Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Chelsea
I winced at the crunch of Storm’s elbow slamming into Atlas’ nose. From my position on the sidelines, it was painfully audible. And quickly followed by Atlas’ shout of pain.
“Fucking hell!” He grabbed the hem of his jersey and pressed it to his nose to stem the gush of blood, while he trotted over to the edge of the field.
“I’ll let you manage this,” Doctor Stuart said as he nodded and stepped back. “Atlas, this is Doctor Chelsea Miller. She’s fully qualified to take care of you.”
Atlas gave me a sceptical look, which quickly changed to a speculative one. He glanced back over his shoulder at Storm, Frost and Dallas, who all glared in his direction.
For a moment, I thought they might try to stop me from treating him, but Coach called for them to focus and get back to training. They only hesitated for a moment before walking back into position, their backs to us. Each man held himself stiff, clearly still aware of what was going on behind him. Not liking it, but not having a choice either.
“We’ll need to x-ray that,” I said to Atlas. As a formality, because anyone could tell his nose was broken. Not for the first time, given the shape of it before this.
“Maybe it’ll be even now,” he said, his voice muffled with fabric and pain.
I smiled and walked beside him to the stadium’s state-of-the-art infirmary. “I’ll do what I can to make sure you stay pretty.”
He snorted, then swore again. “Fuck. This is bullshit.” He seemed to be more pissed off at himself for snorting than he was at the discomfort. No doubt he got used to the pain of injuries a long time ago.
I gestured for him to sit in a chair behind the x-ray machine and snapped on some gloves. When he lowered the front of his jersey, I wiped the blood away from his nose.
While I moved around, he followed me with his light brown eyes. Almost gold, they were locked on my every movement.
“So you’re Chelsea,” he said.
“The one and only,” I said lightly. I gave him an ice pack to press to his nose and walked over to the side of the infirmary to get a couple of painkillers and a cup of water.
More than my brother would have given anyone he was working on.
“You’re a doctor,” he stated. He threw back the pills and washed them down with water before handing back the cup.
“That’s what it says on my degree,” I said. “And you’re Atlas Underwood, inside centre.”
“Yep,” he said. His gaze lingered on me again, like he expected me to say something else.
“I need you to lower the ice pack and sit still so we can see how broken it is,” I said.
“Sure, Doc.” Gingerly, he lowered the ice and half-closed his eyes, his body completely still.
I stepped back and let the x-ray technician do their job. While they took the images, I watched over their shoulder, glancing at the player every once in a while.
“Looks like a linear fracture,” the tech said, only loud enough for me to hear. “Not too bad, considering.”
I squinted at the images on the screen. “I agree. It could have been worse.”
“Why are you whispering?” Atlas snapped.
“We’re conferring,” I said easily. I waited for the technician to turn the machine off before stepping back around to the other side. “As we suspected, it’s broken, but it’s not too bad.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think it was life-threatening,” he said, putting the ice back to his face.
“Not this time, no,” I agreed. “You got lucky.”
His golden eyes slid up and down my body. “Not yet I didn’t.”
“Keep the ice on your face for a while,” I instructed. “We need to keep the swelling down as much as possible. It’ll be that and ibuprofen for the next few days. How many times have you broken it before?” While we waited for his pain to ease, I turned on the computer and looked him up.
“Three times,” he said. “The other two were by the opposition. Not a fucking so-called teammate.” He all but spat out the last word.
“You and Storm don’t get along,” I said. I glanced over my shoulder at him before turning back and adding today’s incident to his medical record.
“Storm is a dickhead,” Atlas snapped. “His fucking friends too.”
“Frost and Dallas,” I said. I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible. We weren’t here to discuss my personal life. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it into the conversation.
“Yeah, them. They all think they’re king shit.” He adjusted the ice and winced.
I turned and leaned my back against the wall beside the computer. I crossed my arms over my chest and asked, “What do you think?”
He tilted his face so I could see his smile. “I know I’m king shit. Me and Jay, we’re too good for this fucking team. Everybody knows it and they’re fucking jealous.”
“You wish you were still back with the Sydney Devils,” I guessed.
His gaze dropped to my chest for a few moments before returning to my face. “Wouldn’t you? We won the premiership and got dumped into this shit hole. Wouldn’t you be pissed off?”
“If I was team doctor for the Devils and had to transfer here, how would I feel?” I mused. “To be honest, I’d be happy just to be doing what I love.”
He rolled his eyes and winced again. “Figures. You’re one of those glass half-full kind of people. The one who sees rainbows and puppies everywhere.”
I lowered my hands to my sides and gave a short laugh. “Not at all. I just know when to appreciate what I have. The way I see it, you could either be miserable until you retire, or you can give the Smashers a kick in the ass to hand the Devils their asses on the field. What better revenge is there than beating them? Prove to your old team they made a mistake in letting you go. Personally, I’d pay to see the expressions on their faces. I bet you and Jay would too.”
