Page 90 of Blurred Lines

Scott comes in with my suit and asks for a bag for my gear since I didn’t get around to it.

The nurse hands him one, and he packs up my bloody shit.

“That’s going to smell amazing by morning.” He laughs.

“Yeah, hopefully I remember to take it back to the locker room when I’m done.”

I’m pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to get the damn bleeding to stop, but nothing seems to be helping.

“What’s the word?” he asks, leaning against my bed.

“Probably a broken nose.”

He nods with a sigh. “Right.”

“Hey, can you check in on Paul?” I give him the floor and room number. I don’t know if visiting hours are over or not, but I hate that I haven’t talked to him in hours. If he was watching the game, he’ll know I was hurt and probably worried too.

“I’m not supposed to leave you, but I’ll see if I can get up there really quick.” He puts my suit on the back of the chair and heads out.

I get wheeled to the CT room by a nurse named Jessica, asked if I have any metal in my body or on my body, then am laid on a bed. Blood drips down my throat, and I have to force myself to hold still instead of gag on the taste of copper from lying flat.

It only takes a few minutes for the scan, but it’s a weird whooshing sound that’s louder than I expected as it zooms around me.

The table is removed from the big circle, and I’m able to sit up, but it turns my stomach, and saliva fills my mouth.

“Puke,” I manage to get out, and the nurse with me hands me a trash can for me to vomit into. Dark red puke is very disturbing and hurts a broken nose like a motherfucker.

She takes the bag from the can and leaves the room for a few minutes while I sit on the plastic bed thing. I would kill for some water right now. Jessica comes back with the wheelchair and pushes me back to the bed. I feel like I’ve been here forever yet only a few minutes. It’s weird.

I wish I had my phone so I could find out the score of the game and call Paul. I hate that he’s not with me. Being on my own sucks.

34

Brendon

By the time I’m released, I’ve been poked, prodded, had a balloon shoved up my nose, and got no Paul update because they wouldn’t let Scott in. I’m finally able to put clothes on and leave the ER with tape on my face, but I’m free. In the waiting room, Jeremy rushes toward me when he sees me while Preston ambles.

“You okay?” Jeremy grabs me to look at my nose. “That looks awful.”

“Thanks, you look great too, asshole.” I’m hungry, irritated, and just want to be fucking cuddled.

“Do you have a ride back to campus?” Scott asks, and Preston tells him yes. I hand Scott my discharge papers for Coach, and he leaves us.

“I want to see Paul,” I tell them and head toward the elevator.

“It’s late, man, I don’t think they’re going to let you in,” Jeremy says as he trails after me.

“I dare them to stop me.” After the shitshow that has been the last twenty-four hours, I need to see him.

It doesn’t take me long to find the post-op ward, but the lady at the desk is not amused to see me.

“Visiting hours are over,” she says in a firm voice.

“I just spent hours downstairs in the ER. I haven’t gotten to see him since he was taken back for surgery. I just want to see him for like five minutes!” I’m so far past done it’s ridiculous. I’m tired, hungry, frustrated, and in pain—both physically and mentally.

“Only family members are allowed back after visiting hours.”

“He’s my husband!” I shout at her. My entire body is tight with tension, and I’m ready to snap. Christ’s sake, I just want to see him. Why is this so fucking hard?

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