Sunday afternoon sunlight spilled in golden patches through the hospital’s windows as Jeremy Davis made his way down the corridor, the familiar, antiseptic scent a jarring reminder of the night before. His phone buzzed in his pocket-another message from Jenifer, another update from the Cannibals’ staff-but he ignored it for now. There was only one thing on his mind: Trisha Steinmetz.
Her text had come early that morning, brief but direct:
“Jeremy, if you have time, I’d like to see you today. Room 427.”
He’d barely slept, replaying every snap, every decision, every what-if from the previous game on top of when he does sleep, he has a nightmare of his own injuries. The Cannibals’ opener had been a triumph and a tragedy-an electric blowout soured by Trisha’s collapse and the news that foll
