The players arrive last, filtering on one by one.
Excitedly, I see Rio’s dark curls bounce with him as he climbs the stairs, carrying his signature boombox at his side. “Hey, Ind,” he says much more solemnly than his typically goofy tone. “Have you talked to him?”
“Talked to who?”
“Ryan.”
Huh? How the hell does Rio know I need to talk to him? He has no idea what happened on the couch the other night.
“How’s he doing?”
“Good, I guess?”
Zanders comes barreling up the stairs behind him as Rio hangs in the front galley with me.
“Ind, I’ve been calling you,” he breathes heavily, as if he sprinted from his car to the airplane.
“My phone is in my purse.” I grab it out, finding countless calls and texts from both Stevie and Zanders. “What’s wrong?”
In that moment, Rio realizes how lost I am about our conversation. He looks to Zanders to fill me in.
“It’s Ryan. He got hurt in his game.”
Time stills as I repeat his words over and over again until they sink in.
“How hurt?”
“He’s at the hospital now. Stevie’s with him. He’s getting an MRI on his knee. They’re worried he tore his ACL.”
No. No, that's impossible. Ryan is steady. Constant. Unbreakable.
I don’t know enough about sports injuries to understand the severity of what Zanders is trying to tell me, but with his hazel eyes pleading unspoken words, it’s clear that this moment is critical enough that I shouldn’t be on this airplane.
“I should go, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. You should go.”
With shaky hands, I gather my things, looking around the front galley, and completely lost.
“I um…” What am supposed to be doing right now? I’ve never left a flight before. I stick my head into the cockpit, speaking to the pilots. “I uh…I have to go. I need the standby flight attendant to cover me for this trip.”
The captain turns back over his shoulder to look at me. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not. I mean, it will be. Yes.” How the hell am I supposed to explain Ryan’s and my complicated situation? My roommate is hurt? My fake boyfriend is injured? The guy who I’m very much falling for is in the hospital right now and I need to see him?
Composing myself, I try again. “It’s kind of a family emergency.” I don’t know how true the words are, but they feel right coming off my tongue.
“I’ll call dispatch and have them swap the crew.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. This is why we have a standby flight attendant on call. Go take care of yourself.”
Turning back to the rest of the full airplane, I call one of the other girls up to the front and put her in charge, debriefing her with all the information she might need for the trip.
Zanders carries my bag down the steps of the aircraft for me. “It might be hard to get inside the hospital. I’m sure there’s a media frenzy outside. Call Stevie when you get there. She’ll get you in.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s okay. She’s worried about him, of course, but with the way Ryan got hit, he probably should’ve landed on his head and not his feet. So, all things considered, she’s all right.”
He hands off my suitcase, gives me a hug, and returns to the plane, but before he’s too far away, he turns back.
“Indy, I don't want to freak you out, but if it’s torn, he’s done for the season, and more than anyone I know, Ryan believes this game is all he has. Take care of him, okay?”
I nod in agreement. It’s what I’m best at.
Zanders was right. The hospital is a zoo of reporters camping out front, hoping to be the first to hear the prognosis for superstar Ryan Shay. As if the Devils organization won’t be the first to release a statement. I can guarantee the team doctor is inside right now.
As I wait for Stevie to text me back and tell me where to go, I sit in my car parked out front. Pulling out my phone, I search his name.
Endless articles litter my screen with speculation of his injury, including countless video replays of the event. Bracing myself, I pull one up and press play.
It isn’t until the third attempt to watch that I’m able to make it all the way through without turning away. It’s hard not to avert my eyes when I see the player in gray charge right below him just as his fingers leave the rim.
Zanders is right. Ryan should’ve landed on his head, but somehow, thanks to his athletic ability, he was almost able to find his feet again. I want to feel relief for that, but it’s almost impossible when I see him writhing on the ground in pain.
He’s strength personified, and I hate seeing him in a moment of weakness.
As the team doctor reaches him on the screen, a text from Stevie comes through with directions to a private entrance. As stealthily as I can, I find the secret door and wait for her to meet me on the other side.
She cracks it open, allowing just enough space to slip through.
“How’s he doing?” is the first thing I ask.
She pops her shoulders. “It’s Ryan. He’s trying to be stoic about it, but he’s a shitty diagnosis away from losing it.” She halts in the hallway to hug me. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yes, I did,” I say into her embrace.
She wears a knowing smile as she pulls away and we continue to his room.
“Are you feeling better?”
Right now, I’m feeling fairly sick. “I’m not sure how to answer that yet.”
The hallway is littered with countless staff members of the team. They’re still in their Devils polos, looking up things on their laptops, some on their phones in the mists of heated conversations, and a couple pacing the hallway.
Ron spots me while on the phone with a scowl. He offers me only a tight-line expression and a half-hearted wave.
It’s in this moment I realize the entire organization is riding on these MRI results. Riding on Ryan himself. A weaker man would fold under the pressure, but I can guarantee when I open the door to his room, I’ll find him calm, cool, and collected.
Stevie opens the door to prove I’m right. Ryan sits in a private hospital room with his knee propped and covered in ice, eyes closed, leaning back on the pillow behind him, headphones in, blocking any outside noise.
I can see the layer of old sweat drying to his forehead that he hasn’t been able to shower off yet, and his freckled cheeks are still a bit tinted from exertion. Besides that, you’d have no idea he’s just experienced something potentially season-ending.
“Ryan.” Stevie shakes his arm, gaining his attention as he takes out his headphones.
He opens his eyes to look at her, blank and rigid, not showing any sign of emotion until she moves out of the way so he can see me.
That emotionless expression instantly shifts when Ryan furrows his brows as deeply as possible, then bites his lower lip in an attempt to hide the tiny tremble that passed through it.
“I’ll um…” She throws a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the hall.”
As soon as Stevie closes the door behind her, Ryan drinks me in with his eyes, lingering on my work uniform.
“What are you doing here?”
“Zanders told me what happened.”