Page 114 of Cross Check

Congratulations! What a game! Have fun celebrating with your teammates. So happy for you!

I read it through twice to make sure it sounds okay. I debate deleting the last sentence and leaving it open-ended, but I hit send instead, letting it drift off into the void.

There’s no way he’s going to check it right away. The post-game celebrations always stretch for hours, from photos and interviews to teams ending up at a restaurant or club that stays open late for the players and all their loved ones. It’s already midnight on the East Coast, which means he’s probably four drinks deep and having a good time. There’s no space for me, and that’s fine.

I turn off my light and pull the sheets up to my chin, drifting off while thinking about Grant’s smile.

I wake up to my phone ringing.

I rub my eyes and sit up, disoriented. The clock on my bedside table tells me it’s just past one in the morning, and I groan as I fumble with the offending device, pulling it out of the charging cord.

“Hello?” I answer without checking the caller ID, exhausted and sleep-deprived.

“Lia?” Grant’s voice comes from the other side of the phone, but it sounds different than what I’m used to. Hollowed out. Broken. Something isn’t right. “Is that you?”

“Grant? What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the hospital.” The words crack. It’s followed up by a sob and the grating sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. “Riley was in an accident.”

“Oh my god.” My stomach bottoms out. I turn on the lamp, and soft, yellow light floods the room. “What happened?”

“Drunk driver. A doctor let us know he was breathing, but he lost a lot of blood.” There’s another deep sob. The sound makes tears spring to my eyes; agony grips my bones. “They have to amputate his leg.”

I pull my phone away from my ear, tapping the screen to start a FaceTime call. I wait for it to connect, and when his face appears, the thread around my heart coils tight.

His red-rimmed eyes are the first thing I notice. Puffy cheeks, a pink nose. Exhaustion in the way he can barely hold his head up. He leans against a wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor.

I’ve missed him so fucking much.

I want to put my arms around him and not let go.

“Tell me everything,” I whisper.

“We were at a club celebrating and having a good time. Nothing crazy, you know?” He wipes his nose with his arm and hiccups. “We passed the trophy around. We sang shitty karaoke. The next thing I knew, Maverick was on the phone in the middle of the club screaming at us to get our stuff so we could leave.”

“Was Riley in a car? On the sidewalk?”

“An Uber. They got T-boned by someone running a red light. His driver stayed with him at the scene and then came to the hospital. We didn’t know if he was going to make it.” Grant’s mouth twists into a distressed, thin line, the softest hint of a whimper working through the phone. “We’re here now, and it’s a waiting game.”

“I’m so sorry.” I wipe my own eyes, his pain visceral and heavy. “What can I do?”

“Invent a time machine so I can go back to earlier in the evening and make sure Riley stayed with us.” His eyes flutter shut, voice cracking. “I didn’t know he was leaving. I should’ve gone with him. Or taken the Metro with him. He wouldn’t have gotten in the car. He wouldn’t have almost…” Grant shakes his head, the sentence left unfinished.

“I wish I had a time machine, Grant. I’d give anything to take some of your pain away.”

“You help. Your voice always calms me down. I know we haven’t talked in a couple of months. I know you asked for space, but I got your text earlier and thought it would be okay if I⁠—”

“It’s okay,” I blurt. “It doesn’t matter what I said before. I’m here. I’m always going to be here, and this is important. I want you to text me. I want you to talk to me.”

He blinks and stares at the screen. His skin is ghostly white, his gaze empty. He lets out a watery laugh. “Fuck. I don’t know what to do, Lia.”

Lia.

Soft, precious.

He used it when I answered the phone. It’s a nickname I never knew I wanted, but now I desperately want to hear again.

“I don’t think there’s much for you to do besides be there for your friend, however that might look,” I tell him. I’m grasping for anything that will keep him on the line. Trying to find the encouraging shit to say so I can take the anguish away, if only for a minute. “He went through something life-changing. You all will support him through whatever’s next.”