Page 113 of Spring Tide

“Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He drops his head into his hands. “I ruined your night with your friends.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay?” I reach for him, one hand clutched tightly on the steering wheel. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be. We’re gonna take you to the doctor to get checked out, and everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” he whispers back.

A sorrow-filled expression sits on his face for two more long hours, the total length of time we sit together in the ER waiting room. When the nurse finally calls him back, I breathe a sweet sigh of relief.

I couldn’t take another second of his silent, heavy wallowing.

It’s not that I’m bothered by him being upset, but the inability to offer any tangible support is making my skin crawl. At least, after his visit with the doctor, we’ll be able to come up with a solid plan moving forward. That will make us both feel better, I’m sure of it.

When Luca wobbles out on his crutches thirty minutes later, he holds up his discharge papers with a tight near smile.

“Good news is that there’s no break or fracture,” he says, slipping into step beside me.

“Dislocation?”

“Yep, with a minor ligament tear. Same place as before.” He hands me the papers as we head back out to the car. I quickly scan them over, relief flooding me when I confirm the results for myself—no break, no fracture, just a patellar dislocation. Adjusted, corrected, and on its way to healing. “The doctor relocated it, but it’s gonna take anywhere from three to six weeks to heal up.”

“Oh, that’s such good news.”

“Could be worse, I guess.” He shrugs, puffing out a heavy breath. “He says I need to completely immobilize it for at least a week. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do about Saturday’s game.”

“You need to talk to your coach about it first, right?” I wrinkle my nose. “Come up with a plan for healing.”

“Oh, fuck no.” He scoffs, patting the side of his crutches. “He’s not gonna know anything about this.”

I stop in my tracks, one hand softly grazing his shoulder. “Luca, this is really serious.”

“I’ve done this before, remember? I just need to come up with a valid excuse to stay off the field for the next couple of games, and I’ll be fine.”

“That’s really not a good idea. I think you need to—”

“Can we please talk about this later?” He all but snaps the question, face pinched with frustration. “I just want to go home, ice my knee, and try to forget this night ever happened.”

“Okay, yeah, of course.” I drop my gaze to his chest. “I’ll drive us back to your place.”

* * *

The next morning,it’s nearing ten o’clock by the time Luca starts to stir. Thankfully, it’s still Thanksgiving break, so we don’t have classes or practice to think about right now. And he already texted his parents last night, telling them not to worry. I’m not sure exactly what excuse he gave them, but I know he’s not quite ready to open up to them yet.

It’s for the best, anyway. He needs to tackle this one problem at a time, otherwise, he’s going to burn himself out too quickly.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I quietly murmur, running my fingers through his rumpled hair. “Can I get you anything?”

“Would you grab the crutches for me?” he rasps, stretching his arms above his head and turning onto his side. “I just want to get up, get this day started, and figure out a plan of action.”

“Of course.” I press a kiss to his shoulder before hopping out of bed, his T-shirt dangling halfway down my body. “Do you want to talk over how you’re gonna tell your coach?”

He presses both palms to his temples, groaning. “Like I said last night, I’m not telling him anything about the injury.”

“This isn’t like last time, Luca.” I tuck his crutches against the side of his bed frame, helping him maneuver into a standing position. “You’re just now recovered from your previous injury, and now you’ve re-torn the same ligament. That’s another six long weeks of healing.”

“Three weeks, Harper,” he bites out. “The doctor said I can heal in as little as three weeks, which means I can still play in a bowl game. It also leaves me open for postseason all-stars.”

“You’re putting your health and safety in jeopardy if you do that.” I furrow my brows, anxiously scratching at my forearm. “I don’t understand the harm in speaking with your coach about this. If you’re truly healed in time, then he’ll let you play anyway.”

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