Page 25 of Subtracting the Heart

Before he knew what was happening, cops were swarming the shelter, taking pictures and combing through the things in Ford’s car. Cade was ready to totally give up on humanity. He’d been trying to do the right thing and yet again, the sky opened to soak him. He sat in the back seat in handcuffs and cried, not able to wipe his own nose. Crying was the only thing he could do.

Chapter Eleven

Jax

Jackson Delacroix sat on a gurney in the emergency room, madder than an old wet hen, as his mother used to say in her Cajun drawl. The motherfucking left offensive tackle had snuck up on him as Jax was heading for the QB, and Jax had been careless, not checking his other side. The fuck didn’t have to spear him in the shin, but the guy clearly wanted to be the one to take the Cajun out for the rest of the season. That was one reason he was pissed.

Another reason for his rancor was because they wouldn’t allow Ford to ride with him in the ambulance. Ronnie Howell, the team doctor, had ridden with him, which was fine, but Jax wanted Ford and Kincade. He’d been told Ford was in the waiting room but he couldn’t come back because he wasn’t family. That shit would be handled as soon as Jax could get the fuck out of the bed. That was another thing that pissed him off.

“Yoo-Hoo! You decent, Mr. Delacroix?” It was the bitchy nurse who’d cut his uniform pants off him, adding gasoline to his rage. He’d used them all season, and they’d brought good luck. She also didn’t give a fuck he was only wearing a jock and cup, not bothering to give him a blanket to cover up.

“Do not come in here!I want a fuckin’ doctor.” The words came out in a growl.

The infuriating woman tittered as she came in with a tray. “Get over it. I grew up in a house with six brothers who all thought they were badasses. Here. This will help with the pain and maybe put you in a better mood so you can get your X-rays. Your friend’s pacing to beat the band out there, bothering the receptionist every five minutes. Will he call your next of kin?”

He looked at her name tag to see her name was Gwen. “Miss Gwen, my friend, the blond, is my next of kin. He’s my fiancé.”

She snickered. “That’s right. You’re the queer one.”

He was about ready to get up off the bed, broken leg or not, and punch the bitch. “I’ll have you fired, I swear.”

“Oh, stop. Those brothers I told you about? Two of them are gay. I’m not homophobic, Mr. Delacroix. I’m keeping your fiancé updated on your condition. It’s just we need the damn radiologist to get his ass—”

The door opened and Ronald Howell came inside, frowning when he saw Jax still sitting on the gurney. “Why isn’t he in X-ray? We need to get a cast on this leg and get this man home to his family.” Dr. Howell’s bitchy tone brought Jax much pleasure and a small smile to his face

“I was just explaining to Mr. Delacroix how the radiologist-on-call is celebrating his holiday with his family and isn’t answering the page. What would you like me to do, doctor?” she asked nicely.

“Page the head of radiology and give him my number. In the meantime, take this man down to radiology and let the tech take the X-rays. I’ll sign the chart.” He then told her some things she wrote down before leaving.

“I’m sorry, Jax. This wait is bullshit. I have privileges here, but I’m only here if one of you guys are, and you’ve been healthy for a very long time. Now, you want anything?” Dr. Howell asked.

“Ford’s waiting outside, and he’s pacing, I’m told. Please let him come into the room with me. He’s probably out of his mind.”

“Of course, Jackson. Stan’s here, too. You want him to come back?” the doctor asked, apparently knowing Stanley Adams, his agent.

Jax laughed. “Sure. More the merrier, I guess. Can I get something to cover my dick? That woman had no shame.”

The doctor laughed and left the room. Seconds later, Ford stormed into the room, panic on full display. The nurse came in behind him with a blanket and an ice blanket she gently draped over his lower leg, winking at him as she left. He just laughed.

“God, love, are you… How bad is it?” Ford walked to the other side of the bed where Jax’s good leg was hanging off. They’dremoved his pads at the stadium to make the ambulance ride more comfortable, and Jax was grateful.

“The best-case scenario is a fractured fibula and tibia. Medium case, they’re clean breaks and healing will be less troublesome. I’m young enough I shouldn’t need surgery if they can set them, and that’s going to fucking hurt. Worst case, one or both of the bones is shattered which will require steel rods, screws, and an entire erector set in there. That’s multiple surgeries and a rehabilitation center, which I’ll hate.”

Not only would football be out of the question, his hopes of being a trainer at his own gym would as well. He could run the damn gym, but he would only be a limping figurehead. That wasn’t how he wanted to end his football career or carry forward in the second half of his life.

“Have you called Kincade?” Jax asked, not wanting to ponder on the third option.

“I was waiting to call until we had some news, but I guess I should go ahead and do it. He’s likely worried.” Ford quickly hit the speed dial on his phone. Cade’s phone rang five times before it went through to voicemail. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m here with Jackson.”

Jax took the phone, smiling at his harried boyfriend. “I’m fine, chére. Hopefully, we’ll be home in a few hours. There are gifts for the kids in the garage. I’d like to be there when they open them, but if this shit goes too long, let them go ahead. I’m sorry most of its team stuff like sweats, T-shirts, and the sort, but at least it’s something for them to wear until we can shop for them. Don’t worry about me. Love you, Kincade.”

Ford took the phone back. “I love you, too. I’ll call you when I have more news.”

Two hours later, the head of radiology had arrived at the hospital, read his X-rays, and the news wasn’t awful. Clean break on the fibula and three fractures of the tibia, mid-shin.

That doctor was followed up by the best ortho at the hospital who would send him home with a brace and crutches to allow the swelling to go down, and the leg would be cast the next week. He was to stay off it as much as possible and keep it elevated. He refused painkillers any stronger than Tylenol, but he vowed to take the anti-inflammatory that had been prescribed.

Nurse Gwen was kind enough to give him a pair of scrubs to wear home if he gave her the sweaty t-shirt he’d worn under his pads. He signed it and handed it to her. “Don’t perve on it,” Jax teased.

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