Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I’m a great and terrible idiot.
“You doing okay, big guy?” Miles’s arm is under me. Hell, his whole upper frame is under me, since he’s probably all of five foot, nine inches.
“I’m okay. I didn’t need a cart to go off the field,” I say, since I can walk still. But everything hurts with every step. My muscles are sore. My bones ache. I ran into a truck, and it knocked me to the ground. I tread gingerly, carefully moving one foot in front of the other.
“You can do it. You’re going to be fine. We can figure this out,” he says, offering encouraging words, since that’s his job.
I have no idea what we’ll figure out. I have no idea if this is how Garrett felt when he was hit so hard his career ended, but I know one thing—the biggest mistake I made today wasn’t running all-out to the end zone.
It was half-assing things with the woman I love.
I was a dick. Cletus was right, and I hope to hell Jillian can forgive me like the little guy did.
“Slow down,” Miles says gently as we near the locker room.
“Was I walking faster?”
“You were. You need to take it easy. Don’t exacerbate anything. Okay?”
“Okay.” Then I add, “I’m okay.” This time it feels a little truer as we turn into the locker room.
One of the PTs is waiting with the doctor, and he offers to lift me onto the exam table, but I wave him off, hopping up there on my own power.
The bespectacled doctor gets to work quickly, cutting my football pants along the knee.
“Does this hurt?” The doctor wiggles my kneecap.
Oddly enough, it doesn’t hurt as much. I let my mind wander as he does his job, and maybe this is what it means to have an out-of-body experience, since I’m not feeling much pain any longer.
My mind circles again to Garrett, the picture of his little girl, the mention of his wife, the smile on his face.
A razor-sharp awareness zings through me, piercing my heart.
I was wrong.
Garrett might miss football, but his life is far from over.
His happiness is not dependent on the game. His heart is with his family. Friday morning, I only saw what I feared. I saw what was lost, not what he’d found.
But I see clearly now—he’s a man who has what matters most.
The doctor asks a question. I blink and make eye contact. “What did you say?”
“Does this hurt at all? Does anything hurt? You didn’t answer me.”
I look at the doctor. “I love her.”
He quirks up an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Louder, in case he didn’t hear, I announce, “I love Jillian Moore. I want you to know, Dr. Miller.”
He laughs, his gray eyes twinkling through his glasses. “Did you hit your head, too, Jones?”
I shake my head.
“Let’s focus on one thing at a time, then.” He moves my ankle. “Does this hurt?”
Before I can answer, Ford bursts into the room in a flurry of Armani and wingtips.
“Dude, you can dress down for a game,” I say, laughing.
He glares at me. “Never. Also—”
“—I love Jillian,” I cut him off.
He shoots me a look like I’m high, waving a hand dismissively as he strides to the exam table. “Is he on morphine already?”
The doctor shakes his head. “Of course not.”
“Then what the hell is going on?”
I grab Ford’s arm, getting his attention till he looks me square in the eyes. “I’m in love with Jillian. All I care about right now is that you know that. Do you get it? I love her.”
“Sure. You love her. Okay, great.”
Another slam of the door, and Trevor strides in.
“Tell him,” I shout to Trevor, pointing at my big brother. “He knows! I told him the other night. Trevor, tell them I’m in love with Jillian.”
My brother stops in his tracks and laughs. “But how is your knee?”
I hold my arms out wide. “Do you people not get it? Listen to me. I. LOVE. HER.”
But they don’t get it. They look at me as if I’ve gone mad.
My heart stops when the most beautiful sight appears at the door. Long black hair, beautiful brown eyes, red cherry earrings. Tears stream down her face as she runs into the locker room. She races to me, puts her hand on my shoulder, and with concern asks point-blank, “Are you okay?”
I smile dopily, happiness whistling a happy tune inside me as I meet her eyes. “I love you. I love you so much I want everyone to know that I’m in love with you.”
She dips her face closer. “Did you get hit on the head?”
“No! Why is everyone asking me that?”
Dr. Miller clears his throat. “Jones—”
I know what’s coming, so I slide off the table, landing on both feet without wincing. I take a few steps around the locker room, my arms out wide, showing off. “There? See? Everyone happy? It hardly hurts. My knee is fine. I can probably even run a mile right now.”