“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me.”
“At first, they thought it was a patella dislocation. It was the call at the field. They sent him for X-rays. But the artery was compromised in his leg. They have to admit him for emergency surgery.”
“What? It was a normal tackle. He was talking to me. It didn’t seem that bad.”
“I know. It’s a freak injury. But, Tristan, he could lose his leg.”
Tristan bowed his head and lifted a shaky hand to it. People didn’t lose their legs from playing football. This was craziness. “Where is he?”
“Where are you?”
Tristan looked around, unable to process what was happening. Jamie’s hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him.
“I’m on my way to the Christmas gala. But I’m sure I can borrow a car or a helicopter or a plane or a teleporter.” He looked over to Jamie. “You have all that, right?”
“We can get you wherever you need to go,” Jamie assured him.
“Listen, we can’t do anything right now. They are going to stabilize him first and then transport him to an undisclosed hospital. I’m going to be at the gala too. When we get more information, we can come up with a plan.”
“Right. Okay. Can I call Caleb? He’s worried.”
“You can tell Caleb, but that’s it. Hartesfield will tell the rest of your team tomorrow after he’s been stabilized. I’ll see you shortly, and hopefully, I’ll have more information.”
Tristan disconnected and called Caleb. He gave him minimal information but told him to be ready to go when they knew more. Jamie and Robert were quiet the rest of the ride, allowing Tristan to drown in worry. The nerves about going to the palace were replaced with concern for his best mate.
Tristan missed the arrival and the entry. He was there, but his mind was all wrapped up in Rowan’s misery. He shuddered when he thought of Rowan possibly losing his leg.
Jamie led Tristan through a maze of hallways until, finally, they were entering the ballroom. Suddenly, Tristan reengaged. Ele was here somewhere. Just knowing she was within touching distance calmed him.
“Queen first, I think,” Jamie said.
He led Tristan farther into the room.
Earlier, Jamie had explained how each gala had a theme. This year’s was Winter White. Everything in the room was a shimmery white or silver. It was a winter wonderland.
As he walked next to Jamie, the earlier nerves returned. Tonight was important, and Tristan needed to be present. The queen was mingling, but the crowds parted for Jamie, and Tristan followed in his wake. Jamie kissed the queen on her cheek and then moved to stand to her right.
Tristan was all alone in front of her. He bowed, as instructed. When he straightened, he was looking into the shrewd eyes of the ruler of his country. He was conspicuous in the room for many reasons. Mostly, aristocratic white people milled around. Here he was, a black footballer in their midst. But he could tell the queen wasn’t judging.
“Your Majesty,” he said, thankful he’d looked up the proper address a couple of months ago.
“Mr. Davenport.”
“I can see Ele comes by her beauty naturally.”
She smirked. “A charmer.”
“Perhaps. But honest to a fault.”
“Yes, so I’ve gathered, T-Dav.”
He had the grace to blush. “Might have to rethink that.”
“Indeed,” she said with a wink.
“Now, who’s the charmer, Your Majesty?”