I was up and dressed quickly, my hair half-hazardously thrown into a knot on the top of my head. The morning light wouldn’t last long and I was excited to have a camera back in my hand. And not just any camera, my camera. He must have gone to my parents’ house and picked it up while I was at work one day. Just another sweet thing to add to the list of sweet things he did for me.
As I walked over to the track, I snapped a couple pics of the landscape, to see if the settings were how I’d left them, and if I even remembered how to adjust them. It was like riding a bike, each click and twist seeming natural as I adjusted the lens.
I saw Reid on the far side of the track, 237 still emblazoned on the front of his bike. He was riding over the whoop section—a succession of small hills, bumps really, that can send a bike off into many different directions if not handled with control. He looked a little looser today than I was used to seeing. His normal, upright position a bit more lax. Perhaps our long night of love making had taken too much out of him to ride today. I felt myself grinning at the memory of last night. I clicked a quick picture of him coming out of a turn. He looked strong and capable, but different. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I frowned as I looked harder at him on the track, the difference of his riding clear to me.
The bike revved hard as he approached the double jump and as soon as the bike was in the air, I knew something was wrong. The silence that followed as I watched the bike seize and toss Reid on the landing was worse than watching him get punched in the face. His body lying motionless on the track. My own body frozen in shock, I waited for him to get up. To shake it off as if he hadn’t just hit the ground at an extreme rate of speed.
I dropped my camera on the ground and took off running as fast as I could. I had to get to him. Trying to see the rise and fall of his chest under the chest protector he was wearing was pointless, but I could see the way his leg was bent at his knee. It wasn’t normal. It was painfully obvious that something was broken. He was not okay and I wanted to get to him. To let him know that I was there for him, but I felt like I was running in slow motion. The grass and dirt I was running through may as well have been quicksand. His injury looked bad and I knew what that meant for his next season. He was going to need me by his side to get him through the disappointment but there was no place I would want to be. The tears were streaked down my face by the time I made it to his side.
“Reid,” I yelled. “Omigod.” I dropped to my knees beside him and took his hand in mine.
“Nora,” Reid said, but not from the ground where I expected to find him. “I’m right here.” He was instead on his knees on the other side of whoever was lying on the ground between us.
“Reid?” I said, hoping that I was dreaming that he was okay. I wanted to smile and ask him to pinch me, but that would have to wait. I was so grateful that Reid was okay and I desperately wanted to hug him and tell him that I loved him, but I held onto the rider’s hand instead. He was the one who was hurt. He was the one who needed someone to hold his hand. As soon as I saw blonde hair fall from the helmet Reid was gently pulling of his head, I knew it was Brett. I’d keep holding his hand as long as he needed me to. As Reid called 9-1-1, he grabbed Brett’s other hand. Both of us telling him that he was going to be okay, both of us trying to keep him from looking down at his leg.