Chapter Fifteen
Bryan
Outside the open door of the training room, Eldy calls out to everyone in the locker room, “Don’t forget—party at my place tonight. Be there or be square.”
Mack throws a bar of soap at him. “You mean our place.”
The guys react loudly, whistling, hooting, and waving towels, ready to let loose.
If he were within striking distance, I swear I’d punch Eldy in his big mouth.
“Fuck.”
I mutter the expletive half under my breath as I sit on the trainer’s table, gritting my teeth while Al unwraps the ace bandage from around my ribs.
“This might hurt,”
he says without apology.
I clench my jaw as he puts an icepack fresh from the ice chest over some gauze and then rewraps the bandage tightly with hurried, clumsy hands.
“You have a hot date to get to?”
I catch his eyes with my glare, and he immediately eases up.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Dinner with my wife and new in-laws.”
“That explains a lot.”
My irritation eases because his hot date sounds like a fucking nightmare.
The throbbing ache in my ribs continues, punctuated by occasional sharp bursts of fiery pain when he presses the wrong spot.
He finishes, securing the ace bandage with a painful tug and glances at me with chagrin. “Sorry. I bet those ribs are pretty sore.”
I don’t bother answering him as I carefully slide off the table.
“Keep the ice on for a while and take these.”
He pulls open a drawer and pulls out a small plastic bottle. “Doc Pinzer left them for you. He had a wedding to go to.”
He tosses the container to me, and I catch it in my right hand, though I’m not sure I want to pop some unknown pills. Taking a quick glance at the bottle, I read it. Percocet. The fine print says it’s addictive.
“See Doc in the infirmary on Monday first thing. Don’t take more than two at a time or eight in a day, and don’t drink alcohol when you take them. You think you can handle that?”
“I think I can handle sore ribs without the pills.”
I toss the bottle back to him.
He catches it and shrugs. “Suit yourself, but you may regret it later when the shot wears off completely. Tomorrow might be more painful.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
I keep my jaw clenched because I know he’s right, but life is full of pain. You need to learn to live with it. “Thanks anyway.”
I don’t know why I’m being polite. Maybe because he’s being honest with me, and I respect that.
He raises his brows in surprise. “Call me tomorrow if you change your mind.”
He slips a card from his pocket and hands it to me.
I take it because I’m not an ungrateful jackass and head for the door. I can throw the card in the trash later.
I reach the open doorway, and he says from behind me, “Don’t throw my number in the trash.”
I keep my smile to myself as I walk slowly to the locker room, brushing past one of the offensive linemen on his way to the training table.
Reaching my locker, I try to ignore the knot of guys around Eldy, each handing over their five bucks for the keg.
“Come on, guys,”
Eldy raises his voice, waving his fist full of cash. “No holding out. We want to make this a double kegger.”
Mack hauls over some of the guys from the defense. Fletcher is one of them. Shit.
He looks up and smirks at me like he’s reading my mind. Must be the unfriendly vibe I’m sending, or maybe he’s just looking to bust my ass. Turning away, I peel off the remainder of my uniform, grab a towel, and head to the showers.
“Hey, Granger.”
Eldy flags me down as I walk past him, but I don’t stop. “Make the shower quick. We need to get to Frank’s Package Store before it closes to pick up a couple of kegs on the way home.”
“Go ahead without me,”
I say and round the corner to the showers.
Even after I turn on the spray of water, his voice reaches me.
“No way I’m letting you walk home after this game, you crazy bastard.”
With my face turned up, I let the needles of water work their magic, cleaning away the sweat and grime, clearing my head, and allowing me to appreciate my friend.
The ace bandage is soaked through and the ice has melted, so I unwind it from my ribs and roll it in a ball when I’m finished. On my way back to the locker, Mack sees me and his eyes pop. They’re aimed at my torso and I guess that answers the question about the bruise on my ribs. No need for a mirror.
“Fuck, Bryan. That has to hurt. How are you even walking?”
“My legs are fine.”
I don’t point out that I’m walking very slowly because the ribs do hurt like a motherfucker. Whining is for sissies, like my old man would say, but that’s not the reason I keep my mouth shut.
There’s no point in complaining. It’s a waste of energy.
Eldy, all dressed in his street clothes, breaks away from his party-planning groupies and comes over. “What the—you look like you got run over by a steamroller. Jesus.”
“I’ll be fine. As long as you don’t make me lift the kegs.”
Or attend the party. But I keep that thought for later. No need to spoil the mood of the locker room with a useless argument.