Chapter 17
Keaton
The emergency room doctor studied the X-ray images on his computer screen for a few more seconds before turning toward me. “I don’t see any fractures.”
I leaned forward to get a better look at what he was seeing, and I immediately regretted it when pain shot through my shoulder. The medication they’d given me had taken the edge off, but it hadn’t done nearly enough to make me forget that something was seriously wrong.
“Okay,” I replied impatiently, waiting for more information.
“Your shoulder also appears to be back where it belongs, which is good news.”
“If you say so,” I muttered, looking down at the sling holding my arm. “So what happens now?”
“Unfortunately, X-rays only tell part of the story.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Given how the injury occurred and the instability you’re describing, I’m concerned there may be soft tissue damage.”
How it happened had to be the stupidest way I’d ever gotten hurt.
It wasn’t during an official fight or some cool highlight-reel moment that would make a good story later.
Instead, I’d gotten lazy during a wrestling round, tried to brace myself with my arm, and ended up in the emergency room because of a mistake Coach Luis had probably corrected a hundred times.
“Soft tissue damage,” I repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Your shoulder contains ligaments and cartilage that don’t show up well on standard X-rays. You may have tears we can’t see, so we need additional imaging to be sure. An MRI would give us a much clearer picture.”
Ligament and cartilage damage didn’t sound promising for a professional fighter.
I dragged my good hand through my hair. “Could I need surgery?”
“That’s one possibility.”
My stomach dropped, but he continued before I could spiral too far.
“It could also be something much less serious. Right now, we don’t have enough information to make that determination.”
I hated that I couldn’t get concrete answers right then, but they could only do so much in the ER when someone’s life wasn’t in danger.
“I’m referring you to an orthopedic specialist,” he added. “They’ll evaluate your shoulder and determine what additional imaging you need.”
“How long will that take?”
“That depends on how booked they are. Hopefully, you can get an appointment within a week or two. I’d avoid training until then.”
“Seriously?”
The look he gave me made it clear he wasn’t joking. “Unless you want to risk permanent damage, you need to take it easy.”
He left, and a little while later, a nurse handed me discharge paperwork, instructions on icing my shoulder, a prescription for anti-inflammatory medication, and a list of things to avoid.
No training.
No lifting.
No reaching.
Basically, everything I did on a regular basis.
I stepped into the waiting room with my release papers in my left hand, my right arm strapped to my body, and the feeling that if one more person told me I was lucky because it could have been a lot worse, I was going to lose my shit.
Mason was still sitting in the chair he’d claimed by the window. He looked up from his phone and immediately stood when he saw me. “Don’t be mad.”
I narrowed my eyes because if those were his first words to me, we both knew I was likely to be pissed. “What did you do?”
He looked away. “I texted Rowan.”
Of course, he fucking did.
“Mason,” I groaned and headed for the sliding glass doors.
“Before you yell at me,” he said quickly, falling into step beside me as I headed outside, “I only told him you got hurt and that either you or I would update him soon.”
“You had no business—”
“You know, the MMA world is small,” he cut in. “Half the gym saw your shoulder give out, and they were all talking about it as we left for the hospital.”
I picked up the pace as we walked across the hospital grounds. Enzo had driven me in my car to the hospital before eventually heading back to Titan with Derek, leaving Mason in charge of getting me home.
“Wouldn’t you rather Rowan hear it from us than from someone else? For all we know, Coach Luis or Devon gave him a heads-up.”
Doubtful.
I couldn’t really be angry at Mason. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and I was going to have to tell Rowan at some point anyway. Still, I didn’t respond to Mason’s words as we reached the parking garage.
When we got to my car, he instinctively went for the passenger-side door, but I stopped behind him.
A few seconds passed before he looked at me. “Aren’t you going to get in?”
“Not in the driver’s seat.”
His brow furrowed, then realization crossed his face. “Oh. Right.”
I held the keys out toward him, then pulled them back just as quickly. “Wait. Do you actually know how to drive?”
He leveled me with a glare. “Yes, I know how to drive.”
“That answer sounded oddly defensive.”
“Because you asked it weirdly.”
“Mason?” I kept holding onto the keys instead of handing them to him.
“Oh my God,” he muttered. “I have a license. Do you want to see it?”
