Page 84 of Sack

Ivy’s phone dinged, and she looked down to see a text from her mom wanting to finalize plans for Thanksgiving. She was just about to text back when she heard a collective gasp from the fans. Her head popped up, eyes flying to the field. “What did I miss?”

“Colt just got sacked.”

Ivy cringed as she watched the instant replay on the jumbotron. She hated seeing Colt at the bottom of a dogpile. It made her stomach feel sick every damn time.

Ivy’s eyes never left the screen as three opposing players stood, revealing Colt, lying on the ground, not moving. A couple of coaches from the sideline ran onto the field.

“Shit, I hope he’s okay.”

Her heart in her throat, Ivy couldn’t respond to Emerson’s comment.

The camera angle changed, and Ivy breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Colt sit up, but he still wasn’tgettingup. The two coaches grabbed him under the arms and helped him stand. The crowd cheered as he was helped off the field, but Ivy wasn’t as gleeful. He was hopping, one leg bent at the knee to keep it from touching the ground. He might not be grievously injured but something was wrong.

Her gaze stayed glued on Colt as he was loaded onto a cart and driven away.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Emerson said.

But Ivy knew better. Something major had just happened if Colt was too injured to play.

Chapter Eighteen

Colt

“The good news is it’s not broken.”

Colt sat on a stainless-steel table in the medical office adjacent to the locker room, having just had his ankle x-rayed. He eyed the team’s orthopedist. “And the bad news?”

“I can’t be certain without an MRI, but with the amount of swelling, I’d guess it’s a grade two sprain with a partial ligament tear. You’ll be out for two to four weeks depending on how fast you heal.”

Colt’s jaw locked. Fucking perfect. Though the outcome could have been worse if he’d broken something. But it could have been a hell of a lot better if he’d just twisted the damn thing.

“Let me wrap it and get you a boot. You’ll need to stay off it and elevate and ice as much as possible if you want a fast recovery time.”

Colt would keep his ass in bed twenty-four seven if that’s what it took to get him back out on the field sooner rather than later.

He was just getting fitted for a boot when he heard hoots and hollers from the locker room.

“Sounds like we won,” Dr. Pierce said, adjusting the last Velcro strap. He slapped Colt’s knee. “You’re still going to need crutches, but this will protect the ankle.”

“What’s the prognosis, Doc?” Cress materialized in the doorway.

“Two to four weeks,” Pierce said, knowing Coach didn’t want an injury but a recovery update.

Colt saw Oz come up behind Cress, his size making it impossible for him to fit through the door with their Coach blocking half of it. “How are you feeling?”

Colt swung his good foot to the floor and put all his weight on it, keeping hold of the table for support. “I’ll live.” He grabbed the crutches Pierce handed him. “I need to change.” He also needed to call Ivy. She hated seeing him tackled on the field and could only imagine how worried she’d been at seeing him carted off.

He hobbled to his locker and retrieved his phone before carefully planting his ass on the bench.

“Colt. Thank goodness you called. I’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m fine. Just a sprain, but I’ll be out for a couple of weeks.” He’d be back on the field in two if it killed him.

“I’ll grab my car and pull it around to take you home. You can’t drive in your condition.”

“I don’t want you to go through the trouble. Oz can do it.”

“And is Oz going to stay and take care of you?”

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