He looked sceptical, but my words gradually sank in, connecting to him, albeit grudgingly.
“I suppose,” he grunted. “No reason why we can’t beat them. We have me and Jay. Ramsey too, I guess.”
I waited, head cocked with a hint of expectation.
“I guess the rest are okay players too, when they get their heads out of their asses,” he conceded. “Kinda hard to play with guys who hate your guts.”
“I don’t know, but I have a feeling they’d say the same about you,” I said, knowing full well that was exactly the case. We both knew it. No doubt both sides would blame the other. It was easier than accepting the blame yourself. That meant having to be the one to try to heal the rift between them. To be the bigger man. So to speak, since they were all big. The combined total of muscle on the team was impressive, to say the least.
“It seems to have eluded them exactly how awesome we are,” he said. “Like I said, they all buried their heads.”
“I have a funny feeling that’s universal around here,” I said. I wasn’t going to pull any punches. I’d seen with my own eyes how the guys were with each other. Storm’s elbow breaking Atlas’ nose was an accident, but it could easily have been on purpose. Next time it might be, but I hoped not. That was the last thing the team needed. That and people like Belinda Simmons sniffing out the animosity and making a public deal out of it.
“This isn’t where you say you think we should all be best buddies, is it?” He looked as though he’d prefer to have his pubic hairs pulled out one by one, with tweezers, than be friends with the other guys.
“Would it kill you?” I asked.
“One hundred percent,” he shot back immediately. “You’ve met those guys. What the hell do you see in them anyway? You’re fucking gorgeous and smart, you can do better than any of them.” His tone was as scathing as the look in his eyes.
“Like you?” I asked teasingly.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to loom in front of me. Even at five-foot-ten, he made me feel small.
“Why not me?” he asked. “Unless those three have poisoned you against me.” The look in his eyes was a challenge.
“I make up my own mind about people.” I lifted my chin to stare him down. They didn’t have anything nice to say about him, but that was their opinion. I could form my own conclusions, whether they liked it or not.
“I thought you might.” Ice pack still firmly on his nose, he nodded slowly. “Go out with me. Make up your own mind. I bet you’ll like what you see.”
I had to admit I was intrigued. Partly because of what the other guys said, but mostly because of the man standing in front of me right now. He clearly had a big chip on his shoulder, but who wouldn’t after losing a spot on the premiership winning team?
Yes, I’d be happy to be doing the job I loved, but at the same time I’d be hurt and angry. To go from the top, to a team that was less than welcoming, and feel like you had to work your way back up from the bottom? No wonder he was tense and frustrated.
“What are you proposing?” I asked. I was good at jumping in with both feet, but I wasn’t going to do that now. This was a complicated situation that required careful footsteps, and open eyes. Otherwise, more than a nose might get broken.
“One date. No strings, no pressure. Just a good time. If you decide I’m the asshole the other guys think I am, I’ll leave you alone. But you won’t, I promise you that.” His golden eyes were pure cocky. Atlas Underwood was used to getting what he wanted, that was abundantly clear. It was also clear that he’d like more than a date with me. Every so often, his gaze would drop, taking in my body under my blouse and pencil skirt. Appreciative.
“One date,” I said. “You might decide I’m the asshole.”
He groaned. “Don’t make me laugh. I already know you’re not an asshole. I’m a good judge of character.”
Given he didn’t like Storm, Frost or Dallas, I wasn’t so sure he was right, but I didn’t bother to correct him. That whole situation went deeper than character judgement. It was about wounded feelings of men who didn’t like to admit they had emotions. It was about the pressure of being forced to come together as a team, when the circumstances weren’t ideal.
Fortunately for them, they weren’t part of my brother’s lifestyle. If they were, someone would end up dead. Correction, they’d be dead already.
“I’ll pick you up tonight after training,” Atlas said. He held out his hand. “I’ll give you my number so you can text me your address.”
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and handed it to him. Along with a side eye glance to suggest I thought he couldn’t use it one-handed.
Like anyone with competitive blood running through their veins, he returned the look, held my phone in one hand and entered his number into the contacts with the other.
“You’ll find me under ‘Rugby God.’" He half closed one of his eyes before realising winking might hurt.
I bit back a smile and pressed my phone back in my pocket. “I’ll text you later. I probably shouldn’t do it at work.” Especially since I was still a student. After I graduated, I could loosen up a little.
Although, I was already losing track of the amount of times Dallas and I fucked when Doctor Stuart wasn’t around. We were lucky no one had walked in on us.
So far.
Movement in the doorway caught my eye.
“What the fuck?” Frost asked.