Page 91 of Too Safe

He startles on contact but relaxes when I rub back and forth.

Back and forth. Over and over. As if my desire to ease his pain could have any real effect on his symptoms. Desperation is setting in now, and I’m toeing the line between respecting his wishes and doing what’s best forhim, regardless of the resentment he’ll hit me with for undermining his authority and autonomy.

I have to get through to him. I will him to hear the sincerity in my words; to be soothed by my touch.

“You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Changing tactics, I continue massaging his head and ask, “What would have to happen for you to go to the hospital and get checked out?”

When he doesn’t immediately lash out at the question, I push further.

“You’ve puked three times so far. You’re dizzy and you feel weak, right?”

“I’m always exhausted after a game,” he interjects, then grimaces as if just stringing words into a coherent sentence caused him physical pain.

“Do you think this might be a little more than exhaustion?”

He’s quiet. So quiet for so long that I wonder if he dozed off.

“No one can know.Fuck. No one can know, Josephine.”

Thank god.

“I understand,” I assure him.

“You don’t,” he argues, his voice distant and tinny because his head’s still half inside the toilet bowl. “We can’t go to any of the hospitals in North Carolina. Or South Carolina, for that matter. We’ll have to go out of state. Knoxville would be safe. Or Bristol.”

“We can do that,” I agree, even if I’m unsure of who he wants included in theweor why we need to travel out of state. I’m so relieved he’s willing to get help, I’d probably agree to anything he says right now.

I sit up straighter, then pull out my phone to text the guys. “I think Locke’s been drinking, but I can text Kendrick? Or I can go up to the Nest and get Kylian.”

His hand shoots out and latches around my wrist.

“What part ofno one can knowdon’t you understand, Josephine?”

Wide-eyed, I jerk my arm out of his hold.

“I—I didn’t think you meant the guys,” I stammer. “Don’t you trust them?”

He huffs in frustration, closing his eyes and wincing. “Of course I trust them. But we’ve got a house full of people, all with cameras in their pockets. There’s no way to get to them without risking someone overhearing or getting a peek at a text message.”

Pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, he rises to his knees but keeps his head bowed.

I’m so out of my depth here. He needs help, yet he doesn’t want me to get anyone to help him. He’s willing to get checked out, but only at an out-of-state hospital. I’m at a loss about how to proceed, so I go back to rubbing his neck.

After a few minutes, I push my luck, hopeful he’ll let me find Kendrick.

“Any chance you’re being a little paranoid, Cap? Or could this be the potential concussion talking?”

Decker turns his head to look me in the eye. His pupils are so dilated it’s comical.

“You don’t understand. You have no fucking idea.” He groans, then locks his jaw and inhales deeply through his nose, either fighting back another wave of nausea or catching his breath.

Before I can press him to explain, he continues.

“They’re everywhere. All the time. They’re always watching me. Waiting. They don’t give a shit about privacy. Only looking to make a quick buck. I’ve lived this life for too long to luxuriate in the hope that I could go to a local hospital or send a text to my coaches without having to read stories about myself online tomorrow.”

Well, shit. I’d love to brush off his concern and attribute his paranoia to his ego, but the defeat in his voice and the exhaustion in his eyes affirm the truth. Plus, I’ve seen the evidence firsthand in my own Internet searches.

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