The stands were packed.

"All of this for a Championship game between two travel baseball teams?" Regina asked me, raising her eyebrows.

I just shook my head.

If I lived in Florida, I'd spend my Sundays at Disney World. Not watching a bunch of teenage boys play baseball.

We managed to squeeze into the bleachers, sitting way too close to one another for the heat that we were enduring.

I rolled up the sleeves on my Highlander Eagles t-shirt, trying to help alleviate some of the heat.

It didn't help much.

The Summerville Tigers were up to pitch first, and Steven was taking the mound.

Bryce wasn't in the batting order today either, but I had no doubt that he would've knocked one of Steven's pitches clear into outfield.

I glanced over at the opposite side's bleachers, and after a few seconds of searching I found Steven's mom sitting on the bottom row, her hair pulling back into a ponytail and she was clad in a Summerville Tigers t-shirt.

Regina waved at her, and she waved back, a smile overtaking her face.

The game began shortly after, Steven striking out our first batter.

He was on his A-game today.

"Come on Anderson," I muttered, crossing my right leg over my left.

Not that I'd root for Steven to mess up, but in this case I think it was necessary.

Our second batter got a hit off, making it safely to first.

But he was the only one of the inning, and we didn't get a run in.

And then Bryce took the mound.

"You got this babe," I said, my right leg nervously shaking over top of my left.

They got a hit off of his first pitch.

Darn.

And then Bryce threw two straight balls.

"Bryce," I muttered, nervously twirling a piece of loose hair around my finger.

His third pitch was a strike, and the batter didn't swing.

We ended in full count.

"Come on," I chanted, watching nervously as Bryce threw the pitch.

Ball.

He walked the batter.

I glanced over at Regina, who looked just as nervous as I did.

Bryce wasn't off to a good start. And this was the Championship game.

Bryce was up and down throughout the inning, and the Tigers managed to get two runs in.

"He just needs the top of the second to regroup," Regina said, more to herself than to me. "He'll be fine."

He has to be. This is crunch time, and all of the college scouts are here.

This is what he's been working towards.

Steven, once again, pitched a tight inning. But we did manage to get one run in.

When Bryce came back out at the bottom of the second, you could feel the Eagles' bleachers simultaneously take in a deep breath.

We needed Bryce back on his A-game. Because when he was nobody could touch him.

Not even Steven.

Bryce struck the first batter out. It was a little rough, but he managed to get the job done.

Regina let out a long sigh of relief, flashing me a smile.

We were going to get through this.

Bryce struck the next batter out, much cleaner this time.

"Come on," I chanted, nervously chewing on my bottom lip.

Bryce struck out the third batter in three pitches.

Regina let out a long sigh of relief, letting her head fall back.

Three up, three down.

Bryce was back.

Steven came up to the mound, and you could tell that he was a bit more tense this time around.

He knew that Bryce was back in business. And he had to bring his A-game plus more if they were going to keep their slim lead.

By the end of the top of the third, we were leading by one run.

Bryce was still on a roll, although they didn't go three up, three down again, the Tigers didn't get another run in.

And the Eagles were still ahead.

By the top of the fifth, the Eagles were leading by two runs.

And this was Bryce's last inning left to pitch, as was it Steven's.

Steven stepped up to the mound, and with a look of absolute determination, he struck our first batter out in three pitches.

Steven dominated the top of the fifth, one runner making it to base, but he didn't get far, because Steven struck the rest out.

"He did his job," Regina said to me.

"Can't blame him if this game doesn't go in their favor," I agreed.

And then Bryce came out to pitch his last inning.

I could tell that it was taking a toll on him, the nape of his shirt soaked from his cold compress and sweat.

He looked tired and worn, but he still ascended the mound, wearing the same look Steven had worn just moments before. A look of absolute determination.

Bryce's first pitch was a ball.

"Not now," I muttered, reaching up to tighten my messy bun.

Bryce threw for a full count, and ended up walking the batter.

And then he motioned for a timeout.

The coach came out with some water as Bryce wiped his glasses lens, the two of them sharing a short conversation and Bryce downing some water before the coach headed back to the dugout.

