Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
“This is ridiculous!” Pollard fumes, walking back into the main area of the locker room. “Somebody better pull out a sweater that will fit me within the next ten seconds.”
Nope. He’s not getting it until the last minute. Everyone knows the drill; we ignore him and wait to see how pissed off and frantic he gets.
I look down at my phone screen and see a waiting text from Tess with the name and address of a place and a time, six p.m. Wednesday. That works—my flight home from this road trip gets in early in the afternoon that day. I respond immediately.
Dom: I’ll be there. Do I need a ticket or anything?
Tess: Are you sure? Tickets are free but I can save you one.
Dom: Yes. I’ll be there. I’ll take everyone out for dinner after.
Tess: You’ve already done so much for us.
Dom: I need to pick up Sergei’s fan anyway. I’ll see you Wednesday.
Tess: Okay, see you then.
I smile, already running through restaurant options for dinner. I want to take them somewhere nice but still casual. Tess deserves to be the one being waited on instead of the one doing the serving.
“You guys are assholes,” Pollard grumbles.
Coach Maddox is walking through the locker room and he glances over at Pollard’s locker and smiles.
“Give him his sweater, Dom.”
Pollard glares at me. “I fucking knew it.”
I shrug. “Andy knows where it is. I’ve been sleeping with it under my ass for a full week and farting on it so it doesn’t have that brand-new rookie smell. You’re welcome.”
He stares at me for a couple of seconds, considering a response, but then he stalks away.
“Welcome to the team!” I call after him.
He puts both middle fingers in the air and I laugh. That went well.
The next morning, we board our team plane later than usual after a road trip at eleven a.m. A major donor to our team’s foundation has a yacht here and he wanted to take the team out for a brunch cruise.
The food was incredible and the yacht convinced us all we needed to work on becoming billionaires. Our teammate Colby is married to one—our team owner Mila--and they take offseason trips on yachts to places like the French Riviera.
We’re on the tarmac, moving from a bus to the plane when I notice my teammate Logan struggling to walk, two of our team trainers helping him.
“What’s going on?” I ask Ford, who’s behind me.
“I don’t know much. I just heard he got sick last night and they almost took him to the hospital, but he wants to go home and go to the hospital there.”
I give him a concerned look. “Shit, like, what kind of sick?”
“Everything. Puking and shitting his guts out, cramping, fatigue.”
“I didn’t even notice he wasn’t on the boat this morning.”
“He can’t keep anything down. I think they’re going to try to get an IV into him on the plane.”
“Damn.”
I get on the plane and find a seat, my concern growing as I watch the trainers try to get Logan into a seat. He can hardly even move, and he’s in no condition to be anywhere but a hospital.
Coach Maddox comes over to talk to him, and I’m close enough to overhear the conversation.
“We can get an ambulance to pick you up on the tarmac. I talked to Liz and she said she urgently advises you to go to the hospital.”
Liz is our team doctor. The worry in Coach’s voice ratchets up my own fear for my teammate.
“I can make it home,” Logan assures our coach. “Now that I’m on the plane, all I have to do is sit here. Have an ambulance pick me up when we land in Denver.”
“That’ll be four hours from now.”
“I can make it.”
His brow furrowed, Coach stands up and turns to our flight attendant, Mandy.
“Let’s get going as quickly as we can.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says, walking toward the cockpit.
I get up from my seat and approach Logan.
“Hey man, what can I do for you?”
Up close, I can see even better how pale he is. Exhaustion is carved into the lines on his face.
“Water,” he says.
“You got it.”
Terry, one of our trainers, shakes her head at me.
“He can’t keep it down. We’re going to start an IV.”
“What about some ice chips?”
She considers. “If we have some, he could have a little.”
I find Mandy, who gives me a tiny cup of ice pellets. As soon as I hand it to him, Logan slips one from the cup into his mouth.
“Is he okay?” Sergei asks from the seat behind mine.
I shrug. “He’s really sick, but he wants to go to the hospital in Denver.”
Our flight is a lot quieter than usual, everyone trying to give our teammate a chance to sleep if he can. We’ve only been in the air for about half an hour when Logan throws up several times in a row, doubling over in pain afterward. He’s groaning and squeezing Terry’s hand, obviously in misery.