Page 146 of The Hot Shot
A weird sound comes out of me. I clench the phone. “I’m on my way.”
My fingers feel numb as I hang up. In fact, my whole fucking face feels numb. “I have to go,” I tell my coach, who stares at me as if I’ve lost it.
“Now? Who was that? One of Ryder’s sisters?”
“No. My girl. She’s...”Don’t lose it.“She’s in New York. I’ve got to go.”
“You’re going to New York?” His voice rises. “We have meetings tomorrow.”
Already, I’m texting Charlie, telling him to book me the next flight out and fuck the expense. Any flight. Now.
“Mannus,” Calhoun snaps. “You listening?”
I meet his gaze head-on. “Yes, Coach. Meetings. I’ll attend every single one of them. As soon as I get back from New York.”
He stares at me, his mouth open.
I should feel bad. Worry, maybe. I don’t. I was the number one draft pick of my year. And for the first time, I’m playing that card. “My girl is in the hospital. Sheismy family. And I’m going to be with her.”
It’s as if Coach is moving in slow motion, but he finally nods. “Give Ms. Copper my best.”
I don’t answer; I’m already running down the hall, my whole fucking life waiting for me in New York.
Twenty-Four
Chess
Hospitals are horrible. Especially waking up in one. I threw up and they scanned my brain for internal swelling or bleeding. That scared the shit out of me. Apparently, I have a concussion. Which means I spent the night being checked on in intervals that felt too short and were annoying since it meant I couldn’t sleep. I really wanted to sleep.
It’s morning now. My head weighs a metric ton and throbs as if someone is steadily kicking it. But the nausea is gone, and I’m no longer dizzy. I’ve been allowed to shower and put on my street clothes. Yeah, a hospital shower with antiseptic smelling shampoo that turns hair into straw.
Lying on the bed to wait for James, I’ve been drifting on and off, sheer exhaustion pulling at my lids. They’re releasing me with instructions that James watch over me for the next twelve hours.
The hollow feeling in my chest grows. I don’t want James.
The door opens, another nurse coming to poke at me. But it isn’t a nurse. Emotion punches into me, a fist to my aching chest, a sharp squeeze of my tender heart.
Finn.
He looks about as good as I feel, eyes bloodshot, the skin bruised beneath them, his hair matted on one side and stickingup on the other. I soak in the sight of him like water on parched earth.
His blue gaze darts over me as if he doesn’t know what to focus on first, or that he can’t yet take in the whole of me. Tension rides his body, making it visibly tremble. Then his eyes meet mine. He looks haunted, ripped apart.
I swallow with difficulty. “Hey.”
When he speaks, his voice is a ghost of its former self. “Hey.” He takes a step into the room and closes the door behind him. “I got here as soon as I could. Flights were scarce.”
He’s here, that’s all that matters to me. I should sit up, make myself appear strong and capable and all that. But, unless someone comes to wheel my ass out of here, I’m not moving.
“I think I was hit by a guy on a bike.” Everything’s kind of hazy, but I remember two wheels and a handlebar.
The grooves around his mouth deepen. “You were.”
He moves like an old man, making his way to my side. I watch him come, little tremors quaking in my belly. I want to hug him so badly my arms twitch, but they’re too heavy to move.
He sits in the chair by my bedside, his body too big for its stingy frame. Up close, he looks worse, careworn and exhausted. I empathize.
“Is the guy okay?” My memory is fairly shitty right now. Apparently, concussions can do that to a person.