But Bryce stayed on the mound.

The next pitcher got a hit off of Bryce.

That's two guys on base now.

Bryce knelt down, gathering some clay between his fingers before standing back up again, tossing the baseball up and down in his hand a few times.

And then he got into stance.

He struck the next batter out.

But one of the runners was on third base, which didn't go unnoticed by Bryce, whose eyes would shift to him every few seconds to gage his lead.

And then, in the blink of an eye, Bryce whipped the baseball at this third baseman.

The runner dove towards third base, but it was too late. He was out.

That left one runner and two outs.

As Bryce pitched a ball, the runner stole from second to third.

Which also didn't go unnoticed by Bryce.

But this runner was a lot more conscious of Bryce, hovering close to the base as he watched the game unfold.

Bryce's next two pitches were strikes.

One more strike and the inning would be over.

Only Bryce threw a high ball, which gave the runner the chance to run for home.

The catcher scrambled for the ball as Bryce began sprinting for home too, the two of them in a foot race.

The catcher threw the ball at Bryce, and it looked like Bryce would have the runner beat.

A cloud of clay came up at home as it all unfolded, and my eyes immediately switched to the umpire, anxiously awaiting for his final call on the play.

"Out!"

I jumped to my feet, cheering at the top of my lungs.

Three outs for Bryce. The inning was over.

Only as the cloud of clay died down, both the runner and Bryce were still laid out.

The umpire was knelt down next to them, as was the catcher.

The catcher stood up, motioning for Bryce's coach to come out onto the field.

Regina immediately descended the bleachers, shoving past people to make her way towards the field.

I followed Regina, because I couldn't bear to watch the scene unfold from the bleachers. Not when it was Bryce.

Bryce had rolled over onto his side, cradling his head in his hands.

"He took a pretty hard hit to the head Coach," the catcher was saying, as the Coach conversed with Bryce.

The other coach was attending to his runner, who it looked like had an injured leg.

More than likely his leg had collided with Bryce's head.

Regina went around towards the dugout, probably to find out more.

I stayed by the fence, watching as the Tigers' Coach helped his player to one foot. The assistant coach came out, the two of them helped their player hop off of the field.

Regina came out onto the field, as did the assistant coach. And the three of them took a few more minutes to converse with Bryce, who was still cradling his head as he lied on the field, curled up.

The people in the bleachers were speaking in hushed tones, everyone watching and waiting to see what they were going to do.

They couldn't leave him there forever.

And then a golf cart came whizzing towards the field.

With the help of the medical team on the golf cart, Bryce was loaded onto it, and they left.

"Where are they going?" I asked Regina, coming around to meet her at the dugout.

"The medical facility here at the fields," she informed me. "And then the hospital from there."

"What's wrong? What's going on?"

"Concussion more than likely," she said, with a long sigh, gesturing for me to start following her. "He said he feels as though there's someone beating against his skull."

Clayton jumped the fence and began jogging to catch up to us.

Regina wrapped her arms around him, securing him in a tight hug. "Hi honey!" She stepped back, surveying him. "You've gotten so big, and it's only been a month or so. How's Florida treating you?"

"It's good."

Clayton Johnson, the ultimate conversationalist.

"Are you enjoying the University of Florida then?"

He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Sophie!"

I turned to see Steven waving me down from his dugout.

"I'll catch back up."

I jogged over to see Steven.

"Is Harrison alright?" Steven asked me.

"Who the fuck cares?" one of the kids asked from the dugout.

Steven flipped him off.

"He's the reason that my fucking leg is broken in half," the runner said.

He was draped over the bench, a cold compress over his forehead as they elevated his leg.

"So?" Steven asked me.

"Concussion they think. I'm going to find out now."

"Well let me know," Steven said, his lips tugging into a frown. "Not that it matters much to me, but I don't want to see him dead."

I rolled my eyes. "Got it."

"As I said before, who the fuck cares?" the same kid repeated.

"I do," Steven snapped back. "Because if I recall, I don't remember seeing you at my dad's funeral."

The kid fell silent.

"So fuck off."

