Page 68 of Bad Boy Neighbor

Yet words are just that.

There are no more questions, no more hesitation.

I will show him.

And the first step will be to tell Nicholas we are officially over.

Twenty

Oliver

Surrounded by expired magazines, I sit in the waiting room, watched by a receptionist with glasses so thick, I’m surprised she can even see me.

My mind begins to wander to last night. Gabriella at the mercy of my touch. Every inch of her perfect body beneath me. The taste of her slick skin against the tip of my tongue. She’s everything I imagined her to be at that moment, if not surpassing my every fantasy.

She begged me to take her in every way possible. To explore her body in ways I know no man had ever ventured to, and I did just that.

I held nothing back.

I know I was selfish, taking her rough like she’s mine, and I have to return her with the threat of never feeling her again. And perhaps, it warrants some truth. By midnight, she left me alone, promising me with a single stare that what we shared meant more to her than her words could communicate.

I slept like a fucking baby after that.

Unlocking my phone, I look at the screen for the millionth time. It’s ten minutes past my appointment time, and Gabriella is nowhere in sight. I send her a text, asking how long she’ll be, and wait for her response. There’s nothing. So, I try to call, only to reach a dead end.

“Mr. Madden, Dr. Fredricks will see you now.”

I smile at the receptionist, hiding my disappointment, and head toward the room staring one more time at my phone then the main door. Nothing. Reluctantly, I walk in and take a seat.

Dr. Fredricks begins by introducing himself, his credentials, and throws in a few jokes about Harvard Medical School. While his jokes appear to be a segue in getting me to calm the fuck down, I just need answers. My nerves are triggering, my knee bouncing beneath the large oak table. A small insect bite on my arm begins to irritate me, my fingers scratching repeatedly without any relief.

He speaks in great detail about my injury, talking me through the X-rays for what seems like forever. I try my best to concentrate. This is my fucking livelihood here, but my mind keeps wandering to Gabriella.

Where the fuck is she?

Dr. Fredricks recommends a specific surgery to correct my injury. He explains in great length what is involved and what the desired outcome should be.

I jump the gun, asking the burning question. “Doc, will I get to play again?”

Dr Fredricks places his glasses on the table, giving me a reassuring smile. “Oliver, I feel confident that the surgery, combined with extensive rehabilitation which will include full rest and commitment to physical therapy, we can have you playing in eight to twelve months. Twelve months being the ideal time.”

I want to hug him, but at the same time, a part of me wanted to share this moment with Gabriella.

Where the hell is she?

This is the news I have been hoping for. Flying across the world, searching desperately for answers. And to hear this? It means the world to me.

I will be back in the game.

“I understand your deadline and desperation to get back on the field. Now, normally I don’t do this type of surgery, but luckily, I’ve had a cancellation. I can operate in two weeks. It will be done at the University of Colorado Hospital. You’ll need to do most of your rehabilitation in the States. We can talk in greater detail if you’d like to be transferred to another state to continue that, then you’re free to go back to Australia.”

We called Coach, telling him the news. I can hear the relief in his voice, and just like always, he warned me no mucking up, follow the doctor’s orders, get off my arrogant arse, and don’t push myself.

I’d spent another hour filling out paperwork, giving consent to the surgery until I’m done.

Saying goodbye to Dr. Fredricks, I linger in the waiting room to call Ma and Pa.

“Olly, that’s wonderful,” Ma cries over the speaker. “Pa and I will fly up to be with you. No arguing, okay?”

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