Page 149 of Chasing Headlines

“That’s really, ya know, great. Fantastic, truly. Is a fake girlfriend allowed to be proud?”

He huffed and panted.

“Want to give me a small quote for my article on the Exhibition game?”

He gave me a black look.

“Just a little: 'I’m excited to take the field this Saturday.' Or maybe something about your first time in a Strikers uniform. A teensy quote for your favorite fake girlfriend? On the record?”

His only response was to turn away and heave his guts up again.

Oh this is bad.I’d done the research. This was a textbook symptom that he was not “practically perfect” like I'd just said to his coaches. My stomach wrung itself out like a giant, acidic sponge.God I'm such a—no point in going over that again. I could chide myself later. A person needed medical care.

“Can I get you anything? I have a bottle of water. Here.” I dug it out of my backpack and handed it to him. His arm reached back while he remained turned away.

I slid the bottle into his grip. He sipped at it. I stroked the middle of his back.

“Are you dizzy?”

He took another sip and gasped out. “No.”

I breathed a relieved sigh. “Headache?”

“Took some ibutab. Been fine.”

I nodded. “How many?”

“Four.”

“A day?”

“Every four hours.”

“Oh God.” I caught myself on the wall next to him. Well, wait, he was a big guy. It had to be different than me or Hilda taking that much. Maybe?

“Doctor said I was fine. Trainer, too. Don’t need your help.”

I nodded and just stayed quiet for a moment, listening to him breathe, drink, fight for control. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re ok.”

“I’m fine.”

I tried again. “Breslin, I, I’m worried.”

“Don’t.” He lifted his chin. His jaw tight, he closed his eyes.

“You can’t play like this.”

“I didn’t ask you.” He winced and seethed. “Go bother someone else for a change.”

“But I . . .”Just talked the coaches into clearing you. Before you're ready.Didn’t I? Wasn’t this my fault? Not the original injury, but so much of what came after. Why did I do this? Why did I keep getting involved?

Why did my heart hurt to think of him suffering? To see him in this kind of pain?

“I’ve got to show people. I can still play.”

“Everyone grieves in their own way. Their lives aren’t over because of it. It’s not like?—”

“You think reason or fairness actually matter. It doesn’t. All it takes is some bored, soulless asshole to ruin everythingI’ve worked for.”