Page 37 of Wild Card
Despite all the amazing sex and the surprising kindness he’s shown through all of it, we’ve never talked about feelings. Never thought about whether or not it’d be appropriate for me to visit or sit with him in a situation like this. So I just pray he stays asleep through the night, or at least until his brother can get back here and sit with him.
It’s a relief to see him for myself. See the monitors and know his heart’s beating. Seeing his chest rise and fall with regular breaths. Because for the interminably long ride over here, I wondered briefly if he’d be dead or on so many machines, he might wish he was. A few tears of relief form in my eyes, dropping down my cheeks before I can wipe them away.
I’m glad that our friends are close enough and trust me enough to sit with him because some part of my stupid heart, the part that won’t be convinced that he will never belong to me, belongs to him. So being able to sit here and be with him during the darkest moments of his life is all I want right now.
TWENTY-ONE
Tobias
When I wake up my whole body aches, every inch of my bones throb, and my muscles feel like they might just tear off my limbs. The skin down the whole right side of my body feels like it’s on fire, and somehow, I think even my hair hurts. I blink and try to open my eyes.
The light that pours in is glaringly bright, and I have to close them again immediately, wincing at the fact that my eyeballs hurt now too. I have no idea what the hell I did for my body to hurt this badly. Even the most brutal games where I’ve been tackled hard or hit blindside haven’t left me this bruised in the morning. I try to remember how the hell I got here, and the first step to that is going to be getting out of this bed.
I groan as I try to sit up, joints cracking and muscles stretching in ways that make it hurt even more than it did before.
“Fucking hell…” I mutter.
“Fuck. Tobias… Be careful.” I hear my brother, Easton’s voice and that makes my eyes snap open again despite the pain. “Tobias. Bro… listen to me. Go easy.”
“East?” I blink, trying to adjust to the lights. Just talking is a struggle as my whole mouth feels like cotton. “What are you doing here?”
If East’s here something has to be wrong because we both play in the league, and he has no business being in Seattle. It means he’s missing practice with his team and that shit will get you on the wrong side of your coaches fast.
“You’re in the hospital, bro. Just be careful, okay? You got hurt pretty bad.”
“Do you need anything?” It’s his wife, Wren’s voice, and I crane my neck to look at her which is a mistake. I lay back again resting on the pillow, trying to confirm what they’ve told me.
Sure enough, the walls are that horrific shade of cream, beeping machines are keeping an irritating rhythm around me, and I’m buried under scratchy sheets that are paper thin. I go to ask what the hell happened that I ended up here, but my mouth is so dry the words don’t want to come.
“Water?” I manage to rasp.
“Here you go,” Wren answers, handing me a bottle with a straw in it.
I take a sip but it’s lukewarm. It takes the edge off the worst of the desert-dry feeling, but I frown. “Ice?”
“I’m sure I can find some. Let me see if I can find a nurse or a tech. I’ll be back.” Wren shoots me a sympathetic look before she hurries out the door.
I take another sip of the water because some is better than none and look at my brother. He’s standing at the side of my bed, arms crossed and looking more like our father than I’ve ever seen him look in the current moment. Can’t imagine that’s a good sign.
“How you feeling?” Easton’s concern turns into a full-on frown as he assesses me. So I’m going to guess I look about as good as I feel.
“Like fucking shit,” I grunt, trying to sit up.
“Easy.Easy. What are you trying to do?” He jolts forward, hands out like he’s gonna try to make this easier. Which is pretty much impossible. I flick him a look, and he just raises a brow in defiance.
“Sit up more,” I grumble.
“There’s a button for that.” East presses something at my side and the bed starts to move slowly, a small metallic sound accompanies it. He hands me the remote then and takes a step back.
“Thanks.”
“You remember what happened?” he asks after he studies me for another moment.
I stare blankly at the sheets bunched at my waist. Trying to think back to the last thing I did. But my head is killing me almost as much as everything else. I go to reach up to run my hand through my hair and my fingertips meet with rough cotton bandages. I look to East for answers, and his brow furrows. He glances at them and then down at the floor like it hurts him to see me like this.
“They’ve got your head wrapped. You were in a motorcycle accident. Thrown into a car on impact.”
My heart drops to my gut and my first thought is to make sure I can still wiggle all my fingers and toes. I hadn’t thought to check or pay attention to make sure all those things still worked, too focused on my need for water and all the pain. I breathe a sigh of relief at their movement before I think of what most people look like when they’ve been hit by a car. The injuries. Ones that might prevent you from doing your job, especially when your job is to run down a field lightning fast and snatch a ball out of the air while guys try to pound you into the turf.
