Page 101 of The Replay

Mariana

My body knots with tension the moment Dom gets hit. Several guys pile on him. I fret he may not be able to breathe under all that weight, until I feel like I'm lacking air too, and I jump to a hundred terrible scenarios in my head.

Worried conversation sets off in the box. From here we can't see clearly what happened, and we focus on the TV replays currently broadcasting into the suite… by my dad's network, of course.

It's hard to make sense of things, even on the feed. Too many people surround him as he's taken off the field on a stretcher. Cora and the team get to work, connecting with the Strike's medical staff and waiting on news.

I'm of no use, and I go back to my seat. I cross my arms. Chew the inside of my lips. For an hour, I do nothing but fidget, unable to watch the game being played, or focus on anything else but Dom. Injuries are the biggest risk for athletes, and I'm terrified for him. They're saying that preliminary assessment deems it a minor injury, but a full evaluation is needed before that's confirmed. The way my stomach churns, I won't believe it until I see him and he tells me what the situation is.

After the game is done, Cora tells me the medical team is assessing Dom at the hospital, as they wanted an MRI. She sends me to my hotel room. I'm immediately restless. All I do there is sit on the bed and check the news, the feeds, even the gossip blogs just in case.

Only an hour later, I give up the pretense and go to the hospital. My last name gets me far, more in connection to the GM than anything. It helps that I work for the team as well. I may have made up a couple lies in the process, but I find Dom's room twenty minutes into my search.

He's surrounded by his friends.

"You'll be okay," Logan says.

"I don't want to miss any games," Dom groans in a sleepy way.

The hospital room is as standard as they come, full of beeping machines and monitors and assessment tools hanging from the wall. Dom's bed is at the center, but I can barely see him through the spaces between his friends. I focus on his face. He seems relaxed, even happy, and some of the tension loosens inside of me.

I come in quietly, just a few steps into the space, and I don't think anyone notices. There's a darkened window at the other side of the door, giving view to a different hospital wing and a park. Another window is at my side, but it's covered by a curtain to give Dom privacy, and I use it to hide myself somewhat. I don't want to interrupt.

"You might have to miss a few games," Rafael says. "So you can recover."

Saint puts a hand on Dom's shoulder. "We need you for the playoffs."

They all study the patient intently, while he looks at everything… and nothing at the same time.

I'm in limbo. Nerves swirl in my stomach, and this time it's a mix of the anxiety I'm feeling for Dom, and the awkward position I'm in. I don't want to leave, but I don't know how to announce myself yet, either.

What will they think of my presence? What if Dom doesn't want me here? What if his friends jump to conclusions? I may have been wrong to come here.

"Call my mom." Dom shakes his head in a weird way. "Where's my phone? I sent her to Mexico with my abuela. She won't know. She'll kill me for not telling her. If she sees it on the news…"

"You have time," Damián says. "You can tell her tomorrow."

"No, you don't understand. Where's my phone?"

Logan grabs the phone from the side table and gives it to him. He struggles getting in it.

"What's my fucking password?" He frowns. He looks half asleep, half in pain. "Pinche teléfono... It's not recognizing my face for some goddam reason."

"He's so high," Bear chuckles.

"How many drugs is he on at the moment?" Rafael asks.

"All the fun stuff, for sure," Saint says.

Dom frowns at his phone as he types. "Got it. Hah."

"Should we check his text to make sure it makes sense?" Logan raises an eyebrow. "It might worry his mom more if it's just a string of typos."

"My text is fine. Autocorrect saves lives." Dom's lips pull up in a satisfied smile, only to immediately pull down. "No. No. I can't call her."

Rafael crosses his arms. "It's your mom. You can call her. We'll even behave and not tease you too much for how drugged up you are."

"No, not Mom. Her." He gets a pained look on his face. "The chain is right there and I just…"