Chapter 3

Richie slammed his hand against the door, above Jon’s head, preventing his distraught friend from opening the door.

“What did you just say?” Richie demanded incredulously.

“I said he’s my son.” Jon repeated, looking at Richie, the hurt showing in his eyes.

“Whoa! But he’s, like nineteen! When…..who?”

“Richie - let me out of here!” Jon spat, his claustrophobia building as Richie trapped him in the room, the worry over Jay making things worse.

Seeing the rising panic, Richie released the door, but laid his big hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Just tell me, Jon.” They headed out into the hallway. “But for fuck’s sake keep your voice down. Does Dot know?”

“Oh, Jesus, no!” Jon said. Fortunately, Richie was one of only three people who knew about Billie - and the other two were Billie and himself. “Remember me telling you, years ago, about Billie? Out in Kansas?”

“Your li’l cowgirl?” Richie queried.

“Yeah.”

“Shit. And when did she drop the kid on you?”

“She didn’t.” Jon said as they headed down the stairs - no way he could deal with an elevator right now. “He turned up here, to try out for the team.”

“And you decided to sign him up.”

“No.” Jon shrugged. “You know I don’t get involved in team stuff like that. I was here, though, when they held the tryouts, and when Coach had picked who he wanted I went over to welcome them all.”

Reaching ground floor, they headed down to the locker room, seeing paramedics heading in just in front of them, the sight quickening Jon’s pace even more, though he continued his quiet explanation.

“He had a photograph he’d stolen from his mom, one of her and me, and he asked me to sign it. I recognised her, of course, then I actually looked at him.”

“And?”

“And…..well, you said you’d talked to him. You tell me.”

Richie thought, remembering now how familiar Jay’s eyes had seemed. He hadn’t actually known Jon when he was quite that young - Jon was just about twenty one when they first met - but the bright blue eyes now made sense. The hair, of course, was short, but it was certainly the same shade of brown as Jon’s natural color. A least the last time Richie had seen his natural color.

“He’s got your eyes.” Richie confirmed, and Jon just nodded silently as they entered the locker room, finding the room hushed with worry.

Over in a side treatment room, paramedics were hunched over Jay, who was still strapped motionless to a stretcher. Coach Munsey was in the room, but when he saw Jon and Richie he came out for a moment.

“Coach. How is he?”

“Unconscious.” Was the terse reply. “We don’t know what kind of damage there is. Ambulance is taking him to hospital right now.”

Indeed, the paramedics were just picking up the stretcher, their careful movements evidence of how serious they thought this might be.

“I’m going with him.” Jon said firmly, and Coach looked surprised, so Richie stepped in.

“Me too.” He said, surreptitiously kicking the back of Jon’s heel. “I was talking with that kid just the other day, and he said his folks are way out in Kansas, so he’ll need somebody there he knows, when he wakes up.” There was a definite emphasis on the ‘when’.

“You sure, Boss?” Coach asked.

“Yeah.” Jon kept it together as his unconscious son was carried past him. “Poor kid’s only nineteen - we’ll go with. Just……” He forced a grin. “Nail those bastards for me, Coach. I don’t want the guys letting their heads drop now - Dallas are goin’ down!”

“Count on it.” Munsey confirmed. “The guys are just ready for it now. Graz is coming off the bench, and I pity any player who tries to take him out today.”

Jon and Richie followed the paramedics from the building, climbing into the back of the ambulance without even asking permission. Even though he desperately wanted to talk to his son, to hold his hand and reassure him, Jon forced himself to act like a worried boss, not a panicked father.

The ride to the hospital was swift, and while Jon provided Jay’s details to the admissions clerk - Richie raising eyebrows when he gave the next-of-kin telephone number from memory - Jay was taken away to be x-rayed, scanned and fully checked. After a tense hour or so, Jon and Richie slugging down shitty coffee from a vending machine, a weary doctor appeared, obviously recognising them.

“You’re here with Jay Kelsall, right?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Jon jumped to his feet. “How is he?”

“He’s okay. We think.” The doctor replied, a little impressed at the rockstar’s obvious worry over his young player.

“You think?!” Jon frowned, Richie giving him another sneaky kick, warning him to be careful, and Jon moderated his tone. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, we can’t find any fractures in his neck or back. His collarbone is cracked, but that’s no concern. The only problem is that he’s still unconscious.”

“Still?” Jon didn’t like the sound of that. He was aware - as any serious football fan would be - of how easily ‘unconscious’ could turn to ‘coma’.

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Just sometimes takes a little time is all. You can see him if you like.”

“Yes!” Jon blurted, and with Richie at his heels they followed the doctor to the private room the player had been put in.

The doctor let them in then left immediately as his beeper sounded. Hesitantly, Jon approached the bed, looking down at the unconscious kid, cables snaking from his body to various monitors and machines.

“Shit.” Jon whispered, looking quickly toward the door, checking they were alone before he laid a gentle hand on Jay’s head, realising it was the only time - other than the handshake of greeting - that he’d touched his son.

“Take it easy, bro.” Richie muttered, his hand on Jon’s shoulder, feeling his friend trembling in reaction to the situation. “Siddown.”

Jon let Richie push him down onto the chair by the bed, his eyes still fixed on Jay’s face. After watching for a moment, Richie decided he should leave Jon to deal with this himself for a few minutes, give him a chance to get himself back together, and he eased himself away.

“I’ll be back, Jonny.” He murmured. “I’m just gonna make sure they’ve called his……called Billie.”

“What?!” Jon snapped around to look at him, and Richie raised his hands.

“She has a right to know he’s hurt, Jon.”

Jon couldn’t argue with that, and Richie slipped from the room, closing the door gently, hearing Jon’s voice as he spoke to his son. At the nurse’s station, Richie checked with a slightly flustered junior nurse that Jay’s mother had been contacted, and she confirmed that, yes, the call had been made and the woman was on her way up from Kansas as quickly as she could. He nodded, thanking her, then headed down the hallway to get yet more of the sludge masquerading as coffee, taking two lukewarm cups to the room, opening the door noisily to give Jon a chance to compose himself.

Jay still lay unmoving, and though there were the marks of tears on Jon’s face he was back in control, nodding as he took the coffee from Richie.

“Thanks, bro.” He said softly, in that hushed voice people always seem to use in a hospital room. “For the coffee and, y’know…..”

“Yeah. His mom’s on her way.”

Richie dragged another chair across and sat down beside Jon, double checking he’d closed the door before he spoke.

“So you wanna tell me?” He invited.