right.
His father had become so frightened of losing him that he’d forgotten how to enjoy anything beside him.
Instead of cheering, Chris constantly monitored Ethan.
And I was doing the same thing.
Except I watched him through my phone.
By halftime, Ethan was visibly exhausted.
But he refused to leave.
“Ten more minutes,” he insisted.
“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Chris replied.
“That was a different ten.”
We laughed.
Then the stadium camera found us.
Our faces appeared on the enormous screen.
The announcer spoke Ethan’s name.
And suddenly, everything changed.
Ray approached our seats carrying Ethan’s battered tabletop football game.
Ethan laughed so hard he nearly slid from his chair.
“Coach Ray! What are you doing here?”
Ray raised the toy like a championship trophy.
“That’s Commissioner Ray to you, Captain.”
The crowd around us laughed.
Ray worked in the hospital’s facilities department.
