Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
My feet flew as I made my way down to the locker room and medical bay. It didn’t matter what kind of security pass I had when everyone who worked at the stadium knew I was Coach Vining’s son. Several of the guards had known me since I was young, and the assistant coaches had all gotten lectures from me behind the scenes about helping keep junk food out of my dad’s hands after his cholesterol and blood pressure results had come in too high.
“Mikey, what’s shakin’?” Krystal asked from the hallway outside the medical offices. She was one of the physical therapists on staff.
“Where’s Raine?”
She opened the door next to her and pointed. “Second bay on the right. Dislocated shoulder went back in already. Hopefully nothing more than a deep hematoma from impact other than that.”
I made my way toward the bay, ignoring a man I didn’t know telling me this area was off-limits to fans. Finally, I saw Dr. Bindi come out of the bay and stopped short. “Michael. Good to see you.”
“How is he?”
He held up a finger and ducked back into the bay where I heard him ask Tiller if I could come in. I didn’t wait for a response. I hustled in there and started snapping.
“Why the fuck did Maple Leaf throw that pass to you when you were in double coverage and that giant fucking side of beef was standing there waiting to take you out?”
My eyes roamed over every inch of his body, taking in the sweaty, matted hair, the tired and pained eyes, and the missing jersey. Other than holding a very painful arm against his front, he seemed okay. My body began to shake violently as the adrenaline crash dropped. I didn’t like to think about why I cared so damned much.
He let go of his hurt arm and reached out a hand to me. “Come here.”
I took it and stepped closer, still examining every inch of him I could.
Tiller eyed Dr. Bindi. “Can you give us a minute? And look out for my agent—he’s probably going to come storming in any minute, too.”
As soon as we were alone, Tiller pulled me close and gave me a tight side hug. The move surprised me. We’d never hugged before or shown any other kind of physical affection other than the odd slap to the back of his head when he annoyed me or him ruffling my hair because he knew it drove me crazy.
I didn’t mind the sweat at all. In fact, I might have liked it a little too much.
It was the fact he was shaking too that I minded. A lot.
“Fuck,” he said gruffly into my neck. Even his voice was shaking. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Are you okay?” His voice wasn’t the only one shaking. “I thought maybe you’d lost consciousness. I couldn’t breathe.”
“I think I was just stunned for a minute. My mind kept going toward the goal when my body had been laid flat out.”
“Concussion protocol?” I asked, pulling out of the hug so I could look at his face.
He nodded. “They’re going to put me in the tube regardless, but they’re pretty sure there’s nothing like that. They’re more worried about my arm. I can’t really… I can’t really move it.”
I grabbed a nearby towel and began to wipe the sweat off his face and push his hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut,” I murmured.
His voice was rough with pain. “You like it shaggy like this.”
I caught his eye at the unexpected observation. “Is that why you canceled the haircut appointment with Ricki?”
He blushed and looked down. “How mad is your dad going to be?”
I felt my nostrils flare. “Well, I hope he skins Maple Leaf alive. He deserves it.”
Tiller winced out a slight smile. “His name is Mopellei. Or you can call him Derek.”
“I’m not calling him shit. Stupid Canadian asshole. Does he even have any other play than send the ball to Raine and hope Raine saves everyone’s fucking bacon? Jesus. Shake it up a little. Doesn’t he realize that’s why you’re in double or triple coverage to begin with? Fuck.”
“You sound like your dad right now.” Tiller tugged on the hem of the Raine jersey I wore. “When did you get this?”
Oh god, he was going to be insufferable. “I spilled beer on my Saris jersey and this is all they had on the clearance rack at the concession shop.”
Thunderclouds darkened his face. “I will find every Saris jersey in my house and burn them in your favorite oven.”
I laughed. It felt good to laugh. Whatever his injury was, we’d get through it the way we always did. “Mess with my ovens and see how many eggs I can fit on one salad. I dare you.”
Dr. Bindi came back in with another doctor. “You remember Dr. Sullivan. She’s the soft-tissue specialist. We’re going to take you for some tests to assess the damage to the shoulder and arm. You’ll need the brain scan, too, just to rule out the concussion. I’m afraid the rest of your evening will be taken up with tests. Is there anyone you want us to call to keep you company?”