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It felt good to laugh. Markus went immediately into a discussion about Indiana’s poor football history and what they needed to do to fix things. That led to a discussion about the Riggers and what we needed to do to fix things. As I followed him into the restaurant, I knew the questions were coming. Thankfully, we were stopped by fans several times on the way to our table. When we finally sat down, he pinned me with a look.
“They need you back out there against Pittsburgh. Tell me how it went. What did the docs say?”
I tried not to let my earlier panic return. “I have radial nerve damage. Everything else is pretty good, but my grip is for shit. I think that’s why the Colorado PT and the team PTs disagreed. They learned my shoulder was doing well but didn’t trust his assessment of my grip.”
“What does that mean for Sunday?”
I shrugged. “I managed to catch some stuff in practice, but I certainly wasn’t back to normal. I guess it’ll depend on Coach’s assessment of my current-level injured versus Brent’s current-level healthy. He’s going to let Mopellei chime in, too, which probably means they’ll put me in.”
“What’s your gut telling you about playing this weekend?”
I appreciated Markus not jumping on the bandwagon to get me back on the field, but at the same time, his interest was mostly selfish. I would make him more money the longer I stayed healthy. Going back too soon and fucking up my arm might be great for the Riggers’ season, but it wouldn’t be great for my long-term playability. I wondered which of those two things Coach would choose if he had to make a tough call.
“My gut is telling me I don’t want a career-ending injury, and right now this feels like it’s on the cusp of becoming one. Hell, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and this is after a light practice and all the TLC afterward with icing and whatnot.” I held out my hand and made a fist before opening it back up and trying to hold it steady. It wobbled a little after the PT session and practice. There was no telling what a full-length pro game would do to it, especially against Pittsburgh’s defense. And what if Mopellei threw me the ball on a critical play and I botched it?
I met Markus’s eyes. “The PT in Colorado said if I got hit again before it fully heals, it can cause permanent nerve damage. The team docs couldn’t disagree.”
He studied me for a minute before pulling out his phone to type in a note. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to get you in to see a private specialist who’s not affiliated with the team. We’ll get another opinion and then reassess. Sound good?”
I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yes. Thank you. That’s a great idea.”
Before he finished typing, he muttered under his breath. “Let’s hope we can find someone who doesn’t have loose lips.”
By the time we finished dinner and Markus dropped me off at home, I was ready to collapse. We’d gotten up early in the morning to make the drive to Denver, and it felt like it had been the longest day in history.
The kitchen light was already out, leaving only the night-light by the stove. I grabbed a protein bar and bottle of water before trudging upstairs to my room. When I saw a sleepy, sexy Mikey snuggled deep in my bed with his dark-framed glasses perched on his nose and an iPad propped on his chest, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
“Hey,” I said in a rough voice.
Mikey put the iPad on the bedside table and sat up, revealing a worn Riggers tee that gaped over his bare collarbone. Suddenly, it seemed like my whole entire body clenched with need, only this wasn’t some kind of physical or sexual need. I needed him here, like this, for me to come home to.
Forever.
Fuck.
“You okay?” he asked, frowning a little and tilting his head.
I shook my head, dropped my stuff in a nearby chair, and kicked off my shoes before stripping down to my boxer briefs and striding over to him. He opened the covers to invite me in. I saw his bare legs below his rucked-up boxer briefs. He was so beautiful, so hot and tempting and there.
“I need you,” I said, reaching out to pull his shirt off. When it pulled off his head, it left his hair every which way and knocked his glasses askew. “Sorry, baby,” I murmured. “I just—”
He knelt up to kiss me, stopping my words and giving me permission to touch him again. I wrapped my arms around him and laid him back down on the soft sheets before propping myself on top of him carefully and continuing to kiss him.
