“Yeah, we sure do,” he muttered.
“Second unheard message,” the automated female voice alerted him.
“Hop! Jimmy B down here at WWAR!” Jimmy said in his announcer’s voice, just a decibel or two below shouting. Kris’s face tightened at the level of it, his shoulder rising an inch towards his ears.
“I know you’re laid up right now, just wanted to let you the chair is warm and waiting whenever you’re up for it. Hit me back man!”
Kris tossed back the last of the water and put the glass on the counter, a loud sigh escaping his lips. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Turning away from the counter Kris pulled off the outer sweater he was wearing, tossing it down atop the island. He grabbed at the front of his black t-shirt a couple times to push a little air through, his skin warm and moist to the touch.
“Final unheard message.”
“This ought to be good,” Kris said, turning to his left and reaching for a canister of almonds sitting beside the fridge.
“Um, hi, Kris, this is Emily.”
Even without the greeting, Kris knew who the voice belonged to. His hand stopped halfway to the almonds, his head turning towards the phone.
“Kyle said he heard at school today you got hurt. I’m sorry to be calling a day late, but...we didn’t know.”
Kris pushed a long breath out through his nose, his head bobbing up and down just a bit. It was meant as an apology, but they both knew it was more a statement of where things stood.
“I went online and it sounds like it was pretty serious. How many is this now?”
She paused there for a moment, as if she were trying to determine the right words to say next. Kris took a step forward towards the phone, resting his palms flat on either side of it and leaning against the countertop. He pushed a long breath out through his nose and twisted his head an inch to the side, paying close attention to every word.
“Anyway, I know you don’t want to hear this anymore than I want to say it, but just be careful, okay? And maybe give a call to let us know you’re alright?”
Kris remained in place as the same mechanized voice announced there were no new messages and kicked itself off. He glanced down at the phone and debated calling her back, weighing the decision in his mind.
After a moment he opted against it, leaving the phone where it lay and returning for the almonds behind him on the counter.
Chapter Fourteen
Daria Lowell waved herself past the front guard house, the same as she did every Monday evening. The first couple times up she was stopped and questioned at length, even had to show I.D. Now, after more than a year, she was a regular.
Probably even more so than some of the people that called the community home.
Daria pulled her leased BMW to the last house on the street and turned into the drive, rising over thirty feet as it ascended through dense woods. After a few moments cloaked in total darkness she emerged at her destination, a sleek home overlooking the city. The trees receded from overhead as she parked, the moonlight refracting from the front hood of her car.
Stopping to check her lipstick in the rearview mirror, Daria climbed out and headed for the front door, digging her key from the bottom of her purse. Without pausing to knock she slid the key into the lock and let herself in.
Near total darkness greeted her as she stood in the foyer just inside the door, surveying the room. She paused to make sure she had the correct night and time before reaching out to turn on the lights.
Her hand made it only halfway there.
“Don’t,” Kris said, his body nothing more than a silhouette in an armchair in the living room.
The sound of his voice caused Daria to jump back, raising her hands to her chest. “Damn. You scared me.”
“Sorry,” Kris said, making no effort to rise or welcome her.
Daria cast a look around and asked, “What are you doing in here in the dark?”
“The lights were too bright and the TV gave me a headache,” Kris said, his voice flat, offering no further explanation.
“Oh,” Daria said, inching forward into the room, her arms folded across her chest to hide the low-cut dress she had bought especially for the night.
“What brings you by, D?” Kris asked.
A look of surprise passed over Daria’s face as she took another step forward, twisting her head to the side and staring down at Kris.
“Um, it’s Monday?” she replied. “My fiancé’s on call every Monday. You know that.”
“Oh, right,” Kris said, his voice still listless.
“Dude, what’s going on with you?” Daria asked, nudging a little bit closer, trying to read his face.
In the darkness of the room, it was impossible for her to make out any expression at all.
“I take it you didn’t see the game last night?” Kris asked.
Arms still folded tight across her chest, Daria stopped moving forward. She locked her legs at the knee, peering down at Kris.
“You know I don’t watch football.”
“Sure,” Kris said, his head rising a couple inches in a half nod. “Well, I took a pretty bad shot to the head. Concussion. Still feeling kind of woozy.”
Daria waited a moment to process the information, rocking forward onto her toes and rising an inch or so off the floor. “I see. So, does that mean...”
“Probably not tonight,” Kris replied, picking up her insinuation right off.
Daria let herself fall back flat to the ground, nodding once in affirmation. “I see.”
She paused another moment, once more glancing around at her darkened surroundings.
“Well, I think I might...”
Again she let her voice trail off, implying the obvious without actually stating it.
In the darkness Kris’s hand rose in a wave of farewell, his fingers outlined in the curtains behind him. “Yeah, that’s probably best.”
The slightest tinge of guilt seemed to pass through Daria as she took a quarter step forward. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t...”
“I understand.”
Another quarter step forward. “It’s just, like I said, this is his night at the hospital...”
