Chapter Thirty-Six
Thirty-Six
Michelle
I’m sick with worry.
The game was brutal, the teams evenly matched. I love soccer all the time, and every game is fun to me—but this one? This one was the reason I got into the sport in the first place.
It was everything.
They ran each other ragged, each player working incredibly well with his teammates, all for it to come down to a shoot-out?
I shake my head.
“Sorry, Michelle,” Djimon says, and I take a sip from my lemonade in the players’ lounge.
The Banshees have a nice setup, with a lounge for each team, and now the Aces are coming out of the locker room slowly, friends and family who made it out to watch them congregated with sympathetic looks on their faces.
Djimon’s family keeps cracking jokes, and honestly, that was the energy and reception I wanted when my team lost, so I stick close to them.
I definitely didn’t want sympathy.
“Is he hurt badly?” I ask Djimon, although I already know his answer.
“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “They took him for an X-ray. Why don’t you go back and see? They’ll let you. You’re practically in charge, and you’re his girlfriend.”
He’s not wrong. Djimon’s mom gives me a huge smile. “You and Gold? I love that.”
“Thanks,” I say with a little sheepish laugh.
A tall blond woman I don’t recognize narrows her eyes at me, and I briefly wonder who she is before I make up my mind.
“I’m going to go check on him,” I say, and Djimon slaps his hand on my back in approval.
“Don’t hit her,” his mom scolds, and I snort.
“She’s one of the team,” he back-talks, and I decide to make myself scarce before they can really get after it.
It doesn’t take me too long to find him.
His eyes are closed, and the trainers are working together to wind tape around his chest.
“Ribs?” I ask, worried as hell. That’s no joke of an injury.
“Hairline fracture,” Lexi, one of the trainers, tells me in a matter-of-fact voice. “Four to six weeks to recover.”
“Michelle?” Tristan’s voice is exhausted, and he opens one eye before breaking into a grin. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t move,” Lexi scolds him, smacking his thigh.
“I wanted to surprise you. I had too many meetings to fly out yesterday,” I say.
I also had an interview, but I don’t tell him that. Reconnecting with my college team has been one of the best things to happen to me this year, and I wouldn’t have had the courage to do it without him. But now?
Now is definitely not the time.
“You fell weird, huh?” I ask, smoothing his damp hair off his forehead. “I could tell you were hurt.”
It had been awful, watching the look on his face as he forced himself up slowly.
Then watching him stop the last two balls, so clearly injured that I almost wanted to rage at stupid Coach Garrett for not pulling him off the field. Fucking shoot-outs.
“Honestly, it’s a bit of a freakish injury,” Lexi says. “He needs to rest, or he could risk fracturing it worse.”
I narrow my eyes, giving Gold a long look. He grins, his head tipped back against the lockers, his eyes only half open as they wind more tape around him.
“He’ll probably need some help the first few weeks,” Lexi continues.
“I’ll do it,” I say quickly.
“Nah, I don’t need any help.”
“Yes, you do,” Lexi and I say in unison.
“Fine.” He rolls his eyes, but he looks relieved. My heart hurts. He must be in so much pain.
“He’s going to be okay, though?” I ask, wanting to hug him so badly. I tuck my arms around myself instead.
“If he does what the doctor said and rests, takes it easy, and doesn’t risk fucking it up worse, yes.
” Lexi gives me an appraising look as she ties off the wrap.
“FaceTime me when he needs to be rewrapped in a day or two, and I’ll show you how to do it, if you want.
If not, drive him up and I can tape him again in the athletics room. ”
“I can drive myself.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Lexi tells him.
My hackles go up at Lexi calling him an idiot, and I frown at her. “He’s not an idiot.”
“I know he’s not.” She pats his elbow. “But they all act stupid when they’re injured. You should have come off the field as soon as you knew you hurt yourself.”
“She is right about that last part.”
Tristan grimaces at me. “Would you have played through?”
My lips purse, and he laughs, then winces, his hand going to his side. “See?” he huffs.
“All I see is the man I…” I swallow down the word that nearly pops out. “My boyfriend in pain.”
A slow, delicious smile spreads across his face, and my gaze darts away nervously. There’s no way he knows what I was about to say. He’s not psychic.
Now isn’t the time to tell him about my new job, and I doubt it’s the time to tell him I love him for the first time, either.
Still, I clear my throat, fresh adrenaline pounding through me.
“I’ll FaceTime and drive him in.”
“No, you won’t,” he says, a stubborn set to his jaw. “I’m out of your way.”
