Let’s just say Tuttle has excellent resources, and they all come from his father’s business—and money.
“She’s at County Hospital, just outside of Durham,” he tells me as I stuff my face full with actual, real pizza. None of that thin British crap from PizzaExpress. “Don’t know the extent of her injuries, though. Has she called you back yet?”
“No,” I say after I swallow. Damn, I wish I could have a beer, but I’m on pain meds and I’m not mixing them with alcohol. I need to keep my head clear. “I wish she would. It’s killing me, thinking that she’s hurt and I’m
so far away.”
“You all right, man? I know this has gotta be hard on you.” Tucker watches me, a sympathetic look in his eyes. He’s a little older than us, he’s bounced around from team to team throughout his career, and he’s glad to have found a home with the Niners. He gives good advice, he gives us endless shit, and he’s a good friend.
“Yeah, I’m doing okay.” Not really, and I think Tucker can tell I’m lying, but I don’t know what else to say.
And I sound like a real wimp if I start whining too much about Susanna. But shit, I’m worried. I want to know where she’s at.
I want to make sure she’s all right.
“So tell me what else you’ve found out,” I say to Tuttle.
“I found the phone number for her best friend, Evie. And I think I found her brother George.” Tuttle taps away at his phone and mine dings, indicating I received a text message. “I just sent both numbers to you.”
“Think I should call them?”
Tucker’s nodding as Tuttle says, “Shoot them each a text first. See if they’re who you’re looking for. It’s late over there now, so they might not respond.” He shakes his head. “Sorry about this. I don’t know what I’d do if I were in your shoes.”
I grab another piece of pizza and chomp into it. Despite my worry, I’m also starving, and I can’t concentrate when I’m so damn hungry. “You really don’t know what you’d do?”
“Well, I have an idea of what I might do,” Jordan says.
“And what’s that?”
“Go to her,” Tucker answers first. “Tell her how you feel. Take care of her as best you can, even though you’re a little broken yourself.”
“Yep. That,” Tuttle agrees, tapping his fingers on the small round table we’re sitting at. “If it was Amanda, I’d probably buy a one-way ticket to London, and the minute I landed I’d get a rental car and drive straight to that hospital. Make sure she’s all right. I wouldn’t sleep at all until I had confirmation.”
I swallow the last bite of my slice of pizza and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “See, I was thinking of doing exactly that, but figured I was overreacting.”
“You’re only overreacting if you don’t give a shit about this woman.” Jordan watches me for a second, a knowing gleam in his eye. “But I get the idea that you actually do give a shit about her.”
“I think I’m in love with her.” My voice is gruff with the admission and I clear my throat, surprised at how easy that was to say. I haven’t seen her in well over a month, and the last time I talked to her, I lied to her, which is absolute bullshit and I feel like a total jerk. But yeah.
I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her. She’s all I can think about. It’s all I do—think about her. Football may consume me, but something else consumes me now too.
And that’s Susanna.
Forgetting all about the pizza, I grab my phone and open the airline app I always use, entering info for a one-way ticket to London. After a few seconds I’ve got hits. “There’s a connecting flight leaving in two hours.”
“That’s great, but you need to make a few calls to your bosses first, before you leave,” Tuttle reminds me. “You can’t just bail, even though you’re not playing tomorrow.”
“They’ll be a little pissed if you leave the country without letting them know,” Tucker adds sarcastically, making me pause.
Damn, yeah. They’ll want to get me in to see a specialist first thing Monday to check out my knee. Then they’ll probably start scheduling physical therapy appointments and all that bullshit. Prep me for the press release and schedule a few interviews so I can talk about it to the press—the very last thing I want to do.
But there’s no way I can stay. I need to go find Susanna. “All right, I’ll put in a few calls, make my arrangements, and get the hell out of here.”
“You got your passport?” Tucker asks.
“Never leave home without it.” Thank Christ I got into that particular habit.
“You’re golden then,” Jordan says, smiling at me as he rises, giving me a slap on the back as he walks past, Tucker following behind him. “Let me know if there’s anything else we can do.”