Chapter 18 #2
“Normally, I’d say you would need four to six weeks, but that would be for a minor tear to heal completely.
You are past that, and you aren’t going to heal completely without surgery.
I should have you benched and push for that, but that seems like overkill considering you’ve already told me this will be your last season.
Unless you’ve changed your mind about that. ”
Knox shakes his head. “No, I’m done after this season. How long would give me a shot to make it to the end of the season?”
Dr. Frost shrugs. “Let’s find a private place to talk,” he says, looking around the waiting room. It’s empty now, but who knows when that might change.
“We can talk in the car,” Knox suggests.
Dr. Frost looks at me, then back to Knox. “Are you comfortable speaking in front of Miss Cordero?”
Knox doesn’t even hesitate before he answers. “Yes. I don’t keep things from Sloane.”
I try not to read into that. Of course he doesn’t keep things from me, but only because I’m his publicist. It doesn’t mean that he’s falling for me. My brain understands this, but my heart is reserving judgment.
I don’t get a lot of time to spend contemplating what he means before another problem arises. That is pretty much the story of my life.
A nurse comes running down the hallway, her thick soled shoes squeaking against the linoleum. They squeal as she skids to a stop in front of us.
She leans forward, catching her breath, before she speaks.
“There are a few reporters and photographers camped out in front of the hospital. We’re doing our best to keep them out, but we just got word of a pile up on the freeway.
Things are about to get crazy here, and we won’t be able to keep track of them.
Some of them are probably here to report on the accident, but—”
She doesn’t need to finish her statement. We know that they’ll be just as happy to spread the news of Knox’s injury too.
Knox reaches out to take my hand. We can hopefully go out the back entrance unnoticed, but people will notice when he is absent from the game tomorrow night in New York.
“We are going to need to make a statement, but I would like to figure out what that should be,” I say.
“We will have to announce my injury at some point. There’s no getting around that,” Knox says, resigned.
“True, but I think Sloane is right. Let’s get away from the hospital first so we can control the message. I’ll have to loop Gerry and Coach Henry in on whatever we decide to get their final approval. Not that they can protest if I say you can’t play,” Dr. Frost chimes in.
The chaos works in our favor, and we make it to the car without any pictures taken. Once we’re back at the hotel, Dr. Frost hands Knox a prescription bottle. That is definitely not something we’d want photographed.
I know he will need them. His pain level is beyond what simple ibuprofen can manage.
It makes me uneasy though. I remember too well the fog my mother was in during her last days because of the pain meds she was on.
It was like losing her before she was gone.
I don’t speak up though, because what choice does he have?
We hurry across the lobby and up the elevator to our floor blessedly alone.
Inside the suite, I help him get ready for bed.
I didn’t see how many pills he swallowed on the ride up to the top floor, but I saw more than one, and he’s already starting to sway on his feet.
He stumbles around, unsuccessfully trying to take off his shoes.
I watch him getting loopier by the minute.
“You’re so pretty,” he slurs and flops down on the bed.
“How high are you right now?” I ask with a chuckle, and start to work off his shoes.
His eyebrows pull together, and he lifts his head to look at himself. “I’m not high, I’m lying down.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re right. I can see that now.”
I’m glad I pulled the covers back before he laid down, because there’s no way I could move all six-four, two-hundred plus pounds of him. Before we parted ways, Dr. Frost said I should prop him up so he would be forced to lay on his left side.
“Get some sleep,” I whisper and shut out the light.
“Where are you going?” he mumbles.
“I’m going to sleep in the other room,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says, and starts to get up.
My hands hover over him, not touching, but trying to prevent him from getting up all the way. I’m too afraid he’ll hurt his shoulder if I were to push him back to the bed.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask, dropping my hands.
“You said we’re sleeping in the other room,” he says, a confused look on his face.
His eyes are glassy and unfocused. He stands up and takes a couple stumbling steps, much like a newborn colt walking for the first time. I’m scared he’s going to bump into something and hurt his shoulder worse than it is now if I let him walk around like this.
“You are sleeping in here,” I tell him.
If he hurts himself again, I’ll have to try and get him back out to the hospital, but this time high on painkillers. All of this is giving me flashbacks to the days I had to fight to keep Xander to stay in bed when he was a toddler. Just like back then, I know I’m going to lose this battle.
“I can’t sleep without you. Stupid Sawyer already stole one night,” he grumbled.
Man, he can really hold a grudge. He’s even mad at her all doped up.
“I am going to keep you. Just have to figure out how after you graduate and don’t need the internship anymore. I should get you pregnant, then you won’t leave. I like babies.” He reaches out for me. “Hey, let’s make one right now.”
“Woah.” I hold out my hands to keep distance. “Slow your roll, cowboy. You’re in no shape for baby making right now. Not to mention I’m too young, and in no way ready to raise another kid, but I doubt you are understanding reason in your current state.”
He laughs. “You called me cowboy.” Of course that is all he heard. “That’s funny,” he continues, “you can ride me. I’ll be your horse.”
A groan slips free from my lips. I was wrong, he’s worse than a toddler.
“No one is riding anyone, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He smiles a boyish grin. “So you’ll stay?”
I’m not sure if he’s asking about the night or for forever. My stupid heart thumps imagining it’s the latter, but I shut that shit down. Hope can be toxic for someone so starved for it like I am.
“I don’t want to hurt your shoulder,” I tell him.
He laughs again and ruffles my hair. “You’re cute. You’re way too small to hurt me.”
I hesitate, wondering what I can say to get him in bed so he’ll sleep.
When I continue not speaking, he adds, “If you go somewhere else, I’ll follow you.”
I know I’m too tired to do this all night.
“You win, but we’re just going to sleep,” I finally agree.
Knox tries to wrap his arms around me, but I put my hand on the center of his chest, stopping him.
“I’ll only stay if you promise to be good.”
I adjust the covers, and pat the bed. He watches me warily, but climbs into bed.
I change my clothes quickly before he gets out of bed again. As soon as I climb in, he wraps his injured arm around me, pulling my back against his chest.