Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“He came on his own, bro. You’re a natural—he’ll see it.”
I clear my throat. “You should get going. Charisma mentioned you’re getting fitted for a suit for the draft today.”
He’s quiet for a few moments. “Yeah, it’s kickass, serious dark gray on the outside with a paisley lining in school colors. Sharp. Penelope helped me pick it out.”
I try to laugh but wince when a bolt of pain ricochets across my foot. “Go get it.”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“Just…go.”
“I’m not leaving, so shut the fuck up.”
I meet his eyes and see the careful, apprehensive expression he’s wearing.
“We’ve known each other for four years, man. You’ve been my go-to on the field and my roommate. That shit runs deep. We’re family,” he says.
I close my eyes, my throat tightening as I fight back emotion. Family. I like that, I do, but right now I’m barely keeping shit together. I want to stand up and beat on the wall. I want to slam my fist into something hard over and over.
“Dude…just go. Please.”
He gives me a long look. “No. That suit can wait. You can’t. Whatever happens, I’m here.”
I may not have a real family, but he’s here and it means something. And Charm?
Why did I push her away? Why am I still holding part of me back—
I forget that as Jack Calloway, the head trainer and our team doctor, comes in and examines me.
I glare down at the foot. It’s gotten bigger, looking ugly and turning purple.
“What kind of pain level are you at?” His manner is brusque, keeping his face set.
“Fine, none. Just a twinge, really.”
He frowns. “Blaze, look at it. His cleats tore you up. What’s your pain level? I need to know so I can prescribe something if needed.”
I swallow and look away from him. If I tell him the truth, that it’s making me want to pass out, he’ll write me a script for heavy drugs, and that’s not good. It means I’m close to being unable to run for several days.
“Aleve will knock it out, sir. Swear.”
He thinks about that and gives me a level look. “Okay, if you say so. Let’s get you X-rayed.”
One of the trainers comes in and helps me into a wheelchair, and my fists stay clenched in my lap. This is…bullshit.
Later, I’m back in the room, and minutes tick by in the quiet space. I’m constantly changing out packs, switching from ice to heat and back again.
Archer walks by the room and stands at the doorway. There’s no remorse on his face, not an ounce.
“Even with a hurt foot, I’m faster than you, asshole,” I say, teeth grinding. “Your day is coming.”
“Move on, Archer,” Ryker says, marching over to the door and glaring at him, his fists curled.
Archer looks like he wants to trash-talk, but in the end, he just curls his lip and keeps on walking.
Ryker walks back over to me and takes a seat next to the exam table. “You got this, man. You got this.”
But I think I hear uncertainty in his voice and it crawls over me.
I dart my eyes around at the room. God. The wait kills me, my body jacked and itching to get up and move around. I count the tiles on the ceiling, on the floor, mind spinning. I close my eyes and think about the Combine, about going and sitting on the sidelines while all the other wide receivers from other teams show what they’ve got.
If I don’t have football…
Would Charm want me? Would she leave?
How miserable would I be to live with?
Stop, just stop!
Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe it’s just a strain and you need to rest. Maybe it’s just a blip in the big picture. Think of all the shit your body has been through, the bruises, torn ligaments, sore muscles…yeah, it’s like that, it is, it is, it is, it is—
Jack Calloway walks in holding an ankle brace. Coach Sanders and Head Coach Alvarez are with him, faces grim.
I feel the blood draining from my face. “I don’t need a goddamn boot!”
His mouth flattens to a straight line. “I’m telling you the good news first. You don’t need surgery to repair anything. I don’t see any compound damage.”
“But?”
“You have a hairline fracture in the high-ankle region. Nothing career-ending, but you need to get keep weight off of it for a few weeks, at least two at minimum. Frankly, that’s pushing it. You’ll need the boot on to walk. You can take it off when you’re resting—”
My chest heaves as I cut him off. “That’s crazy. The Combine is in a week! I need to be at full speed.” I look down at my ankle. “Look, let me show you.” I move to stand, tentative as I place my right foot on the floor. Shards of sensation rocket over the muscles, and I grit my teeth. Sweat drips down my back. “Fresh as a daisy, sir.”