Chapter Twenty-Three
Katie
Panic crawls up my throat and suffocates me every time someone in a pair of scrubs walks past the waiting room. It’s full. People are everywhere. Trainers sitting on the plastic seats, coaches huddled in the corner, Scott pacing in front of the doors leading to wards, waiting for news.
We’re all waiting for news.
Flynn scored, ball clutched to his chest as the defending player took him down. It was too late, though. He got the touchdown. The confetti exploded from the canons, covering the crowd and the field. The Broncos won the Super Bowl.
People in the box screamed, cheering along with the thousands of fans in the stadium, elated to finally get the ring. My brother shook me, euphoric, and my parents cheered happily.
I could only feel Ivy’s hand in mine, only see the body still lying on the field, players surrounding him. Silence enveloped me then, as it does now.
He went down, and he didn’t get up.
It’s been a blur, from that moment to now. I watched from afar as the trainers carefully moved him to a stretcher, carrying him off the field. Scott was right next to him. The celebrations for us were done before they began.
I sit next to Ivy, her hands covering one of my own. Her thumb slides from side to side over my skin in irregular strokes, the only evidence that she’s also freaking out. She doesn’t show it, though. She’s holding strong on this one, for me.
“You don’t have to be here,” I whisper. “I know you hate coming here, after everything. If it’s too hard—”
“Absolutely not.” Ivy shakes her head, inching closer to me and wrapping her arms around my own, drawing my hand tighter into her grip.
“I—” I glance at the doors again, checking for the hundredth time that no one is coming through them with an update on his condition.
“I know,” Ivy murmurs. She leans her head against mine. “He’s going to be okay, though. Promise.”
A sob inches up my throat, and I swallow it down. I can’t cry.
I won’t.
Even though the last words I said to him this morning were, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
I’d wanted to tell him I loved him. That I was proud of him.
That even if they didn’t win today, he should be so proud of himself because he is a big reason the team made it this far.
I wanted to remind him that he’s good, really good, at catching the stupid ball, and no matter what anyone says, he deserves to be there.
Fuck.
My eyes sting as I think about the way I made him leave things. The way I could tell in his eyes when we spoke about what we were. When I lied through my teeth and told him I didn’t want things to change.
Of course, I was lying. Of course, I want things to change.
Namely, the fucking label I told him I didn’t want.
I glance around the room, at all the people from the world he adores. At the trainers, the teammates he’s close with, the coaches he boasts are geniuses. What the hell was I so afraid of?
Grant’s face flashes in my mind, and I feel the anger bubble under my skin.
Fuck him for ruining my trusting nature. For taking me for granted and breaking down my self-worth with his gross words and lies.
I wish I had walked away years ago.
I wish I had never allowed him to break the person I was, the person I loved, down into these tiny little pieces. I hate that he made me into this complicated jigsaw that I’ve been struggling to put back together ever since I finally walked away.
I realize now that Flynn has been the one putting those pieces back together. Healing something he never broke in the first place, all while wearing a smile like it’s his favorite pastime.
And I was too chicken shit to tell him how I really feel.
Of course, it’s more than a fling, more than one night in a foreign country.
It was months of him smiling at me while I scowled at him.
Weeks of him trying to start a conversation with me and persisting even when all I did was shut him down.
It’s the charity ball, and him seeing me so clearly.
It’s him standing at my back, letting me handle my past, protective but only if I call on him.
It’s the dinners he cooks for me every night now, overruling any takeout options.
I close my eyes, a tear finally falling down my cheek. I don’t bother wiping it away.
It’s the way he kisses me, like I’m the one he needs to breathe properly.
It’s the way he stares at me in bed.
It’s the way he listens.
What if I never get to tell him? What if something’s happened and he thinks all I wanted from him was a good time? A short time.
My throat closes, and I struggle to breathe.
Another few traitorous tears fall over my cheeks, and I feel like I want to claw at my throat, stop the sobs creeping toward the surface.
Ivy lifts her head, her body turning toward me and her arms wrapping around my shoulders, drawing me in.