“Have fun,” Kris said, a slight hint of finality in his voice.
Daria paused another moment before turning to leave, her steps long and fast as she headed for the door. The sound of her stilettos echoed through the house as she went, the cadence belying her discomfort.
She paused by the front door, the knob in her hand. Turning over her shoulder she looked back at the silhouette of Kris sitting in the darkness and said, “Give me a call if you get to feeling better, huh?”
His only response was another silent wave, the outline of his hand just barely visible as she pushed through the front door and on outside.
Chapter Fifteen
The taxi dropped Kris off outside the player’s parking lot, the same empty Warriors duffel bag in his hand. He stood and waited until the cab pulled away before heading inside, a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses protecting his eyes.
His 2012 GT Porsche Carrera still sat in the front row of the lot, a beige car cover pulled down over it. The cover was a little large for the small convertible, chunks of concrete rock holding it down at the corners.
Kris’s boots clicked against the pavement as he approached the tunnel leading into the facility. Halfway across the lot an older man in a Warriors windbreaker emerged, rubbing his hands together in front of him. Most of the hair atop his head was long since gone, replaced by a smooth scalp dotted with sun spots. Wisps of white extended from either ear and his skin hung in folds around his face.
“Morning, Wally,” Kris said, raising his free hand in a wave.
“Good morning, Mr. Hopkins,” Wally replied. “Good to see you up and around.”
“Good to be up and around,” Kris said, slowing just enough to extend his hand as he passed.
Wally accepted the shake, taking Kris’s hand in both of his.
“My pleasure,” Wally replied.
With that Kris kept moving on inside, a hint of a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth. Not once in the entire fifteen years Kris had known the man had Wally ever acknowledged bad news, be it a loss, an injury, or even a weather event. It was almost as if every setback in the man’s world was minor, something that would be gone before it was even worth mentioning.
More than once Kris had wondered if he should take a bit more of that approach in his own life.
The bowels of Warriors Stadium were almost empty as he walked through, a handful of maintenance staff and random personnel dotting the halls. Halfway to the locker room Kris picked up the familiar murmur of a press conference in progress, turning down a side hall.
The rear door to the conference room stood ajar, propped open by a red plastic chair. Kris set the bag down on it and stood peering in, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
At the podium sat Dumari, wearing a Warriors polo and a deep scowl. He had assumed his customary position, leaning forward onto the table while cupping an elbow in either hand.
Before him sat a dozen reporters, most of whom Kris recognized as the beat writers for the local papers. Only a single camera was present, the letters KPDX splashed across the side of it.
“Coach, what can you tell us about your quarterback situation heading into this weekend’s game?” a thirty-something man with thick red hair asked.
Kris watched as the scowl lines grew deeper on either side of Dumari’s mouth.
“Situation? Right now, Kris Hopkins is out and Jon Walsh is our starting quarterback. I don’t see that as being a situation.”
The reporter nodded, a tape recorder extended before him. “So just to be clear, Jon Walsh is the confirmed starter for this Sunday’s game in Los Angeles? You won’t be trying to pick up a free agent for the remainder of the season?”
A slow sigh slid from Dumari as he raised himself up to his full seated height, pushing back away from the table. His gaze rose along the back wall as he did so, spotting Kris peering in through the rear door.
“Yes,” Dumari said, a bit of smugness creeping in on the edge of his scowl, “that is correct. Jon Walsh is our starting quarterback.”
Content with the answer, the red head conceded the floor to a balding man to his left.
“How will the change at QB affect your game plan against the Lancers this weekend?”
Dumari stared at the reporter a moment before again lifting his gaze to Kris.
“I would say, look for us to be a more balanced team out there this week. Running first to set up the pass.”
Retorts rose like bile in the back of Kris’s throat, but he managed to swallow them down. He stood rooted in place a moment longer to make sure he had Dumari’s attention before smirking, picking up the bag and moving on.
Without even trying, the bastard had just reminded him why he was never quite able to have Wally’s outlook on the world.
“Dick,” he muttered, rounding back into the main hallway towards the locker room.
Chapter Sixteen
“Hello Maggie, how are you?” Kris asked.
From behind an oversized desk a diminutive woman with bottle-dyed hair somewhere between red and orange looked up, glasses with thick lenses resting on the end of her nose. Her mouth dropped in surprise as she stood, gaining no more than a handful of inches in height.
“Kris!” she exclaimed, shuffling around her desk in short choppy steps, her shoes scraping against the carpet. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” Kris said, bending at the waist and giving a light hug to the woman. “Getting better all the time.”
Maggie held the hug an extra moment before releasing him, rocking back down off of her toes. “It’s so good to see you back on your feet. We’ve all been so worried about you.”
“Nah,” Kris replied, adding a dismissive wave of his hand for effect. “Nothing to worry about.”
Maggie leaned back and folded her arms across her stomach, frowning at him like a disapproving grandmother.
Already sensing what her next comment might be, Kris shifted his gaze to the closed set of double doors behind her. “Boss man in?”
