emergencies, but he’s unconscious, his eyes are shut, and I don’t even know if he’s breathing.
Oh my god, what if he’s not breathing?
“Stay back,” I tell everyone, dropping to my knees beside him.
I feel for his pulse and thank god it’s still there. I pull back his eyelids, trying to check if his pupils are dilating but I don’t have a flashlight and it’s hard to tell from the stadium lights.
My beautiful boy, my magnificent man. The light has been knocked out of him, a light that might not come back.
Then I feel hands grabbing my arms from behind, pulling me up and away from him as I see David and Dr. Costa and the rest of the team arrive to take care of their situation.
Mateo is holding me back.
“Thalia,” he says gruffly, trying to remove me.
“No!” I cry out. “He’s got to be okay, he’s got to be okay!”
“I know,” he says and he pulls me back a couple of feet to let the team work on him. He doesn’t let go of me, his fingers a tight hold on my biceps.
I know he doesn’t want me to get involved, that I have no business in being here, but he doesn’t make me leave either. We both watch as Dr. Costa starts examining him, trying to talk to Alejo, but there’s no response.
The doctor glances up at Mateo, his expression grim.
“We need to get him out of here,” Dr. Costa says and I’m so grateful I’ve kept up with my Spanish. “We need a stretcher.”
“Oh fuck,” I whimper. I look over at Luciano who is standing across from me, he’s looking down at Alejo, shaking his head.
“It’s a concussion right? It’s just a concussion,” Luciano says, hand at his mouth.
“That was a brutal hit,” Rene says, glaring at York and the ref over his shoulder. “Why doesn’t he have a red card yet?”
I can only stare at Alejo, feeling my knees start to shake as the magnitude of what just happened breaks over me.
What if he’s not okay?
What if what we had is all we’ll ever have?
I can’t bear to think of it.
I can’t stand to see him like this, to not know.
Tears start to run down my face. “I love him,” I say softly, to no one at all, no one except Alejo. “I love him.”
Luciano and the others look at me, their faces even more heartbroken.
The stretcher arrives. The medics lean over him, attempting to roll me on his back.
“Come on,” Mateo says, pulling me back.
And then Alejo moves, just a bit, his eyes flutter open and his jaw moves.
“He’s awake!” Luciano cries out.
Alejo’s eye rolls up to look at us, confused, in pain. I’m not sure he knows where he even is.
His eye meets mine.
Those beautiful, broken eyes.
And instead of the way he looked at me earlier, like he saw a ghost, I swear I see recognition flood through his expression, a hint of a smile.
He sees me.
He sees me.
Then his eyes close and he’s out again.
My heart free falls in my chest, the connection between us severed.
Mateo pulls me away and spins me around so that I’m looking at him.
“You have to go back to your side,” he says to me, nodding at the Man United area. “We have to take care of him.”
“That isn’t my side,” I tell him. I point to Alejo, feeling panic rip through me at the thought of letting Alejo go off to the hospital, the thought of me staying behind, forever closed off from him. “He’s my side.”
Mateo gives me a steady look. “Do you even know what you’re saying? If you go with Alejo into our locker room, our examining room, do you know how that looks? You’re picking a side. You’re not going to be able to work for Man U. You know that, don’t you?”
“I just want to be with him,” I plead. “I made a mistake.”
Mateo sighs. “You do what you want Thalia, I really don’t care. The repercussions are up to you. I care about Alejo. That’s really all that matters right now.”
“I care about him too. And he’s all that matters to me.”
He winces, like he’s being shot with incredible pain and I realize how close Mateo really is to Alejo. I’m not the only one who is hurting right now, I’m not the only one laden with hopes and prayers and drowning in fear.
Then Mateo turns around and we watch as Alejo is lifted off the pitch, carried out on the stretcher.
The