Page 82 of Legend

I give a slight shake of my head; it’s all I can manage with the fuzz cloud still lingering. “Nope. Just him.”

?“Won’t be long.”

She leaves the room and suddenly I’m all alone with my thoughts. And they’re not exactly pleasant ones. I might still be a little foggy, but I can remember. I remember the snap of bone. The excruciating pain. The blood. The sight of my femur breaking through my skin.?

And I know that injuries like that can be career-ending for players ten years younger than me.

Fortunately, I’m not left alone with my thoughts for too long. I can only imagine what Archie must have been like, bouncing around the waiting room in agitation, because he practically lunges at me the second he opens the door.

“Fuck, I was so worried! They said something about a problem with the anaesthesia, and I was freaking out! Gideon said you had the best doctors in the country working on you, but what the bloody hell does he know? He’s not a doctor! And did you know I’m not your next of kin? If the doctor wasn’t a Croydon fan I wouldn’t have even known that you almost died! And I’m too young to be a widower! And we’re not even married!”

He finally stops rambling to draw a breath and I can’t help it, I burst out laughing.

He narrows his eyes at me. “It’s not funny! I was genuinely terrified.”

“Sorry,” I say gently. I know if thesituation were reversed I’d have been throwing things around the waiting room and probably getting myself kicked out of the hospital, so I can understand the fear he must have felt. I just love it when he gets all rambly.? “Can you get up here with me? I need to hold you right now.”

He offers a self-deprecating smile, which turns into a sceptical frown as he eyes the bed. “This bed wasn’t exactly built for two, babe.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I’ll reimburse them if we break it.”

“You’re injured,” he points out, still hesitating.

“And I need you to be my nurse.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Fine. But only because you’ve got your pouty face on and it’s adorable.”

“I amnotadorable,” I argue.

He grins. “Ah, and there’s the furrowed brow.”

I roll my eyes. “Will you please just get up here?”

“Okay. Let me just work out how to do this. I don’t want to hurt your leg.”

“Like it really matters if it getsmoreinjured.”

He casts me a stern look. “Don’t say that—your recovery is important.”

I let out a disgruntled huff. “Why?”

“Well, apart from the fact that the NHS can’t really afford to be operating on youagainjust because you reinjured yourself two seconds after surgery,” he says with an eye roll, “do you really want to spend the rest of your life limping and in constant pain just because you’re being a stubborn arsehole now?”

I sigh, feeling chastened. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He offers a gentle smile, cupping the side of my face and brushing his thumb over my cheek. “You’re allowed to feel sorry for yourself right now. Just as long as you’re not an idiot about it.”

“Are you going to come up here for a cuddle or not?”

He smirks at me. “I always knew you were a teddy bear at heart.”

He manages to manoeuvrehimself onto the bed while steering clear of my leg. He’s mostly draped on top of me, his head nuzzling into my neck. Perfect.

“What happened in the rest of the match?” I ask.

“We held out. 1-0. It was the longest half hour of my life.”

“I’ll bet,” I murmur. I doubt I could have even played if the situations were reversed. I would have been an absolute wreck. “Did the Lancaster fans actually clap me off, or did I imagine that in a pain-killer haze?”

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