The frown was held an extra moment to drive home her point before giving way to a begrudging nod. “He is. Would you like me to let him know you’re here?”
“No, thank you. I’ll just pop in. Won’t take a minute.”
“Okay, head right on in, Honey,” Maggie replied, retreating for her desk.
Kris gave her a few steps as a head start before moving around the desk and wrapping on the door with the back of his knuckles. The sound seemed to echo through the cavernous space on the other side, returning in the form of a gruff, “Come in.”
Easing the door open no more than a foot, Kris poked his head inside. “Hey Riggs, you got a minute?”
At the sound of Kris’s voice, Riggs snapped his attention away from a computer screen. He pressed his palms down on the desk in front of him and stood, motioning Kris inside.
“Of course, of course. Come in.”
Shuffling sideways through the door, Kris pushed it shut behind him and crossed the open space towards the desk. Riggs circled around the opposite side and met him halfway there, arms raised as if he might embrace Kris in the same hug as Maggie. Halfway there he stopped, gripping Kris by the shoulders and shaking his head in earnest.
“How are you? How you feeling?”
An uneasy smile traced Kris’s lips as he glanced down at Riggs’ hands. He raised his own and patted the old man on the outside of his arms, taking a small step to the side.
“I’m, uh, you know,” Kris stammered. “I’m alright.”
“Ba!” Riggs replied, almost spitting the word at Kris. “That’s not what I want to hear.”
The words drew a laugh out of Kris, who couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “I’m good. I’m good. Just a scratch.”
“There we go,” Riggs said, the smile on his face growing even wider. “That’s better. Rub some dirt on it.”
He released his grip on Kris’s shoulders, slapping them twice for effect before motioning at the black wingtip chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”
He kept his gaze aimed at Kris as he circled back around behind the desk, straightening his tie as he slid down into his chair. “Get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No, thank you,” Kris replied. “I’m all set.”
“You sure? Anything at all?” Riggs pressed.
“Really, I’m good. Thanks,” Kris said, breaking eye contact in hopes of hurrying the awkward moment along. He glanced around at the palatial office around him, the décor taking on a utilitarian vibe that bordered on fanatical.
Outfitted in Warrior team colors, the entire office was some shade of red, black, or white. Every piece of furniture was minimalist in size and grandeur, making use of straight lines and clean edges.
Only a handful of items hinted at a previous career or the family Riggs had at home. Most of the shelf space was barren, punctuated occasionally by a random piece of Warriors memorabilia.
“Thanks for calling last night,” Kris began. “You know you didn’t have to.”
Riggs unlaced his fingers from atop his stomach, waving off the comment.
“You know,” he said, “I had the team docs speak to your attending over at Good Sam. She seems to think this is pretty serious.”
Kris rolled his eyes, tilting his head to the side. He’d been expecting the statement since the moment he arrived. “Come on, doesn’t every doctor say that?”
“Still, she seemed concerned. Enough so that we’re all now concerned.”
Kris shifted his focus back to Riggs and asked, “You know what the key word was there? She. Not only are we talking about a doctor, someone trained to always expect the worst, but this one is a woman.
&nb
sp; “They’re genetically pre-programmed to worry.”
“Ha!” Riggs coughed, a flush of red coming to his face. “I’m just telling you what was said.”
“I know, and I appreciate it,” Kris said with a smile to match Riggs’s. “But I’m fine. You remember that hit from Stanson in ’09? Now that was a concussion. This was more like a love tap.”
The smile fell away from Riggs’ face. “A love tap that got you squaded out of here two nights ago.”
Unable to respond, Kris rolled his head to the side, staring out the window at Warriors Stadium below. On the field a legion of maintenance crews were busy tending to the turf, riding mowers back and forth with oversized lawn rollers behind them.
“Look,” Riggs pressed, “I know you’re tough, Hop. Everybody does. The consecutive starts, the playing through injuries, all of it. You’ve been a soldier since the day we drafted you. I’m just saying, if you need to take some time, we understand.”
Kris kept his focus aimed down on the field another moment before shifting his attention back to Riggs. These were not the words he came in wanting to hear, no doubt a direct result of the conversation with his doctor.
He would have to put an end to her excessive worrying, and fast.
“And I’m just saying, I’m fine.”
Chapter Seventeen
The CT scan took over an hour to complete, Kris laying flat on his back with his hands pressed to his side the entire time. Unable to move, or even look around, he kept his gaze aimed at the roof of the tube, more than once thinking they needed a flat screen television, or some posters, or something to keep patients entertained.
Instead he stared at the slate gray surface, counting seconds in his head. Around him he could hear an unending cacophony of rumbles and clicks, their source or purpose he could only guess at.
Twice during the procedure a young tech told him to lay still over the intercom, her voice curt. Each time Kris fought the urge to mumble back an even sharper retort, swallowing the words in his mind.
When at last the scan was complete, Kris dressed and was sent to a patient room where he was told that Dr. Kirby would be right in to see him.
Quarterback Page 5
