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And his lip had a new scar.
“That game was bad,” I murmured, my eyes never leaving his lip. “I thought my heart was going to fall right out of my chest when I saw you take that hit.”
He didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about because there was only one game in the last eight years that I could be talking about.
Over the course of Linc’s career, he’d been lucky.
But the one game in particular I was talking about was so bad that it’d forever be ingrained in my heart.
It was pre-season, and he’d just been traded to his current team.
His new team hadn’t really known him well enough yet, and they’d been playing against his former team, who he’d had a beef with since the first day he’d started playing for them.
He hadn’t gotten along with the owner, a man that had been so strictly against all things biker and biker-related that he’d almost refused to allow Linc to play.
Unfortunately, the old owner had wanted to win almost as badly as he hated Linc, so his hand was pretty much forced.
But the moment he had the opportunity to obtain a player who could replace Linc James, he’d taken it.
Overall, it’d been the best move of Linc’s life.
However, it also meant that when Linc played his old team, he knew damn well he had to be on his guard or he might very well get hurt.
At first, it hadn’t been obvious to everyone else.
But, since Linc and I had been keeping in touch with texts and short phone calls when all this shit had started, I knew that Linc hadn’t had it easy.
Even when he’d told me that the time wasn’t right for us—which had broken my heart—I’d still been worried about him. I still watched every single game religiously, even if I had a big test to study for or I had to watch it at work on the TV in a patient’s room. My anger at him just giving up on us was tempered by my need to have him be my friend.
“Merriweather’s a dick.” Linc broke the silence and my thoughts.
Merriweather was a defensive lineman and in Linc’s old team owner’s pocket. Trevin Merriweather was a six-foot-five, three-hundred-and-forty-five-pound powerhouse who hit with the force of a Mack truck and took no prisoners. He hit Linc so hard during that game that he’d knocked Linc out cold.
Not only had he gotten a penalty for helmet-to-helmet contact, but he’d also gotten called for grabbing Linc’s facemask and throwing him to the ground. From there, the flags started coming from every referee like a ticker tape parade.
I’d been so upset at the time, seeing Linc’s still form laying almost brokenly on the AstroTurf, that it’d been almost impossible for me to think, let alone process what had been going on around Linc.
When Linc had gotten up, blood had begun pouring down his white jersey, soaking it and leaving me with a mental image that I’d never forget for the rest of my life.
Head wounds always bled profusely—I knew that. I’d been in my first semester of nursing school. But that knowledge didn’t matter since logic wasn’t prevailing at that time.
Despite being scared out of my mind, I’d called him…and he’d answered.
***
“Con?” I heard Linc rasp into the phone. “Are you okay?”
I gave a semi-hysterical laugh as I said, “You just got hit so hard that you were knocked unconscious, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
He snorted, and I could hear him hiss in a breath. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh. I think my ribs are broken.”
I felt something twist in the pit of my stomach.
“Really?” I breathed.
God, I hoped he was kidding.
If he’d really broken his ribs, he’d be out for weeks while they healed, and that was exactly what his old team wanted since they both were in the running for a wild card spot that would take them into the postseason.
“No,” he hesitated. “I think. Just fuckin’ sore as hell. Goddamn Merriweather.”
Goddamn Merriweather was right.
If I’d been capable of taking down a three-hundred-and-forty-five-pound man by myself, and I’d been in the same room as that piece of shit, I would’ve done it.
Happily.
And I think Linc knew that, because he started to chuckle.
God, I loved his laugh.
How he could laugh when all I wanted to do was cry was beyond me, but my God, just hearing him made me feel a ton better.
Which it shouldn’t. He left me, not the other way around.
But…
“Owwww, fuck!” Linc hissed.
I felt something in my gut lurch at hearing him in pain.
“What?” I whispered furiously.
“I have to have stitches. They just gave me a local anesthetic. Dammit, my perfect lips!” Linc whined.
That’s when I started to laugh through the tears.
***
“I still can’t believe that you actually answered,” I murmured, shaking my head.