I snorted and finally handed him the keys. “Fine.”
Getting into the passenger seat one-handed was difficult. Buckling myself in was even worse. By the time I managed it, my shoulder ached again, and my patience was wearing thin.
Mason slid behind the wheel and began adjusting the seat and mirrors.
“Are you going through a preflight checklist?” I asked.
“I haven’t driven your car before.”
“It’s just a car, not a fighter jet.”
“Do you want me to crash?”
“Well, I’d prefer not to make a second trip to the hospital, so do whatever you need to do.”
After a couple more adjustments, he finally started the car.
As we pulled out of the parking garage, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
It took some effort, but I finally wrestled it free.
I had several notifications, the most recent from Derek, and more from the other guys at Titan, and Devon.
The most were from Rowan. Knowing he deserved a call rather than a text update, I clicked his contact and then tapped the call icon.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” he answered immediately. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Keaton,” he sighed, sounding exasperated.
I tried to get comfortable in my seat. “Okay, I’m not fine, but I don’t know exactly what’s going on either.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“Enzo and I were wrestling, and I went in for a takedown but got caught in a bad position.”
“How?”
I let out a breath. “I got lazy and tried to brace myself with my arm, which fucked up my shoulder.”
“You know better than that.”
“Trust me, I’m aware,” I snapped back, though I knew I had no reason to lash out at him. “Sorry, I’m just frustrated.”
“I get it,” he replied. “Is it dislocated?”
“Partially. They called it a subluxation.” I adjusted again, trying to get comfortable.
“But they got it back in?”
“Yeah, then they did X-rays, put me in a stupid sling, and told me to follow up with orthopedics.”
“X-rays were okay?”
“Nothing’s broken.”
Rowan exhaled so hard I heard it through the phone. “That’s good.”
“Sure.”
“It is good.”
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes for a second. “I know it’s good.”
But the ER doctor hadn’t ruled out everything, which left me wondering how badly this would affect my career.
“How bad do they think it is?” he asked.
“They don’t know yet, and I won’t know until I see the orthopedic doctor.”
“When’s that?”
“No clue.” The answer irritated me all over again. I hated not knowing and hated waiting even more, especially when every decision came down to appointments, imaging, and other people telling me what my body was allowed to do. “You still at training?” I asked.
“No. Grant was walking me through sponsor stuff when Mason texted. Then I took off,” he explained.
My irritation continued to build. He’d been talking about sponsorships after training. Meanwhile, I was sitting in a sling, trying to figure out how the hell I was supposed to put on a shirt with one hand.
“You there?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.
“Sorry, I just zoned out. It’s been a long day,” I said, as if I wasn’t comparing our situations or feeling a bit jealous.
“I can imagine.” His voice softened on the last word enough that guilt immediately followed. He wasn’t the reason I got hurt, and it wasn’t fair for me to be short with him over something he had no part in. “You could come here,” he suggested after a few seconds.
“What?”
“Come to Tampa,” he clarified. “While you’re sidelined.”
A part of me wanted to say yes right away. I could stay with him for a few weeks. We could wake up beside each other instead of talking on the phone, one of us exhausted and the other pretending not to be lonely.
For a second, I let myself picture it. Then I looked down at the sling. “I like that idea, but let me get through my next appointment before we make any plans.”
“That makes sense. Maybe you could fly back here with me after Thanksgiving?”
“You’re coming home?”
“I didn’t think I was going to be able to make it work, but who else is going to kiss your shoulder better?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I have a feeling if I don’t make the trip now, it might be a while before I get out to California.”
Because things are going well for you.
While I was mostly excited for him, jealousy kept trying to creep in.
“Text me later?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“And Keaton?”
“What?”
“Don’t rush this.”
I looked down at the sling around my shoulder. “I’ll try.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s the best you’re getting right now.”
He sighed like he expected that answer. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The call ended, and then Mason looked over at me. “Did he say he was going to kiss your shoulder to make it better?”
I shot him a glare. “You’re nosy as fuck.”
“Yeah, but your boyfriend talks too quietly, so I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly.”
“You did,” I mumbled under my breath, grinning for the first time since I got hurt.
“You two are disgustingly cute.”
I shot him a glare. “Don’t ever call me cute again.”