Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I hiss, but it’s not from pain, only I can’t say what it is from.
“Fingers are dislocated,” he mutters, already shifting one gently. “Wrist looks sprained, too.”
Of fucking course, it is.
“Ready?” the doc asks, lifting my hand.
I nod, bracing. One by one, he works the fingers back into place with practiced snaps. My muscles tense, teeth grit, but I refuse to make a sound.
When he’s done, he looks up over his glasses. “Two options,” he says. “We tape you and send you back in…or we call it here.”
My jaw locks. Easy. “Tape me.”
He reaches for the wrap, but pauses. “Flex for me first.”
I do.
Slowly.
Or at least…I try to. The signal goes out, but for a moment, nothing happens. My fingers lag, curling in just a little behind the thought.
The doc frowns. “Again.”
This time I force it, gripping tighter. Come on.
His eyes narrow, like he saw something he didn’t like, but he doesn’t push it. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” I lie too easily. “Just need the tape.”
He nods once and turns to grab the wrap, but pauses mid-reach. Watches me flex my hand again. There’s a lag, I know it, even if I try to fake it cleaner the second time.
He sees it and doesn’t say anything for a long beat, then lets out a slow breath as he sets the tape aside.
“Let’s call it, son. Game’s nearly done anyway. Grab some water. You did good tonight.”
My heart stops. “Wait—what? No. I’m—” I push up straighter, forcing my voice steady. “I’m good. Just…please, I can still go.”
He turns his head, meets my eyes.
“Please, I have to—”
“I said sit it out, son.” He interrupts, not unkind, but unshakable.
Final.
I swallow hard and nod, even as my stomach twists.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Not tonight. Not in front of them.
I was supposed to finish.
Instead, I’m pulled, and I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to say about it.
I step out of the tent with my helmet hanging from my fingers, the noise of the game washing over me like it means nothing. They call my name from all angles, expecting me to turn back.
I don’t.
I just keep walking.
Thought I had it, that I could do it.
Guess I was wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Paige
The tunnel is cold. Not in temperature but in every other way possible. It’s stale and echoing, the thick concrete pressing in from all sides as we wait near the back exit—the second spot we’ve migrated to after getting asked to “move along” by security trying to clear the foot traffic. I’m pretty sure they only allowed us to stay this long because they recognize Noah.
We’ve been standing here too long already, not a single sign of what’s really happened other than the quick text from Chase that said, “I’m okay.”
My arms are crossed tight over my chest, but it’s not doing a dang thing to keep my nerves at bay, especially when every couple minutes, a new face emerges from the locker room, none of them the man I’m waiting for.
I keep glancing at the tunnel doors, willing Chase to walk through them. If I could just see his face…
I pace three steps one way. Three steps back.
He’s okay. Stressed, undoubtedly a little sad—my eyes snap toward Mr. Harper and a literal ache shoots through my chest.
A lot sad…for more reasons than one?
I spin.
Noah shifts where he stands with his hands resting on Ari’s stomach, his expression tight.
“You think he’s hurt?” I ask.
Noah glances my way, then at the tunnel, a long breath leaving him. “Physically? I don’t think so. But even if there isn’t an injury…he’s going to be disappointed.”
I wring my hands together. “But he played so well. Maybe the best I’ve seen him play.” I glance to his dad, waiting for him to agree, only to get a small, tight smile before he looks back at Noah.
“That’s true, Paige. He should be proud of what he did out there tonight.” Noah pauses.
“But?” I ask.
His features soften and he offers a sad tip of the lips. “But he won’t remember a single good play he made, at least not right now. The only thing he’ll be able to think about is what went wrong.”
My mouth clamps tight, and I close my eyes, my teeth clenching as I run my hands over my head, digging them into the length of my hair. “This game is everything to him.”
“Not everything.” Mr. Harper touches my arm and I nod, closing my eyes.
“Mommy, I want down,” baby Deaton whines, and my attention slides his way. He’s on his mom’s hip, pushing against her chest with one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other.
Payton meets my gaze as she pats his little butt. “I think I’ll take him to the parking lot, let him play in the back of Brady’s truck while we wait.”
Guilt falls on my shoulders. Of course, she’s been chasing him up and down the tunnels for nearly an hour now.