Page 114 of Keep Me Never
Chest burning, I sit up on instinct, tugging my wrist toward me, forcing air into my lungs until it finally, finally comes.
My teammates crowd around. Mason drops beside me just as Coach jogs up, eyes scanning me hard.
“Got the first,” I rasp, trying to make light of it, trying to ignore how my right hand feels…weird. Not painful, but…slow, like the message got stuck on the way down.
Mason’s grin fades fast. “Holy shit, bro, your hand.”
I look down—and sure enough, my fingers are a mess. Crooked at odd angles, swelling fast.
Coach doesn’t hesitate. He yanks me up by the shoulder pads, already waving toward the sideline.
People try to talk to me, and I know her eyes are watching, waiting, but I can’t look. Not yet.
I duck into the medical tent behind the trainer, climbing up on the table while he slices my glove clean down the middle.
I hiss, but it’s not from pain, only I can’t say what itisfrom.
“Fingers are dislocated,” he mutters, already shifting one gently. “Wrist looks sprained, too.”
Of fucking course, it is.
“Ready?” the doc asks, lifting my hand.
I nod, bracing. One by one, he works the fingers back into place with practiced snaps. My muscles tense, teeth grit, but I refuse to make a sound.
When he’s done, he looks up over his glasses. “Two options,” he says. “We tape you and send you back in…or we call it here.”
My jaw locks. Easy. “Tape me.”
He reaches for the wrap, but pauses. “Flex for me first.”
I do.
Slowly.
Or at least…I try to. The signal goes out, but for a moment, nothing happens. My fingers lag, curling in just a little behind the thought.
The doc frowns. “Again.”
This time I force it, gripping tighter.Come on.
His eyes narrow, like he saw something he didn’t like, but he doesn’t push it. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” I lie too easily. “Just need the tape.”
He nods once and turns to grab the wrap, but pauses mid-reach. Watches me flex my hand again. There’s a lag, I know it, even if I try to fake it cleaner the second time.
He sees it and doesn’t say anything for a long beat, then lets out a slow breath as he sets the tape aside.
“Let’s call it, son. Game’s nearly done anyway. Grab some water. You did good tonight.”
My heart stops. “Wait—what? No. I’m—” I push up straighter, forcing my voice steady. “I’m good. Just…please, I can still go.”
He turns his head, meets my eyes.
“Please, I have to?—”
“I said sit it out, son.” He interrupts, not unkind, but unshakable.
