Is there anything I can do to help?

A FEW DAYS later, Drew ran out onto the field in Dallas in front of a sold-out, cheering crowd. He was thankful for the distraction of a game. What he hoped would be a one-day non-story had ballooned into wall-to-wall discussions on Seattle talk radio and what appeared to be the destruction of Kendall’s future with the Miners.

When he offered to fly to San Francisco on Tuesday, she said, “You have a game. I’ll be fine. We’ll see each other Sunday night. I’ll be at your house as soon as I get back from Green Bay and get a flight out of SFO.” He heard the strain in her voice and kicked himself again for a stupid mistake. “As of this morning, I have three offers from other teams on the table.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“You tell me,” she said, and for the first time in days, he heard a smile in her voice. “Oakland, Arizona, or Miami. I’m sort of partial to Oakland right now, because the Miners’ owner just about stroked out when they called him to ask for permission to contact me.”

“He’s not happy with that idea?”

“Nope.” She pulled in a long breath. “How are you doing?”

“Things are fine. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Will you introduce me to Nolan?”

“Absolutely.”

There was so much to say and never enough time to say it in. She’d be at his house on Sunday night, and they could spend most of Monday holding each other and talking. He was looking forward to it.

After giving him a lot of shit about his and Kendall’s romance, his teammates (to his surprise) closed ranks around him.

“I’ll give her a chance because of you, dawg,” Derrick told him. “If she says one word about how the Miners are a better team, though, it’s on.”

“I heard on the news she’s getting a lot of shit from their organization. She deserves better,” Seth chimed in.

“You guys are getting soft,” Zach joked, but slapped Drew on the back. “We’ll get through this.”

They would. His teammates lined up on the field for the kickoff. Drew was listed as a starter, but fully expected his backup to take his place when the defense took the field. To his surprise, Coach Stewart turned to him, pointed at the field, and said, “Get your ass out there.”

He ran out to join the huddle before Coach changed his mind.

The first few plays went perfectly. He missed batting down the Dallas QB’s pass on the first play, but he helped the defensive line drop Dallas’s QB for a loss twice. The Sharks fans in the crowd went crazy. He waved to acknowledge the cheering. The defense huddled up to talk about how they wanted to stop the Dallas offense on third and fifteen, and Derrick gave Drew a nod.

“Here’s your big chance, guy. Sack his ass,” Derrick said. “I can’t wait to watch him cry like a little girl.” He pantomimed rubbing his eyes with two grimy fists. “Waaa, waaaa.”

“What about you? They want to see that sexy sack dance on national TV,” Drew responded.

“I’ve got the play. Shut it so I can tell you shitheads what we’re doing,” Seth said. The middle linebacker was considered the quarterback of the defense. His helmet had a two-way speaker in it so he could talk with the coaching staff while the team was on the field.

“Oooh. It gets me really hot when you take charge,” Clay, the rookie, said to Seth. The other nine guys started laughing.

“The DL coach says he’s had enough of your BS, guys. Here’s what we’re doing.” Seth gave the play, told them how to line up, and the defensive line jogged back to get in their stance. The linebackers shifted as they watched the QB’s eyes. The guy had signed a hundred million dollar contract extension on the offseason, but he was still too dumb to stop signaling who he was about to pass to with his eyes every time he lined up behind center.

The ball was snapped from center, and Drew ran through a gigantic hole the defensive line made for him and reached out to grab the QB’s jersey to pull him down onto the turf. Something went wrong between “You’re mine, dumbass” and the sack dance he’d been planning on.

Drew’s world crumpled in less than five seconds. His cleats stuck in the turf, his arm wrenched at an unnatural angle as he tried to yank another man off of his feet, and the ripping, popping sound he heard from his shoulder was so loud that he wondered (before he fell onto the turf, overwhelmed with pain) if the fans heard it in the stands.

Bodies crashed into each other all around him. One of Dallas’s linemen barely missed stepping onto his leg, and Drew curled into a protective ball. He could see his teammates frantically gesturing to the Sharks sidelines for the team doctor and the trainers as the play ended. Derrick dropped to his knees, unbuckled Drew’s chin strap, and eased his helmet off his head.

“Take it easy, McCoy. We’re here.” Derrick shielded Drew with his body. “We got you. Breathe, buddy.”

Seth helped him ease Drew onto his back. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Terrell got his ass for ya, guy.”

A couple of seconds later, they heard Terrell shouting at the Dallas QB, “There’s more where that came from, candy ass.”

“That’s my boy,” Derrick said approvingly.

“Damn right,” Seth said. “C’mon, buddy. Breathe.”

Drew was in so much pain it was hard to get a breath. He grabbed his now-limp arm with his other hand as the doctor and the trainers dropped to their knees around him.

“Breathe, Drew,” the doc said. He was already gesturing for the paramedics and their rolling gurney. Drew managed to pull some air into his lungs. He could see his teammates gathered around. Some had taken a knee. Others appeared to be praying. He’d done that maneuver a thousand times during games before. He wondered how it went so wrong today. Coach Stewart’s face swam into his vision.

“McCoy, I’ll meet you at the hospital. I’m not going back to Seattle without you,” he said. He squeezed Drew’s gloved hand as the paramedics transferred him to the gurney, strapped him in, and pulled up the wheels. “You’re going to be fine,” he said.

“Thanks, Coach.”

Through the haze of hellish pain, Drew knew the coach was lying through his teeth, but he wasn’t going to argue about it right now. He had no control over his arm. It wasn’t a dislocation or a sprain. He made the extra effort to flash a “thumbs up,” and he heard applause from the stands as he was taken off the field and loaded into an ambulance. The paramedics looped a cannula beneath his nose for oxygen, made sure the gurney was secured, and the ambulance screamed through the streets of Dallas on the way to the hospital.

“Do any of you guys have a cell?” Drew asked.

“I do,” one of the paramedics said. “What’s up?”

“Will you call my parents?” He gave the number. The guy dialed and held the phone up to Drew’s ear.

His mom answered on the second ring. “Mom, I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” he said.

He could hear the tears in her voice. “I’ll get there as soon as I can, honey.”

“Don’t.” Shit, he hurt, but he had to get this out. “I want to see you, but come to Seattle instead. I’ll pay for the ticket.”

“We love you.”

“Love you too.”

A FEW HOURS later, Drew’s worst fears were confirmed via MRI: He had a torn labrum and a partial rotator cuff tear too. “Your shoulder’s a mess, buddy,” the team doctor told him. “You’ll be having surgery in Seattle as soon as we can get you back home.”

Drew was pretty doped up on big-time painkillers, but he knew what the doctor’s words meant: He was done for the season. Even worse, his pro football career might be over.