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“Sebastian,” Landon said, “I’m going to have to reset your leg. It’s better for me to do it now; we won’t have proper medical treatment for at least twelve hours.”
I tried to nod, but wasn’t sure if I managed it or not.
“You hear me?” Landon called out. I felt his hand on the top of my head. “Fucking answer me if you can.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
“I’m going to set your leg now. You want a fucking bullet to bite on?”
“No.” I laughed, but it hurt like a motherfucker.
“Good.”
Maybe I should have asked for one.
I heard the crack and then myself screaming. After that, everything went dark.
Gunter Darke used to tell me what banging heroin felt like. He would describe it in great detail, everything from the needle prick in his arm to the pressure of the fluid filling his veins. Then he’d talk about the warm, sleepy feeling like it was the best fucking thing in the world, better than Christmas morning, better than rich desserts, better than orgasms.
I was sinking. I felt heavy everywhere though there wasn’t any discernable pain. I was dizzy, and when I tried to understand why, I realized I didn’t have any idea where I was or what had happened to me. My eyelids felt heavy as I pried them open.
I’d been in enough hospital rooms to recognize the setup. There were white walls, dimmed lights, and a lot of beeping machines. I was on my back with a sheet pulled up to my chest, but my arms were on top of the covers. One of them had an IV hooked up to it. My left leg was encased in a cast and elevated off the bed in traction.
“Bastian?” a feminine voice spoke.
I moved my eyes toward the sound, and a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman sat near me in an oversized chair. She was a tiny thing—petite in frame with long, straight hair flowing past her shoulders. She stood as I looked at her and moved close to the bed.
She was beautiful, but her eyes were sad.
I tried to place her, but nothing came to me other than pain and throbbing. My throat was dry, and I couldn’t swallow properly. She reached over to touch my face with her hand. Her expression was so tender and familiar, but I couldn’t remember who she was.
As I looked around again, I figured I must have recently finished a tournament though I couldn’t remember the details. All the games kind of flowed together anyway. Obviously I’d won, or I wouldn’t be here at all.
Where’s Landon?
I couldn’t speak to ask.
The woman’s eyes filled with tears. Had I been sleeping with her before the tournament? She wasn’t dressed like a nurse, but she seemed awfully concerned for someone who had just spent a single night with me. Maybe she was just like that. I wished I could remember her name.
“Can you hear me?” she asked.
I opened my mouth, but my lips were as dry and cracked as my throat felt. The woman reached over to the table beside the bed and held a glass of water with a straw up to my lips. I couldn’t lift my head to drink, but she angled the straw for me to take a few sips.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
I still couldn’t place her. I thought about her question and did a mental evaluation of my body before I tried to speak.
“Leg hurts,” I croaked.
“It’s broken,” the woman said.
I’d assumed so from the cast. I took a deep breath and focused on my other limbs. My right thigh felt a little strange, and I was achy almost everywhere. My head was pounding, making it hard to think.
“What else?” I asked.
She pulled a rolling chair close to the side of the bed and took my hand in hers.
“Your leg was basically crushed,” she said quietly. “You’ve gone through two surgeries to fix it. The ligaments and tendons around your knee had to be repaired, too. You have a really bad concussion, and Landon said you…you…”
