Page 107 of On the Wild Side

“Brady,” Abbi says, her face coming back on screen. It absolutelydestroysme to see the tears in her eyes and the fear on her face. “I want to come get you so bad. If it were literally any other day, I would drop everything?—”

“Baby,” I interrupt her, keeping my voice calm and soothing. Jesus, I need to get off the phone. “It’s okay. Millie will take care of it, and I’ll see you before dinner tomorrow. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Uh, not gonna happen, Cowboy.” She tries to smile. “Do everything they tell you to do. Don’t be stubborn. Hydrate.”

“Yes, ma’am.” God, she’s fucking adorable. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll call you in the morning and keep you posted on our drive back, okay?”

“Yeah.” She licks her lips. “Yes, please do that because I’m going to be a nervous wreck. I love you so much.”

“I love you, Blue Eyes. Don’t worry so much. I’mfine.”

“Text me the info,” Millie reminds me. “I’m on my way.”

“Call Chase or Rem to come with you,” I instruct her again, but she just rolls her eyes.

“Don’t worry about this. Hang tight. I’ll keep you posted.”

She clicks off, and I reach for the barf bag and let my stomach empty itself.

“I have anti-nausea pills for you,” Doc says. “Take them every six hours as needed. Tylenol for the headache. Get some rest. It’s not a severe concussion, so you can safely sleep. I recommend you go back to the hotel and rest until your sister gets here.”

“I’ll help him back to the hotel,” Dan says. “Come on, buddy.”

“I fucking hate all of this.”

The hotel is nearby, and once in my room, I take the Tylenol, press an ice pack to my shoulder, and call my agent.

I need a shower, but I want the ice more, and I can talk to Sandy while I ice down.

“Hey, Brady,” she says. “It’s late.”

“Not in Wyoming,” I reply. “I want to retiretoday.”

She’s quiet for a moment, obviously stunned speechless. “What happened?”

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before, but damn it, I’m over the fucking concussions and torn shoulder. And I terrified my girl tonight. I’m over it. I’m ready to be done.”

“Brady,” she says with a sigh. “Youcan’tjust quit. Here’s the thing, I understand that you’re ready to retire, and I don’t blame you. Your poor body has taken one hell of a beating over the years. But you’re under a contract, and you have sponsorships.”

“None of which say that I don’t get paid if I get injured and have to step back.”

“If it’s a career-ending injury, yes. But no doctor is going to say that this is career-ending. Am I wrong?”

I close my eyes, so fucking frustrated that I want to punch my fist through the wall.

“No. They wouldn’t sign off on that.”

“So, here’s what you’re going to do. Are you listening to me?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re going to take the next few weeks off, or however long you were told you need to heal, and then you’re going to finish out this season. If you win, you get one hell of a fucking bonus, but either way, you’re going to finish it. We’ll announce the day after championships that you’re retiring, and you’ll get the big party and induction into the hall of fame, and more sponsorships because brands eat that shit up. I’m setting you and your family up for the rest of your life here.”

“How do you know that I have a family?”

“Because the Brady I’ve worked with for more than a decade wouldnotwillingly quit. I figure there’s a woman involved here, and you’re the one who mentioned her in the first place. That concussion is fucking with you.”

I blow out a breath but don’t confirm or deny.

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