“I guess I’ll just have to stay at your house. It’s not like you don’t have the room.” I stick out my tongue at him, like we’re little kids instead of full-grown adults in our thirties.
He huffs a laugh, and Lexi rolls her eyes.
“I’ll let you two figure this out.” She packs the wrap back in her kit. “Take it easy this week, and I’ll be in touch with some exercises you can do without straining it.”
I watch her go, and Tristan’s silent for a long moment, too.
“You are not staying with me.” He grunts as he stands, pain creasing his forehead.
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?” I gesture to his ribs, and he tries to glare at me, but it quickly dissolves into a tired smile.
He reaches for his shirt, and I grab it and help him pull on the soft cotton tee.
When he stands, a stoic look on his face, annoyance makes me glare at him all over again.
“Let me help you, or I’ll punch you in your hurt rib,” I threaten.
“You would not.”
“Correct, but I want you to know I mean business.”
He starts to laugh again, but the sound cuts off quickly.
“I’m worried about you,” I tell him, wrapping my arm around his waist. I nuzzle into him, needing to breathe in his familiar citrus scent.
“You know it’s not my leg that’s hurt, right? I don’t need to lean on you.”
“Maybe I just want to feel you up.” I give him an exaggerated wink, then kiss his chest. There’s no way I’m going to be able to reach his mouth right now. I’m not about to ask him to lean down for a kiss.
“Stop trying to make me laugh.”
“Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all.
He puts his arm around me, and I press into his good side. His breath gusts across the top of my head, and I feel him kiss the top of my hair.
“My lips are jealous,” I tell him.
“They won’t be…the minute I can get to them.”
“If you need me, I’m here,” I tell him, worry overriding my desire for him. “I guess I’ll have two patients this week.”
“Two patients?” he repeats.
“Yeah, Lauren has double pneumonia. She’s doing better now after I made her go to the doctor, the stubborn little freak, but they said she might have to stay in the hospital if she doesn’t get a lot better by tomorrow.”
“Lauren is in the hospital?” Coach Garrett’s frozen in the door to the locker room, the color draining from his face.
“No,” I say quickly. “She’s on antibiotics and all kinds of steroids. She’s pretty sick, but I left her with enough soup to get her through the weekend.”
“She didn’t fucking call me?” he says quietly, and I shift my weight, uncomfortable.
I open my mouth to say something—because honestly, who wants the person they’re hooking up with casually to see them cough-barf-pee their pants? Not me!—but Tristan squeezes my side and shakes his head in blatant warning.
Coach Garrett slams his hand into the doorframe, then stalks away.
“Damn.” Tristan lets out a low whistle. “He’s got it bad for your friend.”
“Apparently.”
“Does she know?”
“I have no idea, to be honest.” I stare at where Coach Garrett disappeared.
“I have a feeling she will pretty soon, though.” My hand rubs Tristan’s hip.
I can’t stop touching him, and even though he’s hurt, his thumb keeps smoothing over my waist, too.
“Are you up for hanging out with the team and family? Or do you want me to get you a ride back to the hotel?”
“I want to see the guys.” Irritation crosses his handsome face, and I know him well enough to know what he’s thinking.
“You do not need to apologize to those goobers,” I say heatedly.
“You are a little spitfire today.” He nuzzles into my hair, kissing it again. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say ‘goober’ in two decades.”
My sigh comes out as a soft laugh, because he makes me smile even when I’m mad on his behalf. I’d do anything for him, even help him walk when he just needs to rest. Reluctantly, I lead us back the way I came.
“You are not allowed to apologize to them,” I finally say.
“Or what, you’re going to punch me in my fractured rib?” He affects a wounded expression.
“Maybe in your balls.” I hold up my fist and give him the meanest face I can muster.
A laugh starts out of him, then ends with a hiss of pain.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I’ll try not to be so hilarious. If you don’t apologize, maybe I’ll do something else to your balls.”
He grins at me. “Is that a promise?”
I hold up a finger. “Only if you follow the doctor’s orders.”
“Are you bribing me with a blow job?”
“I was talking about your soccer balls.” I make my voice as innocent as possible.
Tristan lets out a hissing noise I quickly realize is a laugh.
“You’re perfect,” he tells me, and I’m so busy trying to not hurt him or make him laugh again, I don’t notice that the strange blond woman from earlier has positioned herself directly in front of the door where the team’s congregated.
Tristan freezes, though, and when I glance up at him in confusion, his face is a blank mask, all of that joyous sunshine I’m used to replaced by ice.
“Mom,” he says. “What are you doing here?”