Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“Who is that?” Jeremy asked.
Jean didn’t have to say anything; Rhemann recognized the other man on sight and spoke up from his spot on the outskirts: “The Ravens’ head nurse, Josiah Smalls.” Jeremy glanced his way in time to see the sidelong look Rhemann sent Jean. Rhemann said nothing else, and Jean didn’t volunteer a better explanation.
Wilds and Dawson were still trying to fight each other despite the officials bodily separating them. Boyd caught up with them and somehow managed to pry Wilds loose. One referee followed close behind them, pointing toward the court door, but Boyd dragged his captain straight to Kevin and Neil. Abby Winfield was still trying and failing to get a satisfactory response from Neil. Aaron Minyard hovered nearby for a minute before prying his own helmet off and spitting blood off to one side. He gave Kevin’s thigh a light kick before starting for the court door, and a few moments later Kevin got up and followed.
Security finally entered the court, sensing more bodies were needed to restore order. One by one the Foxes were forced off the court, until the only two left were Neil and Andrew. At last Wymack emerged from the dogpile with Andrew in a chokehold of his own, and he held fast until the referees hauled a limp Lane toward the Away court door. Smalls followed them at an unhurried pace, and only when the last Raven was gone did Wymack drop Andrew beside Neil. Jeremy realized too late the announcers were speaking. He wondered when they’d started; nothing they said had penetrated his hazy shock.
Maybe if he was listening, the abrupt jump to a replay wouldn’t have startled him as much, but suddenly he was treated to every view of the brawl in quick succession. It had started with the Ravens’ strikers just thirty seconds into the half. Both Winter and Williams charged the goal, one presumably to score from just outside the line and the other on hand for a rebound, but Winter didn’t wait for his partner to take a shot. He swung his racquet like a baseball bat at Andrew’s chest the moment Andrew turned away from him.
Jeremy assumed one of the backliners yelled a panicked warning, because somehow Andrew turned his stick just in time to eat the blow. The impact was still enough to throw him into his goal, and he teetered when he hit the wall. That he lost his balance probably saved his life—Williams took a swing at his head, but Andrew wasn’t where he’d been a moment ago. The racquet glanced off Andrew’s helmet and hit his shoulder hard enough to drive him to his knees. Andrew’s twin and Boyd were on the strikers a heartbeat later, fists flying. The Ravens’ dealer rushed in to help, but Boyd had no problems taking on a second body. Wilds took one step that way before turning and running for Kevin instead.
Neil was out near half-court still from serve, but he started for Andrew as soon as the fight started. A second of distraction was all Lane needed, and she aimed for his side with a vicious swing. He was faster than she was expecting, and she only managed to clip him. The force behind her blow was still enough to send him stumbling. He fell hard, one gloved hand on his side and the other trying in vain to keep his face from hitting the floor. Jeremy had seen the fight from there, but knowing how it started and how quickly it escalated made the whole thing worse. At his side, Jean had both hands clasped over his own ribcage in horror.
The cameras returned to a live feed after Wilds tackled Dawson to the floor. Someone had finally gotten Neil to his feet, and Andrew was somehow keeping him there. Winfield and Wymack bracketed the two as they finally limped toward the door. A camera in the inner court had a better shot of their faces as they reached the door, and the tight look on Neil’s face was all pain. Only the Foxes’ freshmen were still at the bench; the rest of the Foxes were presumably in the locker room. Winfield would have her hands full trying to put them back together again on her own.
A three-man crew entered the court to clean up the blood. The distant echo of an amplified voice was the stadium’s announcer, but Jeremy couldn’t understand a word. A few moments later the cameras cut to Rossi on the sidelines where he was surrounded by security and referees. He wore the look of a man who knew his career was over. It didn’t make Jeremy feel any better to know he’d had nothing to do with this, and he couldn’t spare energy yet to pity him. Rossi had had all summer to realize the Ravens weren’t ready.