Huh.
I shoved a cereal bar in my mouth.
Drew looked me over. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been on the business end of one of Coop’s bullet pucks. Then run over with a Zamboni.”
“Yeah. Have the doctors been in to talk to you?”
“I don’t think so.” My forehead creased with a memory. “Actually, maybe. Yes. Where’s Molly, have you seen her? Did you know she operated on me?”
I watched Drew’s lips curl in as he tried to stifle a laugh.
“What? Have I already said that too?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I clearly can’t fucking remember, so remind me of everything that’s happened.”
Cooper stretched his arms above his head, his legs lengthening out in front of him before he settled back on the couch. “You were in a better mood this morning, for one.”
I ignored him and looked at Drew, who was starting to resemble one of those sad clowns with the weird crying faces.
He sighed. “You got checked hard into the boards last night, your femur snapped, which is why your leg’s in a brace, and they’ve inserted a titanium rod through it and it’s screwed into place. Your knee fractured from the impact, so they needed to pin it, and you have a small tear in your ACL. You’ll need another surgery in a couple of months to properly fix it.”
My mouth dropped at the same time my stomach did. Even on the meds which were making me dopey as fuck, I could feel the anxiety and bile swirling around, sucking in my belly button until it was almost touching my spine.
“What the fuck?” I croaked, running my hands through my hair, pulling on the ends. “My knee? What the actual fuck? Who did this?”
“Walls,” Cooper grunted from the couch.
I looked over to him, eyes wide. “Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Have the doctors said anything?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, Coach and the team docs came this morning and met with them. You’re gonna be out for nine months, but they’ve said there’s no reason you won’t make a full recovery and be back for next season.”
At least that was something, but I couldn’t stop the sledgehammer-like onslaught of frustration at the throbbing in my leg, my inability to move more than an inch, and my fucking career on hold for a year, all emanating in hot, angry tears.
Drew grabbed me in a hug and I sobbed on his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m so sorry.”
I could hear the emotion in his voice and knew I’d probably set him off crying again, because there was no way he hadn’t already been bawling his eyes out. I heard Freddie start from the confines of the couch and sniffed up the rest of my tears before we all started.
Except Coop; he wouldn’t.
Drew let go of me and I rubbed my free arm over my nose as Emerson emerged from the bathroom with a cold washcloth for me to use instead. I tried to shuffle back in the bed to sit up straighter, but every time I moved it jarred my leg, sending violent shocks of excruciating pain across the left side of my body, causing me to yelp loudly.
“Here, this will help.” Drew pressed a button on the bed and the back slowly slid up, moving me with it. “Sit forward more.” I did and he shifted a pillow behind my back. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you. Fuck knows how I’m going to take a piss when I can’t even sit up.” I grumbled.
“Dude, you’ve got a catheter.”
I looked up at him. “Have I?”
