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King walked by, a net bag of footballs over his shoulder.
I practically jumped him when I got close enough and grabbed his arm. “Where’d they take him?”
He frowned down at me. “Who? What?”
“Adam! Where did they take him?!”
“Infirmary?”
That just gave me more time to panic. I sprinted all the way there as if I knew where I was going. I had to double back and ask someone for directions. But if anyone had clocked me, I would’ve won Olympic gold.
My heart hammered in my throat, my hands were clammy. I could feel tears prickling at the ends of my eyes, threatening to spill over, and I hadn’t even seen him yet.
He wasn’t even in the infirmary. But Cleo was.
“He’s in the blue room, but he asked for you.”
Asked for me? Like final rites?!
If anything, that made me panic more. My stomach dropped and I broke into a jog to the blue room.
I slammed open the door and my heart dropped when I spotted him. There he was, sitting on the couch with his jersey on. A faint line of blood trickled down his forehead. A lone butterfly bandage was sloppily placed an inch away from it. That was just decoration.
Adam glanced up and grinned. “Hey, ice princess—”
I sprinted across the floor and gave him the biggest bear hug I could. It might’ve been nothing to him, but I needed to know he was safe. I needed to know he was okay.
“Woah.” Adam chuckled into my hair. “I like this. Is this a new part of practice?”
“I—I saw you got hurt—” My words jumbled together and I could barely push them out, my tongue was tied in knots. Him crashing into that table… Slamming back his head… I pulled back away from him. “I saw—saw you fall—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Adam shook his head and reached for my hands. His were warm. “I’m fine. Look at me, I’m made out of brick.”
I couldn’t say anything. I was breathing too fast, I couldn’t calm down.
He could take care of himself now. He wasn’t a high school student. And he spent years rebuilding his strength. That was a straight fact, backed by reputable sources like his physiotherapists and trainers and coaches, but that did nothing to change how I couldn’t breathe when I thought of him hitting the table.
All I wanted was to hold him. I needed to make sure he was okay.
His face softened, and he pulled me to the couch, still holding my hands. His thumb stroked my wrist. “I’m fine.”
“That was scary,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I’m sorry—”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t scary. Just some freshmen being assholes. It happens.”
“But—but—you have—”
“What?”
I gestured toward the blood on his face and the sad excuse for a butterfly bandage. Anger bit into my words. “Who did that?”
“I did.” He laughed, leaning back against the couch, still facing me. Still holding my hand. “I hate the infirmary. Fast as I could, I walked out of there, but they gave me some extras.”
He pointed to the table next to him, with the assortment of medical supplies that they no doubt just threw at him from their experience with how stubborn he could be. I was about to admonish him for that. My parents always taught me to trust in doctors. I mean, they were doctors. But part of me wondered if it wasn’t the trusting doctors that got to Adam and more the infirmary itself.
What kind of memories does that bring up?
I shook my head. “You asked for me?”
