The Hard Count(104)

“But you did,” I say, leading her to keep going.

She smiles again, tilting her head slightly, one side of her mouth higher than the other as she stares right into the camera.

“I did,” she says, “because of Nico.”

I swallow, and force myself to hold my breath.

“When the police department called me and told me what my youngest son had done at that truck stop he worked at, my heart sank again. It was a stabbing pain, just like I had when I opened the door to two marines a few months ago. I only survived the first time because of Nico…I didn’t know how I was going to survive losing him.”

She stops to pull the tissue from her lap and dab it on the corners of her eyes.

“I knew I’d need these,” she chuckles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, pushing my palms into my eyes behind the camera.

“What did the police tell you?” I ask, not wanting to hear the story again, but knowing I need it for the film. It’s important, perhaps more than the outcome of the game tonight.

“I was getting ready for bed. Alyssa was asleep, and my phone rang. I knew Nico was coming home to change before Sasha came to pick him up, so I figured it was him, telling me he forgot his key. I knew something was wrong the second I heard a man’s voice and not my sweet boy,” she says, stopping to dab her eyes again. I reach forward and squeeze her hand. “He said my son had pushed a homeless man out of the way when a drunk driver was careening into the truck stop parking lot. Nico had apparently heard the car’s tires and saw the man in its path, and he rushed to stand in the way. He was able to move the man, but Nico…wasn’t fast enough. The car hit him, but the officer didn’t know how bad. He had already been taken to the hospital before the officer was on scene.”

“Sasha showed up while I was on the phone; I sent him to find out, so I could get Alyssa up and take her to my brother’s. I sped so fast, and I kept practicing my speech to any police officer that might have pulled me over,” she says, laughing lightly. “I felt like I could talk my way out of a ticket that day, you know?”

“I agree,” I smile.

“When I got to the hospital, I just remember this feeling that hit me…” she says, stopping, her eyes drifting from the camera to something beyond my shoulder. Her mouth curves into a smile, and mine follows suit. “I felt Nico. In that hallway, leading up to the desk, to the room in the trauma center—there was this feeling that just embraced me.”

“Like a miracle,” I say.

She nods.

“Yes,” she says. “Exactly like a miracle. I slowed down, and I walked past the desk, somehow not even needing to ask the nurse’s station which room was my son’s. I knew…my heart…it knew. I put my hand on the door and closed my eyes, and when I stepped inside…”

“I walked over to her and hugged her,” Nico says from behind me.

I let my eyes water, watching his mom fight through her own tears through my lens.

“Yes, you did. You only had some scratches. They said you were fast, maybe the fastest, crazy kid they’d ever seen,” she says, half laughing and half crying.

Nico walks into the frame, his legs covered in pads but his chest and arms still only wearing his Tradition T-shirt. His mom stands and moves her hands to his face, holding him and looking at him—admiring her brave boy.

“You’re going to do great today,” she says.

“You think so?” he asks, his mouth a lopsided smile, showing his youth despite his frame and muscles.

His mom straightens his shirt and pats her hands on his chest.

“I know so,” she says. “And if that coach tells you to do something, and you think it’s not right…” she glances at me, and I smirk, clicking my camera off. She leans in to her son, whispering loud enough that I hear. “You do what your gut tells you. It’s never done you wrong.”

“Okay, Momma,” he says, bending down to kiss her cheek.

I move close to them both, helping Valerie to unclip the mic from her shirt, catching the cord as she lets it fall through the front of her blouse.

“I’ll see you at our seats, Mija,” she says, squeezing my arm.

I love her.

I nod okay.

The door falls closed, and for a moment, it’s only Nico and me. He squares to me, and I move my hands to his shirt, gripping it and holding on. Our eyes meet, and he breathes in deep. I can see the weight of the world on his shoulders. I know this look—I’ve seen it on my dad.

“You’re amazing,” I say.

He breathes out a laugh and rolls his eyes, but I shake my hands where they hold his shirt, getting him to look at me again.

“No matter what happens, just remember that. Just know that you’re amazing. You’ve done your very best, and this game—it does not define you,” I say.

His mouth falls to a faint smile, and his chest rises as he takes my words in.

“Okay,” he says.

“There…good,” I say, reaching up on my toes and taking his bottom lip in between mine. It’s soft and salty with sweat, and he smells like a boy who has been wearing the same shirt and pads on the field for hours every night. Yet, I don’t care, because he’s here. I can touch him.

We stand in silence for a few long seconds, and my hands slide down his arms until my fingers tangle in his. I follow my craving and look down to see our touch. Ever since I rushed with Sasha to the hospital, afraid Nico wasn’t going to survive, I’ve been more aware of these simple moments between us. I hold onto them, wanting to store each and every memory because in life there are too many things one just never knows.