The Trouble with You (Rixon Raiders 1)

“This should have been a walk in the park for them,” Flick grumbled beside me. She’d really found her stride as the team’s latest fan, the blue and white ball cap sitting proudly on her head. “Come on,” she yelled as our defense took down one of the St. Odell Saints offense; the crowd responding with a ferocious roar.

The players switched, my eyes tracking number fourteen as he jogged onto the field, moving into position. Jason yelled the play, and there seemed to be a collective intake of breath around the stadium as he hiked the ball to Cameron who took off down left field, right under its trajectory. The crowd was enraptured, a crackle of anticipation in the air, as he hooked his hand up ready to receive the ball. It was a good pass, an even better catch, and the crowd went wild, the noise deafening.

“Go, go,” Flick yelled, her fingernails digging into my arm so hard I felt sure they might draw blood.

But I didn’t cheer, I couldn’t. My eyes were too focused on Cameron, the way he cut through the air, his strong legs eating up the yard markers. Thirty... twenty... ten.

“Oh God,” my best friend breathed as the world slowed down. A Saints lineman appeared out of nowhere, set on a collision course with Cameron.

“Flick,” my voice quivered as I watched, along with the rest of the crowd, as the huge defensive player ploughed into Cameron, knocking him into the air. His body sailed backward and he landed hard. The whole place winced, the four-thousand strong hiss of breath making my hair stand on end, nervous energy churning in my stomach.

It wasn’t my first game. I’d seen other players take a hit. Watched as bodies were strewn across the field like rag dolls, but I’d never felt the impact before.

“Flick.” My voice no longer sounded like my own as I clutched onto my friend while watching players swarm Cameron’s lifeless body.

“He’s fine,” Flick said, her voice catching. “He’ll be fine. Players take hits like that all the time.”

But he didn’t look fine.

He didn’t get up and shake it off the way players usually did. He just lay there, unmoving.

Deathly still.

Dread washed over me, sending my heart into meltdown as it crashed violently against my chest. Game officials were on the field now, attending to Cameron, who still hadn’t moved. Why isn’t he moving? Jason ripped off his helmet and began to pace beside his best friend, dragging a hand through his damp hair, back and forth, over and over, while Asher looked on with the rest of their teammates.

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nbsp; “Get up,” I breathed.

Why isn’t he getting up?

After what felt like an eternity, Cameron slowly sat up and the entire stadium took that first breath with him. “Thank God,” I gasped, barely able to get the words out over the lump in my throat.

Two officials helped Cameron to his feet, and Jason and Asher flanked his side as they ushered him to the team’s area on the sideline. A slow round of applause built around the bleachers until everyone was on their feet clapping for their beloved number fourteen.

Play quickly resumed, as if my world hadn’t almost ended, and the Saints took their offensive position. But I was too busy watching Cameron. He’d taken his helmet off now, his head hung low as one of the assistant coaches and the medical staff checked him over.

“Something’s wrong,” I said reaching for Flick when he leaped up throwing his helmet down and began to walk away. Jason went after him, the two of them locked in a battle of wills as Cameron glared at him and then mouthed something I couldn’t decipher, my distance making it too difficult to read his lips.

“Is he...?” Flick swallowed her words as we both watched Cameron stalk off the field without so much as a backward glance.

“He left,” I said, stating the obvious, feeling my stomach sink into oblivion. “He just left.”

“Maybe you should go after him,” Flick suggested.

“What?” I blinked at her. I couldn’t think straight. Something didn’t feel right. He’d been hurt, yes, but he’d seemed okay walking off the field, so what the hell had happened in those few minutes between him sitting down and storming off?

And then it hit me.

His mom.

Oh God, what if something had happened with his mom?

He’d been off his game all night; fumbling passes and misreading plays. Even a rookie spectator like me could see Cameron’s head wasn’t in it.

“There’s only a few minutes left on the clock.” Flick nudged me. “If you sneak out now, you’ll miss the crush. He’s probably in the locker room.”

“Flick, I can’t just...” She gave me a pointed look and I shook my head a little, hardly able to believe the next words out of my mouth.