I tried again, but my mind and mouth were still disconnected.
“Charlie,” I whispered finally.
She was crouching beside me, still clutching my hand in one of hers, my phone in the other. She looked shaken up and pale, but I saw braveness in her eyes.
“Mom?”
“I’m okay,” I assured her, my words still garbled. “I just need a minute.” Sensation was trickling back into my body, nerve by nerve, but I didn’t trust myself to stand yet.
Charlie lifted my phone she must have pulled out of my purse. “I called Dad.” She swallowed, almost looking guilty.
My fingers managed to curl around hers. “Good. You did good.”
I knew Grant was probably in the locker room or being interviewed right now, but Charlie had called the first person she thought of when she needed help. Her dad. Relief washed over me, knowing she was already starting to rely on him. Knowing he’d be there for her when tougher times came.
“What happened, Mom? Are you okay?” Charlie scanned the hallway, but it was still empty. To get up here to the private boxes, you had to get past security.
Like the guard rushing up the stairs right this second.
“I’m okay, Charlie-Bird. You did good. We’ll talk later.” I managed to get up on my elbows, Charlie scooting up behind me just in case I fell again. After this, I knew I couldn’t keep the truth hidden from her for much longer. It wasn’t fair, and it was important she knew for when this happened again.
“Miss Hale? What happened?” the security guard who’d been stationed at the bottom of the stairs earlier asked, jogging closer.
“I fell,” I said, trying to sit up a little higher, but I couldn’t. This one had really messed me up. “How did you . . .” My question was answered when I caught a glimpse of someone else hustling up those stairs, looking like he was soaring over them.
“Ryan?” Grant’s holler echoed down the hallway when he saw us. He must have been in the middle of stripping when Charlie’s call came in, because other than his jersey, he was still fully suited up.
“I’m okay,” I repeated as he sprinted toward us, his cleats pounding on the concrete.
He slid to a stop beside me, dropping to his knees. “I told you to stay close,” he said, glancing at the guard on the other side of me.
“I thought I was . . .”
The look Grant gave him brought him up short.
“Next time I’ll stay closer, Mr. Turner.”
My mouth opened. “Did you have someone following me, Grant Turner?”
“Of course I did.” He didn’t sound or look the least bit sorry about it either.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
Grant’s nostrils flared. “Your present situation indicates otherwise.” One of Grant’s hands dropped to my face, the other pulling Charlie into his side. “What happened?” His voice was strained, his bare chest rising hard beneath his shoulder pads.
My eyes locked on his. “You know what happened.”
A silent exchange passed between us before his jaw locked up as his eyes closed. His grip stayed strong around Charlie and me.
Sweat was still dripping from the ends of his hair, and he smelled like a mixture of AstroTurf, sweat, and man. Despite the worry I could see working its way through him, seeing him dressed in nothing but a pair of Lycra pants, some protective pads, and a pair of cleats made me smile.
“Nice outfit.”
Charlie, who was still gripping my hand, smiled with me as she checked out her dad.
Seeing us smiling seemed to relax him. Enough for the worry lines to soften. “Lucky for you Charlie’s call came in ten seconds before I’d finished stripping.”
“We’ll keep that in mind for next time. Just to call your bluff.”
Grant huffed, lowering his face so it was above mine. “Don’t think I won’t streak through tens of thousands of fans to get to you, Ryan Hale.”
That warm feeling in my stomach spread, the way it seemed to whenever he was close.
“Mr. Turner?” The guard cleared his throat after lowering his walkie. “We should get you all out of here.” His gaze drifted toward the stairway where I could make out the growing roar of fans chanting a familiar last name.
“See what happens when you leave the locker room without your shirt on?” I tapped his stomach, which was just as hard as the rest of him. “Anarchy. Mayhem. Rioting. Potential human sacrifices.”
Grant and Charlie exchanged a head shake before he tapped his shoulder pads. “Okay, Charlie. Climb on board. The muscle says it’s time to get out of here.”
Charlie more leapt than climbed on Grant’s shoulders. She might have been a little old to be riding piggyback, but she looked like a toddler up there on her dad’s colossal shoulders.