Page 29 of Remade

“You should eat,” he said. “I ordered a lunch tray up for you both.”

“I can eat happy pills.”

“I’m sure,” he replied wryly. “Where does it hurt the most?”

“My leg,” I grumbled.

He lifted the blankets and carefully checked the dressing. “We’ll get you up and moving around tomorrow. If you behave really well, you might even get to go to the bathroom on your own.”

Oh, I knew the fucking drill. I’d have a few days of ten-second walks, basically just rounding the bed and then getting back in. I’d get a crutch or some shit. I’d bitch at whoever wanted to help me.

Poor Leighton in advance.

Doc righted the blanket again before he felt my forehead. “I’ll have the nurse come by to take your temperature and get more blood samples. I want to keep a close eye on your inflammatory markers.”

“Thank you for dumbing it down for me.”

“Oh, no worries. I just had to spell it out in crayons for Coach. I’m used to it.”

I rumbled a low laugh, only to flinch. Fuck, that hurt in my arm somehow.

Doc smiled and nodded at Leighton. “I take it that’s serious.”

It sure couldn’t be anything else. I didn’t flip my lid over casual.

I cleared my throat and glanced up at Doc. “Is it normal to wanna hurt someone a little for givin’ you all this chest-gripping anxiety and worry? Because I kinda wanna put him on shit duties and knock him around for the other day.”

Doc smirked. “This is going to be fun for me.”

That wasn’t helpful at all.

“You do need to speak to Danny soon, though,” he said. “You can’t be his instructor anymore.”

I knew that. Coach would take over. I’d still be there; outwardly, not much would change. I just wouldn’t evaluate Leighton anymore.

“I want to put him on two weekly sessions as well,” he went on. “With training, your relationship evolving, and what happened—we have a lot to talk about.”

I hummed, not sure Leighton was asleep anymore. His breathing pattern had changed. “I suggest three sessions a week. It’ll be good for him.”

Take that, you little fucknut.

Doc chuckled. “We’ll see if I have any openings, considering you’ll be in my chair the rest of the time.”

Hilarious.

“I think you should leave now,” I said.

“Why, are you busy?” he drawled. “So help me, if you rush your recovery, I will have you sent right back to the hospital.” He pointed to me. “No fucking loopholes either. Before you return to the field, you’ll’ve passed a full physical, and I won’t let you begin to train for it until November.”

Whoa, Jesus fuck. I glared at him. “They’re basically flesh wounds, Doc. Either you’re off your rocker, or you’re high on power.”

“You’re playing fast and loose with the term flesh wound. You were shot in two places, and you lost a lot of blood,” he replied. “If you want to run this up the flagpole, be my guest.”

That fucking—oh,nowhe thought it was convenient to leave.

I clenched my jaw and scowled at his retreating form until the door closed behind him.

Asshole.

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