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“Fuck, let me get you to the hospital.”
“No!” I yelled, not wanting to be anywhere near the hospital. I would rather live the rest of my life in pain than I would go to a damn hospital.
“What if it's broken?”
“It's not,” I breathed, trying to get a grip. “I promise.”
He ran an agitated hand through his hair again while he looked down at me. A few minutes passed while he let me calm down, and when the tears finally stopped, he moved to a squat and scooped me into his arms.
ChapterNine
Rhys
“Let me take you home,” I whispered as I set Ash down on the bench near the sidelines.
“Just not a hospital,” she begged.
I knelt in front of her, making sure not to touch her where she hurt and steadied myself. “You think Colin is a pain in my ass now? Wait till he hears I broke his favorite player.”
She smiled softly at my words but then turned her face to stone and shook her head. “Don’t tell Coach. He has enough to worry about.”
“I think when you end up in a cast, he’ll notice.”
“It's a sprain. I promise. If I can fool Hunter over the weekend, I’ll be good as new by the game next Tuesday.” She moved her ankle a little to prove her point.
My teeth clenched when she mentioned Hunter. I didn’t particularly like Hunter to begin with, but ever since Ash panicked at the thought of him texting her, I downright hated him. He made her uncomfortable, and probably the rest of the team as well. There was no place for that shit on a team.
“Let me handle Hunter.”
A scoff, or an eye roll, seemed more likely than the laughter that my words created. Ash found me funny, but I was serious. It may have not been one of my best ideas, but it came to me instantly, and I planned to follow through.
Pulling my phone from a bag I had tossed to the bench when I arrived, I pulled Colin’s name up in a text message.
Hope all is going okay. Just sending a quick note to see if you can let Hunter know that Ash won't be at practice this weekend. I have off and gonna have her practice at the complex.
Ash read my screen, and I hit send before she could protest. “It’ll be okay,” I promised.
“Coach is going to freak out.”
“Nah. He knows how much I live for this game. He’ll just assume I have you as obsessed as I am. Stay put while I get the field cleaned up.”
She was scrolling her own phone when I got back and held it up as I got closer.
“Coach posted in the team forum that I wouldn’t be at practice this weekend.”
“Told you he would be fine.”
I threw both of our bags over my shoulders before I reached down and cradled her in my arms without warning. A squeal escaped as she held on tightly to my neck in an attempt to hang on.
“I can walk, Rhys.”
“Why bother if you don't have to,” I nudged her.
She felt like nothing in my arms, our size differences glaringly obvious. I easily made my way to my car and set her down by the passenger door. It was a 1967 Chevy Camaro, flat black, with a new engine and interior that would make most men piss themselves with envy. A gift to myself.
“Is this a 1968?” Ash asked, barely paying me any attention while I threw the bags in my trunk.
“Close. 1967.” I slammed the trunk closed and crossed my arms, eyeing her with a little bit of fascination, and a whole lot of concupiscence. Soccer was the first love of my life, but cars came in a close second. The fact that she was even within range made me swallow down the same feelings I got the other day when she got all angry and fired up.