I bury my face into her shoulder, and my body wins. I cry.
Because, for fuck’s sake, I love the man and I didn’t even get the chance to tell him.
Flynn
I wake up to the rhythmic sounds of a steady beep. As my vision comes into focus, my eyes stinging and sore, I take in my surroundings. A hospital room, tubes coming out of my forearm, machines surrounding me, reading for signs of life.
There’s a heavy weight on my legs, and before I look down, I internally prepare for a cast or two. Did I break a leg? An arm?
Something was wrong, and my head hurt like hell after the contact with the defender. Getting hit directly by someone’s helmet is never fun. It’s how we break ribs, get bruised bodies. It’s part of the game. But contact with the head … it’s downright frightening. Dangerous.
I glance down and smile.
No cast or broken legs, but Katie. Sitting in a chair by my bedside.
She’s leaning over the bed, one arm stretched over my legs and the other curled underneath her head.
She’s asleep, but the tear tracks are clear, her mascara having run down her face.
She looks a little like a raccoon. She’s going to hate that.
I laugh, and the gentle shake jostles her.
Her bright blue eyes, blinking away the sleep as she opens them, stare right at me. “Oh my god, you’re awake.”
“Hi,” I try to say, but my voice is scratchy and raw. Katie jumps into action, hurrying to the table at the other side of my bed and getting the water cup from it. She holds the straw up to my mouth, but I refuse, trying to lift my arm.
“You have a cracked bone in your shoulder and a very bruised collarbone. Let me fucking help you,” she commands. Is it wrong that her bossing me around turns me on? In the context of me lying in hospital, probably yes. I lean forward and take a sip of the water.
The liquid slides down my throat, and I immediately feel better. “Thank you.”
“You scared the shit out of me,” she says, her voice breaking a little.
“It must have been a scary thing to watch.” I stare up at her, wishing I could lift a hand to touch her. I will my fingers to move and they do, thank god. I lift the arm that isn’t in the sling very carefully, but Katie stops me, slipping her hand into mine.
“You shouldn’t move too much. The doctors haven’t come in yet, but they will now that you’re awake.”
“Is it bad?” I ask.
“Well, they won’t tell me anything.” She rolls her eyes. “Scott got pretty mad. They wouldn’t let any of us in.”
“Why?”
She gives me a sad look and gently squeezes my hand. “We’re not family. Eventually, Ivy pulled a string with a nurse she knows.”
“Oh.” I want to kiss her. I want to take that pained expression away.
“But…” She takes a deep breath. “It’s not good. I saw them talking to Jeff. He looked distraught.”
Fuck.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve had football injuries before, but nothing quite like this.
There’s a knock at the door, and a doctor pokes his head in. He must be from the hospital because the team doctor follows him in, along with Coach, and then they shut the door.
“Reed, you okay?” Coach says, nodding at me.
“Just a little banged up. Nothing a recovery in the off-season can’t fix.”
“It’s a little more serious than that,” Danny, the team doctor, says. He looks at Katie. “Will you give us the—”
“No,” I tell them, keeping a firm grip on her hand. “She stays.”
Danny smiles a little at me and throws up his hands. “You got it, Reed.”
The doctor then pulls something out of a large envelope and places it on the back-lit wall behind them. Both Danny and the doctor move to either side. Coach stands by the door.
Doc tells me gently, but he doesn’t sugarcoat it.
“You have a severe traumatic brain injury.” He switches on the backlights, and images of my brain light up.
The rest of the conversation blurs. I don’t ask questions, but Coach does.
Katie cares about what I need to do to get better.
But all I hear is: Concussion. Career-ending. No contact sports. Ever.
It’s over.
It’s all over.
When they leave, the doctor tells us they will let our friends in the waiting room know that I’m awake, but I just stare at the ceiling. The afterparty has likely started, and the boys are probably knee deep in beers and celebrations.
We did it.
We got the ring. I got a ring. I scored the game-winning touchdown at the fucking Super Bowl, and now…
It’s over. My career is over.
Football and me? We’re done. But I made the catch, and I’d do it again.
