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“Holden, can you hear me? Welcome back, man,” Tate, our emergency care lead doctor said as he passed what I assumed were smelling salts off to somebody nearby.
I blinked slowly and breathed out heavily through my nose, the scent of ammonia still strong in my nostrils. Jesus God, I hurt. “What happened?” At least, I hoped that’s what I said. The rush of blood through my head made it hard to think. And holy fucking hell, the pain. What the fuck did I get hit by, a Mack truck?
“No, man. Quiddich. Dude’s a beast,” Tate answered.
Apparently, I’d said that last bit out loud.
Two other medical staff members flanked me, and I saw that one was our young, gorgeous female doctor—one of the best in the league. Sadly, I didn’t know her very well outside of what I’d witnessed, but the team spoke highly of her, and she’d always intrigued me. Though intrigued was probably too tame a word.
Once Tate had determined that there was nothing wrong with my head and that I was only groggy because I’d blacked out from the pain, they eased my helmet off. I gulped a better breath, attempting to work through the agony.
Tate leaned over me, and I took in his wispy, platinum-blond hair. I had the insane and ridiculous thought that with the sun behind him, he kind of looked like an angel. I was about to laugh when a wave of torment hit me again.
“Goddamn, sonofabitch, motherfucking cocksucker. Holy fucking hell.”
Tate laughed but then schooled his features. “So, what’s making you swear like a sailor?”
“The shoulder, man. The ankle. Both. More? I dunno. I heard a crack. Felt a pop. A tearing sensation. Something. It’s not good. Hard to…breathe.” Tate nodded as if he already knew that and then moved down my body. He maneuvered his way around my equipment to check the spots in question. The minute he got close to the injured areas and barely touched them, I about flew off the turf. I cried out but tried to smother it before I made too much of a scene. Unfortunately, I only accomplished stifling the reaction and morphing it into a loud groan and a choking sound. It felt like lightning-struck broken glass being churned between my bones and muscles, while my ligaments were set on fire after being doused in acid. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but… No wait, yes. Yes, it was. Some big, bad football player I was turning out to be.
When I finally got out of my head and glanced up, Tate flashed me a look that I couldn’t call anything but grave before looking at our injury management specialist. I knew that expression; had stood praying around my brothers writhing on the turf enough times. I had watched while the team doctor gave that same look to men at the pinnacle of their careers, making them realize that it was the end.
This was end game for me.
Despair wracked my body, and I threw my uninjured arm over my eyes and gave in to the desolation.
“Fuck.” I couldn’t have held back the sobs if I tried. As I regulated my breathing and tried to calm myself, I heard Tate calling to someone.
It sounded like it was coming from far away, but I heard what was said.
“Tamryn, as I’m sure you surmised, our boy has a bunch of issues. None of them good. Ankle for sure. Throwing shoulder. We won’t know until we get scans if they’re broken or just dislocated, or if there’s even more damage beyond the obvious. But it doesn’t look good. Can I count on you?”
“Of course, but—” I heard her start before Tate cut her off.
“I know this probably won’t be easy on you given what you went through as a kid, but Holden needs you.”
“I’m on it,” she agreed.
For some reason, I needed to see her. I needed to look into her eyes.
I swiped my hand over my face, dropped my arm above my head, and met her gaze.
The solemnity I saw in her expression was tempered only by the trepidation I also noticed there. But what I didn’t see was pity. And for that, I was grateful.
I tried to sit up, but a gentle hand immediately pushed me back down.
“Holden, you need to keep still,” Tamryn urged.
“I’m fine,” I argued.
She laughed ruefully. “Sure, fine. You’re fine. God save me from stubborn men.” She shook her head and moved in closer to me. “Holden, you’re anything but fine. We’re not just talking about football anymore. We’re talking about you being able to walk and having the use of your right arm. We’re talking about quality of life. This isn’t just about the game; this is about way more.”
“Football is life. But you wouldn’t know that.”
“Oh, for the love of Christ. You’re right. I’m only a woman,” she whisper-shouted. “Just forget that I’m the youngest injury management doctor in the league. One with the best track record of recoveries, by the way. But how would I know what the hell I’m talking about?” She threw up her hands and backed away a few steps.
“Tate, take care of your boy.” She shot an exasperated look at my friend and then glared at me. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
As she stormed off, I heard her mumbling something, but I couldn’t quite catch what it was. From the tone of her voice, though, it wasn’t anything good.
