There was Carson front row center screaming at the top of her lungs as Tim took down another two of Westerby's players blocking so Smash could get through and score a touchdown. She missed football, how the roar of the crowd sounded after a touchdown, the way the person next to you, whom you'd never laid eyes on before was suddenly your best friend when there was something to cheer for, the sheer love an devotion people had for the game – all of it.

She had seen Lyla and wished her good luck before and gave Tim one hell of a good luck kiss in his tuck before he went into the locker room. He had smiled and laughed when he'd seen the #33 Lyla had convinced her to paint on her cheek ("we can't let those rally girls have our guys," she'd said) and kissed her again. She didn't know exactly when Tim had become "her guy" but everyone seemed to accept it easily enough. Carson mentioned it to Lyla a bit but had only gotten a hedged comment about how Tim wasn't like that with most girls. Then again Carson didn't really care what he was like with most girls, she cared how he was with her, and that was what actually mattered. So as far as she was concerned all those rally girls (which were kind of like junior cheerleaders? And extra slutty) who whispered behind their hands as she walked down the hall could kiss her ass!

Mrs. Taylor had seen her and recognizing her from the dealership opening had offered her the seat next to her, her daughter Julie, and the Streets. Julie seemed lovely and Jason's parents were wonderful. Carson was having the best time, and even after half time when they weren't doing so well she had complete faith they'd come back.

Then Jason got hit.

He got tossed into the air not like the 6"1, 180lb quarterback she knew, but like some rag doll, and though the crunch she heard when he went down was probably her imagination, her stomach hit the floor and all the air rushed out of her lungs with Mrs. Street's gasp. 'God No!' was all she could think over and over, oh please no, not that sweet boy, no, no, no. Carson repeated this mantra in her head again and again and again, maybe if she and the rest of the crowded wished hard enough, prayed hard enough, he'd get up.

But he didn't.

She barely registered the Streets brushing past her as they hurried down to the field. Her eyes sought out the #33 jersey and if she could, she sent her heart to Tim who was currently watching his best friend since childhood being carried off the field and being put in an ambulance.

There was still the scoreboard, Dillon 14, Westerby 24, and even though they all wanted to tear out of there, Carson included, they had a game to play. Oh Tim, oh babe I am so sorry, she thought to herself at what he must possibly be going through. Oh Lyla she thought suddenly, baby girl, her eyes found Lyla as she packed up her pom-poms and walked off the field. She wanted to go after her, drive her to the hospital something, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Tim.

They actually brought out the sophomore back up, Saracen and damn if she didn't feel horrible for the kid. He was a little sweetie who should never have gotten to play and now they were all depending on him. And damn poor Coach, she didn't know him well yet but she liked him, a lot, he was a good sort she could tell. Damn this, Carson thought I can barely keep track of who I feel bad for. So she watched as they finished out a game no one wanted to play.

Somehow by God's grace and that damn Hail Mary, if there ever was one, that Saracen threw, they'd won. Carson had prayed as hard as anyone when the teams, no longer divided, gathered on that field in Jason Street's name.

She had waited outside that locker room leaning against Tim's beat-up old Ford. She watched as player after player quietly came out and headed for the hospital there wasn't any cheering or running that would normally accompany a win. No slaps on the back or congratulations offered, no talk of after-parties, and every car pulled out of that parking lot calmly and without hurry. There was an eerie quiet that came with the late night mist that settled over the field, and a sadness that filled Carson's soul.

Tim was the last to emerge from the locker room and the truck was one of the few left in the lot. When he saw her his eyes never left hers as he walked toward her, when he was no more than a foot away he dropped his bag and caught her up in his arms holding her so tight she couldn't breath, but she didn't complain, and buried his face in her sweet smelling hair. After what seemed like forever he released her and wordlessly took his keys out of his pocket and placed them in her palm. She looked up into his eyes, the sadness was back, the pain that was her constant battle, and tonight she didn't stand a chance against it. So just this once she didn't fight instead she let it wash over her, his pain became hers, but she was strong enough for them both she had to be.

So she tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and pressed her lips to his, just for a moment. The he picked up his bag and headed for the passenger side and she the driver's. Never having said a word they were more together in that moment, in that shared pain, in that shared fear of what they would find at the hospital. They reached for one another's hand at the same time and they never released the tight grip on one another as the drove to the hospital.

When they got there they walked in hand in hand. When she saw Lyla down the hall all it took was a glace up to Tim, "Go" he whispered releasing her hand. She turned back to see him, embracing Smash and the ghost of a smile danced over her lips for a moment before she got to Lyla. Who fell into her as if her legs couldn't have held her up a moment longer, so Carson guided them to the floor and held her has sobs racked the small brunette's body.

Tim found her some time later and slid down sitting with his back to the wall outside of Jason's room. She leaned her head on his shoulder careful not to wake the sleeping Lyla lying across her lap. One hand found Tim's and interlocked their fingers as the other kept stroking Lyla's brown locks. Tim leaned into her, his head lightly making contact with hers, and like that they kept watch and waited for morning, whatever it would bring.

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