Page 19 of Side Out

Under Pressure (feat. Chase Atlantic) - RILEY, Chase Atlantic

CHAPTER13

WHO’S THEO?

THEODORE

Seeing players injured is part of the job.

It’s something I’ve seen countless times. It’s something I’m used to.

But it’s never been Jax. And seeing him lying on the floor writhing in pain as he stares up at me, tears in his eyes, gripping onto his knee so hard his knuckles are white, just may be my undoing.

And despite how much it’s tearing me up on the inside, I know I have a job to do. I can’t let my complicated feelings for him… forwhateverthis is, cloud my ability to do this job. He deserves the best care I can give him. “Tell me what happened.”

He groans in pain. “I-I must have stepped wrong, and—ouch, fuck—and I felt something pop. The pain was instant.”

I look back at Coach Taylor, giving him the nod to go ahead and call an ambulance. I’m almost certain he’s torn at least one of the ligaments in his knee, and if that’s the case there’s not much I can do. But what I can do is provide him the emergent care he needs until he reaches the right people that can help him.

I look back at Clay, who currently looks like he may be having a panic attack. Staring off into the void, shallow breathing, all the signs are there. I give Coach Taylor a nod in Clay’s direction, letting him know that I’ve got Jax, and he needs to focus on Clay. The last thing I need is for Clay to hyperventilate and pass out.

Refocusing on Jax I ask, “Where’s Emerson at right now?”

“In class, don’t bother him with this; he’ll spiral.”

“Jax, we have to call someone.” The concern in my voice must be abundantly clear because when his brain registers what I was just implying I almost immediately see the panic set in. Grabbing his shoulder, I lean in and whisper, “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ll call Emerson once we get you settled into the hospital.”

I try to do my best to continue to comfort him as we wait for the paramedics to arrive, and it kills me to know that there’s nothing I can do to ease his pain.

Finally, a few agonizing minutes later, the gym doors burst open, and the paramedics head toward us with a stretcher. Once they reach us, I fill them in before telling him, “I’m going to run and get your stuff out of the locker room.” His eyes widen, and his hand latches onto my arm. I soften my expression as best as I can. “I’ll be right back. They’re going to need your ID once you get to the hospital and your phone to call your parents.” He gives me a quick nod, and I spring off down the hallway leading to the locker rooms and my office.

By the time I’m back in the gym, they’re picking the stretcher up, wheeling him out, and I’m in step behind them. I should be staying and making sure no one else needs me today, but Clay’s panic was under control, and Coach said he was going to wrap things up and send the rest of the team home for the day. He looked at about max capacity for issues this week, and I can’t say I blame him one bit.

* * *

?*Several hours later, after several exams, X-rays, and an MRI, Jax’s doctor finally confirms what I knew to be true the moment I saw him.

“You have torn your ACL and have a severe sprain on your MCL,” the doctor blurts out while keeping his eyes on his tablet. As if this news didn’t just blow up Jax’s life as he knows it. I watch as Jax’s breath stills in his chest. And I give his shoulder a firm squeeze, reminding him that I’m here. Finally, the doctor looks up from his tablet at Jax. “I can do surgery tomorrow to repair the tears.”

Jax asks the doctor barely above a whisper, “H-how long until I can play again?”

“Nine to twelve months,” the doctor says matter-of-factly. “I’ll give you a few minutes to process the news and will be back in a little bit to explain everything, okay?”

I feel his shoulder sag under my hand, and I wait for a minute until the doctor heads out the door. “I know you’ll make a full recovery, Jax. That man you were talking to is one of the best in the state. He’ll get everything put back together, and you’ll be as good as new.”

He doesn’t say anything as he pulls his phone out and turns the screen so I’m able to read what it says.

Thirteen missed calls from his mom. Ten from his dad and just as many texts.

He clicks on a text from his mom that reads:

Mom

Emerson said you got hurt and you’re at the hospital?! Jackson, call me please or I’m getting on the first plane out there!

“To say my parents are overprotective and overbearing would be the understatement of the century. Especially my mom. She’s a helicopter mom, to put it lightly. Not that I blame her, considering she had four boys.” He smiles and adds, “I wouldn’t trade her for the world, though. Be prepared for a video call after I send this text, though.”

Me

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