Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Unmistakable tears begin to gather along the rims of her eyelids alongside a whimpered, “Jukes, I-”
“Should we move onto a new game?” Aly loudly questions upon entering the room. “Maybe one where less memory is required?”
“Yes please!” agrees Alexis from the other area.
“You two good with that?” Aly inquires during her approach. “Good with giving other people a chance to win?”
The smile on my face appears smooth in spite of being forced. “I’mma team player, so whatever y’all wanna do, I promise to give it my best.”
“Ohhhh,” tipsily cooing precedes her lightly wagging her whiskey holding glass at me, “you really are sweeter than those slutty brownies.”
“Ya know what? I wouldn’t mind grabbin’ another one of those right now.” Dropping my attention back to my girlfriend who is doing her best to hold it together is followed by me politely stating, “Why don’t I pour you a glass, grab me a brownie, and meet you in our seats after you use the restroom, Gillian?” Her watery eyes offering me gratitude tightens the knots already lingering in my stomach. “Like I said. I’mma team player.” Retrieving an empty, nearby piece of drinkware aids in me focusing my gaze as well as my unwavering irritation elsewhere. “Always prepared to put others first.”
Chapter 19
Gillian
Sometimes I wish my life were like a spy drama.
I could really use a series break right now.
Mouthwashhavemercy, even a commercial break would be appreciated.
“Wait,” Octave Choquette, the young, French rugby player I get the feeling Hennington specifically sent to me for an ulterior new business motive, “you are saying I need to be wearing my,” his warm nude shaded finger crudely gestures at his wide-open mouth, “all the time while practicing?”
“Yes.”
“And playing?”
“Yes,” escapes in an exasperated sigh in spite of all my efforts to remain professional. “You need to have your gumshield or in – your case – smart shield on at all times you are on the field.” Pulling off my gloves is done in tandem with continuing. “Not only does it protect your teeth, your smart shield uses the sensors that are installed to alert your medical team of your potential head trauma in real time.” The objects are discarded in the nearby trash along with my mask. “Thankfully, right now what we’re dealing with is subluxation rather than luxation, which typically involves a shorter heal time; however, if you choose to not protect your teeth or face during the heal time, we will move from subluxation to luxation or worse.” Confusion crinkles his large forehead forcing another heavy breath out of me. “You currently just have a loose tooth instead of one that’s loose and out of place.”
“Oh,” he grunts in understanding.
“This likely occurred doing your last game-”
“J'ai été plaqué par Durand,” he exclaims at the same time he punches his fist into an open palm to aid in translating.
“Gonna guess that means…hit?” His nose scrunch leads me to amend. “Tackle? You were tackled?”
“Oui.” Octave quickly rolls his hand around in excitement. “Yes. Yes, I was…tackle.”
“Okay, well when that happened, your tooth was knocked loose; however, there is no need for a dental splint at this time. It should be able to heal on its own with you eating a soft diet and keeping up good oral hygiene.”
Another twitch of disorientation is presented.
“Gentle brush,” I act out, “floss,” it’s mimed next, “rinse,” fake swishing and spitting is shown, “and wear.” My finger jabs itself at the teeth I am bearing. “Your.” A second is executed. “Mouth.” And a third. “Shield.” Irritation struggles to stay out of my tone as I rise to my feet. “Oui?”
He sheepishly nods. “Oui.”
“Addy, my assistant, will be in with your homecare instructions and follow up recommended scheduling.”
“Merci.” Octave warmly grins during his English translation. “Thank you, Doctor Blanc.”
“Of course,” is retorted prior to my exiting the room.
Unfortunately, the plan to hide in my office for a mere moment of reprieve is immediately thwarted courtesy of April who needs a minute to quietly vent about the teenage ballerina that doesn’t understand how it’s possible for us to know she’s bulimic and what exactly the legal course of action is that’s she’s required by law to execute.
Post her is Becca who is very uncomfortable with the barely legal water polo player that keeps making crude gestures at her, which leads to me having to have a very loud, very stern, conversation regarding ethics of my practice that ends in him storming out.
And just when I think I’ve finally landed the ability to catch my sanity Sybil reminds me that I’m covering the Dalvegan game tomorrow night while she assists.
Like that had slipped my mind.
Of all the fucking things I could possibly forget, that isn’t one of them.
I haven’t physically seen my boyfriend in person since the Friendsgiving nightmare and have barely received more than our daily text check ins since they started the road campaign.