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There’s a beat of silence before Coach murmurs: “I see.”
Just that. Two words followed by more silence. I look up to find him watching me. “Does that have anything to do with your and Nixon’s brawl from a few weeks ago?”
I press my lips together, not saying a word.
We just stare at one another, and neither of us speaks for a while. After the fight, both Nixon and I kept our mouths shut. There was no sense in pointing the blame, and it’s not how this shit is solved anyway.
“Idiots,” Coach murmurs. “Get your ass out of my office and get to work.”
I nod my head in understanding and turn on my feet to leave, but he stops me before I can make two steps.
“And Wentworth?”
I look over my shoulder: “Yes, Coach?”
“The next time you don’t show up for practice without notice, Iwillbench you. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly.”
* * *
JADE
“You’re annoying me.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Nixon protests, stopping in the doorway.
“You didn’t have to.” Letting out a sigh, I push myself upright, making sure to keep my expression as neutral as possible. People in my life don’t deal well with pain. Me being in pain, most specifically. Especially not men. “This is the third time today you’re at my place, Nixon.”
“Can’t a brother check in on his little sister who’s recuperating from surgery?”
I roll my eyes at him. “At this point, you might as well move in.”
“Well, about that…”
“No,” I shake my head. “Don’t you even dare go there, or I might call the cops on you.”
“First, you’d need to be able to reach your phone.”
“I can reach my phone just fine if properly motivated.”
Nixon lifts his brows. “So why haven’t you answered my texts?”
“Because you’re annoying me.”
This morning, I was discharged from the hospital with clear instructions to take it easy. No lifting my arms. No carrying heavy weight. Don’t do anything with repetitive motions, which includes most housework activities—the only blessing that has come from this.
I was still feeling pretty tired. And in pain. I was itching, and there was this strange pull every time I tried to move my arms, which didn’t help.
I had yet to look at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, though. I couldn’t look at my chest. I wasn’t ready.
Nixon lets out a sigh as he enters the room. The bed creeks as he sits down. “I’m just worried about you.”
“The doctor said everything is fine. There is no—”
“I don’t care about what the doctor says,” Nixon interrupts me. “How areyoufeeling?”
“I—” I open my mouth, the lie on the tip of my tongue, but the words don’t come. Pressing my lips together, I clear my throat and try again, this time settling for the truth. “Tired. And bored out of my mind. At this point, going back to classes and listening to my lit professor talk bullshit about long, dead men sounds appealing.”
