Page 2 of Gamble
Shane jumped behind the wheel of their own cart, taking off way too fast as he added, “Does it help that Nalani is helping Avery with her catering duties today? She was just telling me a few days ago how she missed seeing you.”
He’d always had a soft spot for the executive housekeeper turned fiancée of Shane Covington. He liked to think of Nalani as the pseudo-daughter he’d never had, which unfortunately made the guy driving the golf cart like a bat outta hell his future son-in-law.
After taking a curve entirely too fast, Elijah gave him shit. “I managed to have a twenty-three-year career in one of the most dangerous professions, traveling across the globe without getting myself killed. It would be a shame to bite the dust riding in a fucking golf cart in Beverly Hills.”
“You losing your nerve, old man? Where’s your sense of adventure?”
It wasn’t bravery Elijah lacked. It was a healthy body.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
Except he wasn’t that old. Not really. He just hated feeling old.
A few long hours later, the foursome was in a respectable fourth place out of the dozen teams coming up on the final hole. Elijah was exhausted and more than ready to get home and crash. Just one more hole between him and his bed.
He took a few practice swings before stepping up to the tee. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled his swing back just as he’d done dozens of times already that day, only this time, something went wrong.
He felt the tear along his shoulder and down his back, but it was the popping of his left hip that brought him to his knees… literally.
The pain was sharp, unlike the constant hum of discomfort he’d long ago become accustomed to.
“Aw, shit, man. You okay?” It was Chase who rushed to his aid first, attempting to help Elijah to his feet.
“Need to lay down.” It was all he could grunt out as he leaned into Chase, letting the younger man help him lay flat on the sod.
Unfortunately, all the new position did was add a new shooting pain down his back and into his left leg.
For all of their razzing of him that day, he could hear the real concern in Jaxson’s voice as he shouted at Shane to “Call 911.”
“Don’t fucking call 911. I just need a minute,” he ground out.
“Bullshit. I heard something pop all the way back at my cart.”
Elijah tried to make a joke. “It was my pride.”
His joke fell flat.
“Screw that. You need to go get checked out.”
“No, what I need is to finish up this hole and then go home and take an eight-hour nap on a bed of ice.” When all three of his friends looked at him like he was crazy, he added. “It’s okay. I have very good drugs at home that will have me back to new by tomorrow.”
Except those good drugs had stopped working their magic long ago, and he was determined not to become dependent on them. He was also starting to worry he’d soon be making the decision between constant pain and his tenth surgery.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me back up and into the cart. I made it to the last hole. Surely, I’ll be able to limp across the finish line so our charity can get the contribution.”
Like he’d done countless times before, Elijah put on his brave face and pushed through the pain.
If only he were a masochist instead of a sadist.
CHAPTER TWO
ELIJAH
“Dr. Jennings will see you now, Mr. Keaton.”
Elijah threw the outdated People magazine he’d been half-way reading onto the side table and slowly pushed to his feet. The creak in his left hip was loud enough that the woman sitting across from him looked up from her own magazine.
At least my bum knee doesn’t make noise.
