Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
But he isn’t a stranger.
He’s my baby’s father and my friend.
A friend I miss so much, who I wish I were still on good terms with. I’ll never regret Bean, but I hate that a one-night stand ended my friendship with Archer.
He may have been secretive about his past, but he was open about other things. Bigger things. We had so many powerful talks about why we’re here, how to live a good life, and the power of imagination and art to change the world.
But Blue might not be imagining anything any time soon, not if that injury is as serious as it looked.
I’ve spent five months convincing myself I’m fine with never seeing this man again, but watching the medics roll his limp body into a tunnel thousands of miles away, that deception burns away in an instant.
I stand, fighting tears as I mumble to Mary and the boys, “I’m sorry. I have to go home. Home, home. As soon as I can.”
Chapter Six
BLUE
Consciousness returns in pieces.
First, sound muffled through walls, the distant roar of eighteen thousand people, the blare of faraway buzzers and music. Then, the sensation of movement, wheels beneath me, smooth on slick concrete. When I creak open my lids, the fluorescent lights overhead blur into white streaks, each one a tiny spike stabbing into my eyes.
I try to lift my head to see where I am.
Bad idea.
The horizon pitches and fresh pain throbs through my skull.
“Easy, man,” a soft male voice murmurs, close and low. “You took one hell of a hit. Take it easy until we see what the doc says.”
I let my skull settle back against the gurney, blinking up at Dean, who’s keeping pace beside me.
“Thanks for the escort,” I croak.
Dean’s blue eyes crinkle at the edges. “Of course. We injured old fogeys have to stick together. I’m benched until next week anyway. Happy to have something to do besides sit the bench and feel useless.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Just try to relax. We’ll be in medical soon.”
I try, but the padding beneath me is thin. I can feel every vertebra in my spine rattling, and my shoulder throbs where I hit the boards. But it’s my head that’s the real problem, a deep ache that pulses deeper when I risk a glance back to thank the guy pushing me up the ramp to the medical wing.
He keeps going all the way to the end, parking me in an exam room that smells like iodine. The walls are white, the cabinets white, everything so pristine it makes me wince.
Dean turns down the glare with the dimmer switch and thanks the medic before settling into a plastic chair in the corner, proving he’s a real one.
It’s his second year with the Voodoo, but I didn’t get a chance to know him well last year. He’s a family man and was understandably too busy with his wife and small children for socializing outside of practice.
Though I suppose he might have more time for that now, after the divorce…
He sighs, shaking his head. “What a dirty fucker that guy is.”
“Blaine?” I ask, my voice still rough. “Is that his name? The guy who hit me?”
“Blaze,” he corrects, rolling his eyes. “His real name is Ronny Blazer, but he thinks he’s cool enough to pull off a nickname like Blaze.”
“No one’s that cool,” I rasp. “Blaze is not cool.”
Dean’s lips twitch. “Right? What an idiot. But yeah, he lit you up. Dirty hit all the way. The ref kicked him out, but that doesn’t—”
“Hey there, Archer. I’m Dr. Lyle, good to meet you.” The doc breezes into the room, pumping hand sanitizer from the dispenser on the wall before crossing to my side. I’ve heard she’s a good egg, the new doc on call for injuries at the home games, but I’ve never needed her services before. She’s a tiny thing, nearly as tiny as Bea, but blonde, with sharp green eyes that catalogue every inch of me in the time it takes to rub the liquid across her skin. “Tell me what you’re feeling. Head pain? Eye pain? Nausea?”
I take inventory. “Head pain. Maybe seven out of ten. Eyes are okay as long as it’s not too bright. A little nausea when the gurney was moving, but better now. Shoulder and jaw hurt, too, but nothing serious, I don’t think.”
“Good. That sounds promising.” She pulls a penlight from her pocket. “Follow this with your eyes, for me? Try not to move your head, just eyes.”
I flinch as the light hits my retina, but the pain fades quickly, and I manage to follow the pen. My head isn’t happy about it, but I manage.
“Very good.” She clicks the pen off and tucks it away before taking my hands in her smaller ones. “Squeeze my hands? Try to keep the pressure even if you can.”