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)
I grip her slim fingers and squeeze. The pressure must be fairly equal, because her nod is once again encouraging.
“Any numbness?” she asks, massaging my fingers from base to tip. Her touch is soothing, grounding, proving she’s got healer energy in addition to her years of schooling. “Tingling? Pins and needles?”
“No.”
“Vision changes? Seeing double?”
I blink again. “No. Like I said, bright light hurts a little, but when it’s dimmer, I feel fine.”
Her lips quirk. “I’m sure you don’t feel fine, but you’re a trooper. And so far, things don’t look too bad. I’m going to order a CT scan to rule out a few things, but based on what I’m seeing, I’m guessing you’ve got a concussion. Mild to moderate. We’ll know more after imaging. I’ll see if the hospital has something available tonight.”
Moderate. Fuck. That would mean weeks on the bench.
I don’t feel that bad…do I?
“The pain is easing some already,” I offer. “That wouldn’t be the case if it were moderate, would it?’
She quirks a brow that says she sees straight through my bargaining stage of grief. “We’ll see what the scan shows and go from there.” She moves to the cabinets, pulling out supplies. “In the meantime, I need blood work. Standard protocol.”
The needle is thin, the tourniquet tight. I watch the vials fill—one, two, three—deep red against clear plastic. I think that color red is good, but she doesn’t comment as she gathers the vials in a small pouch and scribbles my name on the front.
“I’ll be back to check on you in a bit, okay? And hopefully I’ll have more info on the scan.” Dr. Lyle smiles as she aims a warning finger my way. “In the meantime, no standing, no walking, no interpretive dance. And if he vomits, sound the alarm immediately, okay, Dean?”
Dean gives her a sharp salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll watch him like a hawk.”
“Excellent.” She pauses at the door, her expression softening as she adds, “I’m glad to see you in such relatively good shape, Archer. That was a hell of a hit.” She wrinkles her nose. “Fuck that guy.”
Dean snorts, and I give an approving thumbs up.
“She’s a real one,” he says as her footsteps fade down the hall. “And she’s got connections. She had me booked for an MRI on my shoulder the day I fucked it up before I left practice. She’ll sweet-talk the hospital into giving you the star treatment. You’ll be in and out in fifteen minutes and on your way home before they finish the press interviews.”
I sigh. “That’s good.”
“It is good,” he insists. “And she’s right, you’re lucky. Blaze was out for blood.”
“I guess,” I say. “Though I have no idea why. I didn’t cross any lines.”
“You don’t have to with him. He’s petty as hell.” Dean pauses before adding,
“Being on my team was probably enough. We have history. Played on the same minor league team for a year and…” He exhales a soft laugh. “He actually dated Frederica before I did. They were together for almost a year.”
“Wow. Hard to imagine.” I didn’t know his ex-wife well, but she seemed like a classy woman.
Way too classy for a guy who named himself Blaze and feels good about that decision.
“Yeah. Hard for me too,” Dean agrees. “I actually hesitated to ask her out because of it.” He stretches his neck to one side, rubbing at the muscle at the base. “I couldn’t believe she was that clueless about who Ronny was. She said it was like a fog lifted after the breakup. Suddenly, she woke up one morning, mortified that she hadn’t seen through him from the beginning.”
Post-relationship clarity.
I know the feeling. But when my fog cleared, I was the one with “dumbass” scrawled across my forehead in big red letters.
I make a mental note to send Beatrice another text, communicating my awareness of what a dumbass I am, as Dean adds, “Not that it matters now.” He drags a hand through his sandy brown hair. “I wonder what she’s telling the new guy about me? What she’s ‘woken up’ to this time?”
“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “About you and Frederica.”
“Yeah. It sucks, but it’s mostly settled.” The words are heavy. Final. “We got the judgment in July. Now I only see my kids on the weekends. I don’t know what I’m going to do now that the season’s started, when we have away games on a Saturday or Sunday.” He sighs. “At first, my ex seemed willing to tweak the visitation schedule, but now, I’m not…” He trails off with an embarrassed huff. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Blue. I shouldn’t be talking about this shit. Your head is about to explode. The last thing you need is more drama.”
“It’s not drama.” I push gingerly into a seated position, waving Dean off when he insists that I should stay put until the doc gets back. “I’m fine. Really. It feels good to sit up. And like I said, it’s not drama, it’s your life. It sounds like things have been hard. We can talk about it if you want. I’ve got two ears and nothing to do for the next however many minutes.”