All This Time // H.S. // A.U.

Chapter Forty-Five

RILEY

While everyone had kept their eyes on the ball flying into the back of the goal, my eyes had stayed on Harry. I saw it coming from a mile away. That big, bulky defender rushing towards him, intent on stopping him no matter what.

I felt useless in the stands as Harry's eyes widened, the force of the hit surprising him and sending him tumbling to the ground. He didn't even have the time to try and break the fall, instead twisting his knee awkwardly from the momentum of the collision. His head bounced off the ground and then I watched in fury as the defender walked over him, stepping on his ankle with his cleats.

By the time I was rushing down the stands, the crowd had started to catch on. Some were cheering from the goal, others were pointing and yelling in outrage. At some point, Taylor had slammed into the defender, flattening him on his back, but it was too late.

Harry's mangled cry of pain sent a shock through my body. I felt Jeff and Amanda's presence behind me as I tried to find my way down to the field. We were in an actual stadium today, and this meant I couldn't just race out into the field. The commotion out there had blocked my view of him, his teammates starting to gather around, the other team either watching or keeping that defender from tackling Taylor. The assistant refs were giving both him and Taylor red cards while the official ref was kneeling on the ground next to Harry.

His coach and team trainer were rushing to the end of the field where they all congregated, the small university we were at for the championship providing sports medics who were following behind them.

I heard a shout of anguish, my heart pounding, trying to figure out what to do. My hands gripped the railing, wondering if it would be smart to just hop over and down onto the grass. It was only a few feet drop. Just then I heard a whistle and another medic bringing out one of those stretcher boards. He wasn't getting up.

It took several minutes for some of the crowd on the field to part. Finally, I was able to get my eyes on him. He was on the ground, one arm flung over his eyes, the other hand fisting at his jersey, almost like it would help him expel some of the pain. His mouth was twisted up, body jolting away from the medics any time they moved their hands on his leg.

Every nerve in my body was on fire as I watched him in clear agony. Whatever had happened was causing him immense pain. Harry was the type to just walk off a hit. He wouldn't roll around on the ground, playing up the injury, as some players do. There was no real gain in that, besides buying time to stop the momentum of the other team, he told me once. Harry didn't play that way. He could create the momentum, or stop the rival team himself. No need for dramatics.

If Harry was down on the ground, hissing at the smallest touch, then this was bad. My mind floated to that day in the janitor's closet. The pure joy he had on his face when he told me about his scholarship. Playing for a college team, the chance to even hope for a possible career in soccer, was something he had always wanted but never admitted. He had finally been able to express those hopes and dreams and this could ruin it all.

I tried not to think too pessimistically. Whatever injury he had could be healed. We still had four months left of high school. Nearly three months of summer before college. That gave him seven months to heal before the season started. He wouldn't be able to play with his club team, something I knew would affect him a lot. But that didn't really matter in the long run. Seven months would be enough, right?

Harry's coach stands up, and gets his team back up even more. I watch as they lay down the stretcher and prepare him to be moved. His head nods, eyes still closed as he takes in rough breaths through his nose, and braces himself for the pain. Several people braced on each side, they lift him onto the board, a painful grunt escaping him that echoes through the mostly silent crowd.