"I'll text you," I said, before jogging to catch back up to Regina and Clayton.

~*~

I folded my arms, my eyes scanning the airport as I watched for the familiar brown hair and blue eyes of my boyfriend.

It'd been over a week since I'd seen him, having got leave him behind in Florida after the Championship game.

He'd been diagnosed with a concussion, and it'd been deemed that it wasn't safe for him to fly back home at the time. But I had to fly back home to keep Mrs. Wilcott's summer camp up and running.

So we said our goodbyes, and Bryce bunked up with Clayton for the week while I came back here, as did Regina.

Bryce stayed behind and basically slept the week away. And according to Clayton, who for the first time in my life I actually kept in contact with, Bryce hadn't been doing so well.

Aside from the post-concussion symptoms, like nausea and headaches, he'd been feeling lousy overall.

Bryce attributed it to his concussion in general. But Clayton wasn't so optimistic.

So he had an appointment with his oncologist today, which we were going to be late for if he didn't show up soon in the airport terminal.

And then I saw the stark white of Bryce's face mask, his right hand grasping the backpack slung over his right shoulder as his bright blue eyes searched the airport terminal.

I immediately shot my hand up, hoping that he'd see me over the massive crowds. But I wasn't so optimistic at my petite height.

So I stood up on top of a plastic chair, flashing him a bright smile.

I couldn't tell whether he was smiling or not as his gaze met mine, but I'd like to believe that he was.

I used his shoulders to steady myself as I jumped off the chair, wrapping my arms around him and holding him tight. I buried my face into his chest, letting myself soak in for a few moments.

I missed his enveloping scent.

He gave me a tight squeeze before leading me towards the luggage claim so he could locate his bag.

Once we were successfully out of the airport, he immediately ripped the face mask off of his face, turning and planting his lips on mine.

"How're you feeling?" I asked, as I pulled away from him.

"Great now that you're here," he breathed, with a lopsided smile.

Always the romantic.

"You're a goof," I said, rocking up onto my toes and lightly pressing my lips against his. "And I missed you."

I intertwined my fingers with his, pulling him towards the parking garage.

He slipped on a pair of sunglasses to block out the South Carolina sunshine.

"How's the concussion?" I asked him.

"It's raging a war against my head, but I think I'm winning."

"Do you have a headache?"

"Always now it seems."

My lips tugged into a slight frown. I didn't like hearing that he was in pain, especially all the time.

The drive to the oncologist's office was quite a distance, 45 minutes almost, and Bryce fell asleep within the first five.

I glanced over at him every few minutes, studying his facial features. He looked so relaxed in his sleep, so vulnerable. Childlike almost.

I lightly shook his arm after I parked the car. "Babe, we're here."

"Five more minutes," he muttered.

"No more minutes," I countered, with a slight laugh. "We have to go."

He pulled the hood of his hoodie over his face, tightening the strings.

"Come on," I said, laughing.

He pushed back his hoodie, running his fingers through his hair. "Is my mom here?"

I nodded. "She checked you in already, we're 10 minutes late."

The two of us stepped out of the car, and Bryce stumbled a bit.

"Whoa there," I said, immediately rushing to his aid.

"I'm fine," he dismissed, shaking me off of him. "I just get a little dizzy if I get up too quickly. Damn concussion."

I didn't comment, but watched him with careful eyes as we headed inside, Bryce's hands shoved into his pockets.

He wasn't one to appreciate being woken from a nap, which was apparent through his sour attitude.

We met Regina in the lobby, who informed us the doctor wanted a MRI.

"I just had one," Bryce complained. "Last week, at the hospital."

"They want an updated MRI for your files," Regina informed him. "It won't be so bad."

"The clicking is loud and I already have a headache," Bryce muttered. "I don't understand why they can't use the one that I already have."

"They're looking at a specific area in your brain," Regina explained. "So they want their own set."

"They're looking at my tumor," Bryce corrected. "You can say the word. Tumor. Cancer. They're looking to see if my tumor has grown."

Regina shot me a look.

I just shrugged.

He'd been in a good mood earlier.

