Page 162 of Let You Love Me

My head slams on the ground. Teeth rattle.

Pain explodes in my back like a cannon, strong enough to outpace the throbbing ache inside my chest.

I cry out and try to roll on my side for relief, but I can’t.

I can’t fucking move.

It’s my last thought before the world goes dark.

CHAPTER 43

LANE

I hate myself a little more with each passing second as I try and focus on the game. All I have to do is get through the next few hours, and then I’ll make Teagan listen. I’ll find a way to explain myself that he can understand.

He has to understand; he just has to.

Teagan takes the field, and my pulse skips a beat.

I watch as they hike the ball and Chance takes his time setting up for what I think is going to be a pass to him.

But something goes terribly wrong.

Teagan stops.

He pauses when he should be moving his feet.

It’s as if his mind is elsewhere.

Panic seizes my chest as the ball leaves Chance’s hands and soars through the air. It flies toward Teagan just as he finally shifts, positioning himself to catch it, only it’s a fraction too late because the defender is already there. And just as the ball is within reach, he plows into Teagan with the force of a freight train.

My heart stops as the defender’s helmet hits him hip high.

Teagan’s feet fly out from under him, his body launching to the ground at an unnatural angle.

He falls backfirst with an impact that reverberates through the stadium.

I yelp and hold my breath, waiting for him to get up, but he doesn’t.

I count the seconds that pass. Far too long for him not to be immobile.

“He’s not moving,” I say out loud. “Why isn’t he moving?” I scream.

Medics take the field while all players—both ours and the opposing team?take a knee. Everyone else in the stadium goes quiet as the medics get to work, and still, Teagan doesnotmove.

No, no, no, no!

I stand, craning my neck to see, as if it might somehow change what’s in front of me. Blood pounds in my ears like a herd of buffalo, drowning out whatever the announcers are saying over the loudspeaker.

I cover my mouth with shaking hands, muffling a moan.

Get up.

Get up.

I repeat this mantra in my head as if I can make him move out of sheer will.

The EMTs shout, cutting through the sound of my pulse, and suddenly, I hear everything in wild technicolor.

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