Even now, knowing the outcome, knowing what it would cost me in the end.
I look over at Katie’s face. She’s staring right back at me, searching for any sign of how I’m feeling about it all.
I don’t know if she expects me to cry, to rage. I bet she won’t expect me to smile.
And that’s exactly what I do.
“We won,” I say, my face breaking into the widest smile.
“You’re insane.” She sniffs, her eyes shining. She sits on the edge of my bed, keeping my hand in hers. “They just told you that your career is over and you’re smiling?”
“I won a Super Bowl, baby. I think I’m allowed to be happy.”
“What about football?”
“Everyone’s time eventually comes. The clock runs out on us all at some point, even the legends. We don’t always get to choose how we leave, but I’m glad I went for it to get the win.”
“It was a hell of a catch.”
“Thank you, Rockstar.”
“You’re a Super Bowl-winning football player. That’s pretty damn cool.” She sniffs again. “My brother lost his mind when the confetti rained down.”
“I’m glad everyone could come.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispers. “You were carried off the field unconscious.”
“I promise you, I’m okay. A little sore, but it’ll heal. They’re bones, they heal.”
“And the football stuff?”
“I will find something else to do with my time.” I squeeze her hand. “Maybe I’ll come work for you.” I gently lift our hands and tug her forward. She rolls her eyes, but shuffles toward me. “I can be your bar bitch.”
She laughs, and for the first time since I opened my eyes, it’s a true laugh. “No way. You’d be too much of a distraction.”
I pout, which only makes her laugh more. I nod my head at her. “Come here.” She obliges, leaning forward and pressing her lips to mine. When she does, the pain drains from my limbs. I don’t need football. I just need her.
“I love you,” I murmur against her lips. I watch as her eyes shoot open, and I instantly find the panic in them. I smile. “You don’t have to say it back. I meant it when I said you should take your time to learn to trust me, and that I will wait. But I wanted you to know that I lo—”
“I love you too,” she says quickly, pressing her lips back on mine.
I almost don’t catch her words as they’re muffled against my mouth, but I feel her smile.
My chest cracks. I wish I could touch her properly.
I wish I could pull her into my arms and bury my hands in her curls.
I wish I could spend the next week showing her just how much I love her, and just how much I needed to hear those words. Especially today.
I can survive without football, as long as I have her.
She presses her forehead to mine, her breathing uneven and her smile so wide, I feel like tracing the shape with my fingers. “I want the wedding. The house. I want all the kids, and the life you picture,” she whispers. Tears shine in her eyes again. “I want it with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She wipes her face again.
“You’ve been crying a lot lately.” I reach out, trying to cup her face, but groan in pain as my shoulder sears with the movement. Fuck, that hurts. Katie leans over, bringing her face to my hand. I curl my fingers over her cheek and swipe my thumb across her bottom lip.
“It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Falling in love is really fucking emotional,” she says, rolling her eyes and trying to smile through the tears.
I chuckle. “It’s not as fun as they make it seem in the movies, huh?”
“Worth it, though.” She leans into my hand and closes her eyes.
Yeah, it’s fucking worth it.
“So, we’re the real thing?” I say, brushing my thumb over her cheek.
“You were a great fake boyfriend.” She nods gently. “And I know you’ll be a better real boyfriend. But you have to promise me—”
“I promise,” I say immediately.
Katie laughs and swats my chest. “I’m serious. Let’s just … be us for a while, okay?”
“Who else would we be?” I say, a smirk creeping over my lips. I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“I don’t want a ring, not straight away.” She bites down on her bottom lip.
“But you do want one, eventually?”
She shrugs. “If that’s what you want, too.” I watch her chew on her lip as she looks at me. “I just took over the bar, and you’re injured. Let’s just be us, okay?”
“So not tomorrow?” I say, holding back my laugh.
“Not tomorrow.”
“Next week?”
She groans, shuffling closer to me on the bed and dropping her lips on mine, and I smile widely at her. Of course, I’m kidding, but it’s fun to make her squirm. “You’re infuriating.”
“You love me."