"They're looking to compare, yes," Regina agreed. "A nap might do you good, so try and get some rest in the meantime."

Bryce just scowled, following his mom back towards the MRI unit.

The MRI took almost an hour, and then we had to come back to the original waiting room and wait for the oncologist to review the results before he called us back.

Bryce's eyes were bleary, showing that he'd indeed managed to sleep during the MRI.

"Can you get me a coffee?" Bryce asked his mom, as we waited.

Regina nodded. "Want your usual from Starbucks?"

He nodded.

"Sophie, what would you like?"

"I'm fine-"

But Bryce cut me off.

"She wants a Very Berry Refresher," he informed Regina.

"Be right back," she said, before disappearing down the hall towards the Starbucks kiosk in the gift shop.

I rubbed my hand up and down Bryce's bicep as he sat with his head leaning back on the wall behind him.

"I didn't mean to snap earlier," Bryce apologized. "I was just really tired and I think I just took it out on you."

I cupped my hand around the side of his head, gently guiding it into the crook of my shoulder.

He didn't complain, his body sinking into mine.

"It's just a concussion," he muttered, quietly.

"I know."

"Right?"

And that's when I could hear the hint of fear in his voice, the uncertainty.

I leaned over and brushed my lips across his forehead.

He pressed his face into my shoulder, and if I didn't know him as well as I did I wouldn't know that he was crying.

I reached over and rubbed my hand up and down his back, staring up at the ceiling to hold my own tears back.

Seeing Bryce break down always had an adverse effect on me.

He sobered up before his mom came, wiping the sleeve of his hoodie across his face and regaining his composure.

The doctor called us back less than 15 minutes later.

"I'll wait out here," I informed Bryce.

But his hand wove through mine, tugging me along with him.

I sat next to Regina in one of the plastic chairs, Bryce taking the patient bed.

The nurse took his vitals, asking him a few questions about his concussion and about his current state of health.

"The doctor will be in shortly," he promised, before leaving.

Bryce hopped down off of the bed.

I raised my eyebrows at him as he made his way over to the doctor's table.

"So if this is a model of a brain," he said, picking it up. "Then what's my brain look like I wonder?"

"Hopefully like that," Regina said, with a laugh.

"How do you disassemble this thing?" Bryce muttered, trying to turn and twist the model a few different ways.

And then the model popped apart into pieces in his hands.

Bryce's jaw dropped open, and I busted out into laughter.

"Oh Bryce," Regina said, with a long sigh.

"Here's our story," Bryce said, slowly placing the disassembled brain model back on the counter. "It was like that when we got here."

"Good story," I agreed, through my laughter.

"Brain model?" Bryce questioned, slowly backing away from it. "What brain model?"

And then two knocks came on the door.

Bryce hopped back up on the bed as the doctor came in.

"Hello Bryce," he said, with an easygoing smile.

"Hey," Bryce said, with a slight smile.

He shook my hand, and then Regina's. "Thanks for coming in today."

"Always happy to be here," Bryce muttered, sarcasm tainting his voice.

Regina shot him a look.

The doctor's gaze paused on his brain model, but only for a brief second, before he pulled up his account on the computer.

"So I hear that you suffered from a concussion this past week," the doctor stated.

Bryce nodded. "I was in a baseball tournament, and the kid and I collided. And my head took the blunt of the force."

"Can you describe some of the symptoms?"

"Headache, nausea, dizziness for starters," Bryce said, his eyes never leaving the doctor's face.

"Anything else?"

"Like what?" Bryce questioned.

"Notice any behavior changes lately?" the doctor questioned.

Bryce cleared his throat, and Regina and I exchanged glances.

"Maybe a little," Bryce admitted.

Maybe a lot.

"An increase in your speech impediment?"

I tilted my head to the side.

Bryce cleared his throat once again.

"Not unbearably," Bryce muttered. "Just maybe once or twice or something."

Regina's grip tightened, her hands clasped together in her lap.

And then the doctor pulled up Bryce's MRI.

"So this is the last MRI that we did," the doctor informed us.

There were markings on the MRI, not that I understood it.

"This is the tumor," he pointed out.