on level with mine. “Tamar. Listen to me. Calm down. ”

  But I couldn’t calm down. I wrenched away from him and pressed back against security, trying to catch the attention of someone, anyone, who could get me closer. “Hey! Hey!”

  Several of the players glanced at me with disinterest, but most were too well trained to ever look at a reporter. Despair flooded through me. Abe was hurt, and I had no way of getting to him, helping him.

  One of the players striding by with dark red hair stopped. Mike O’Connor. “Tamar?”

  I appealed to him with everything I had. “Let me see Abe. ”

  He frowned and glanced behind him, and then nodded at the guards. “Let her in. ”

  They listened, and I dashed through. They closed ranks behind me as the other reporters shouted questions.

  But I was too late. Abe had already been strapped to a board and loaded into the ambulance. My mouth tasted bitter. The NFL was the only sports organization that required an ambulance to be present at all of their games, and while half of me was relieved there was one so close by, more of me was angry it had been necessary.

  The Leopards owner, Greg Philip, still stood there, looking hardly perturbed but for the frown on his face. I couldn’t stand it. Swiping away the wetness on my cheek with the back of my hand, I stormed up to him. “This is game is supposed to be war without death. ”

  Mike had caught one of my arms and Dylan another, and they pulled me back as Philip stared me down like a bug he’d like to squash. I might have yelled more, but the fight drained away when Mike wrapped his arms around me. “Come on,” he said softly. “We can cut through here to the players’ parking lot. ”

  He stuck me in a taxi, and the ride to the hospital was the longest of my life. When I finally arrived, I dashed through the emergency wing. I hadn’t been to a hospital in years; hadn’t even been to the doctor’s in an embarrassingly long time, now that I didn’t have my mother around to bug me to get my checkups. I didn’t like these places outside of TV shows. I didn’t like the sterile environment, but moreover, I didn’t like the sharp needles, the knives, the idea of people ripping open bodies. The idea of bodies not working.

  I ran up to the first desk I could see. “My boyfriend was just brought here. Abraham Krasner. From the Leopards game. ”

  Her gaze dipped, and she shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t help you. ”

  For the first time, I realized my press badge still hung around my neck, and my stomach swooped to my feet. “No—that’s not—” I tore the pass off and shoved it in my purse, but it was too late.

  My phone buzzed, and with shaking hands, I pulled it out of my pocket. Oh, God, what if it was Sharon? Did she know? She had to know, she had to have seen. I’d need to call her.

  But it was Rachael. We’re on the fourth floor, room 4D.

  Thank God.

  I tore up the stairs, too impatient to wait for an elevator, and turned myself in circles so many times that I almost started crying. But then I found it, guarded by security. “Family only. ”

  “I am family,” I said, and it was only after I brushed by that I registered that wasn’t technically true.

  I entered a small room, where Rachael Hamilton waited along with three members of Leopards management. She was white as a sheet. Carter was probably still on the field. “Where is he?”

  She nodded down the hall. “He says he’s fine. ”

  I laughed a little hysterically. “That didn’t look fine. ”

  “Lars—he’s one of the team doctors—says that it’s his knee. And a concussion, probably. ”

  “Does he need surgery?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. ”