Chapter 3 Sawyer
THREE
Sawyer
The team doctor raised an eyebrow, clipboard in hand. “Just a concussion. How many have you had?”
“Not a number you want to hear.” I forced a smile.
He nodded. “You need to rest for the next couple of weeks. Let your brain heal.”
This could’ve been worse, but not by much.
I didn’t need a season-ending injury to knock me sideways.
This was already damn close. When your job depended on you being fast and game-ready, being benched was hell, especially when the one thing people loved you for was what you did under the lights, not who you were off the field.
I’d already made peace with this year. One last season, one last run before I hung up my helmet for good.
Mid-thirties in the league? That’s borderline ancient.
Every morning reminded me of it—stiff knees, a back that creaked with every movement, and bruises that lingered longer than they used to.
I wasn’t bitter about it, not really. I had to let go of the game sooner or later, but damn if I didn’t want to finish strong on the field, not watching from the sidelines.
“When can I get back in the game?” I asked, my voice rougher than intended.
The doctor didn’t hesitate. “We’ll reassess in two weeks. For now, no screens, no workouts. Just rest. Ice, over-the-counter meds, and plenty of sleep. Let your body catch up to everything it's been through.”
I nodded slowly, my mind racing. “Yes, sir.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and gave me a knowing look. “You’ve earned a little rest, James. Take it.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
He stepped toward the door, and just as he grabbed the handle, it swung open. West and Bronx strolled in, still in their uniforms and sweaty from the game.
“How are you holding up?” Bronx asked, dropping into the chair beside the bed. His brown eyes were tired, but his grin was wide.
“Out for two weeks,” I muttered, running my hand over my face and rubbing the back of my neck.
“Shit,” West muttered under his breath, flopping into the chair across from me. “Right when the season’s getting real good.”
“Tell me about it.” I exhaled, leaning back against the wall. My body sagged with the weight of it all.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me out of my spiral. Unknown number. I squinted at it, raising an eyebrow.
“Spam?” Bronx asked, running a hand through his dark hair.
“Probably.” I was about to ignore it when West’s eyes lit up with a mischievous spark.
“Let me answer it. I live for messing with telemarketers. Bronx, pull up that fake car crash sound for me, will ya?”
“I’m not doing that,” Bronx muttered.
I handed the phone over, figuring he’d get a kick out of it.
“Mr. Sawyer James’ phone,” West said, his voice dripping with mock professionalism. “How may I direct your call?”
He paused, and I heard a faint rustling on the other end.
West’s smirk vanished, and he covered the phone's mic. “I think you’ll wanna take this.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Uh…so, I think…Ellie is calling you?”
I shot upright, which was a bad fucking idea. The whole damn room spun sideways, and I grabbed the edge of the wall before I tipped right over.
“Easy, man,” Bronx said, steadying me with a hand.
“Ellie who?” I mumbled, still half-stuck in a haze.
West gave me a look like I’d asked him to solve a calculus problem. “Ellie Miles, dumbass.”
He held out my phone to me.
My stomach went haywire—dropped, maybe. Or twisted. Or both. I didn’t even know.
Why was she calling? The body cam? The kiss I stupidly blew her?
Again, I didn’t know.
West kept holding the phone out, wide-eyed, as if it was going to explode. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and grabbed it. I cleared my throat. Twice.
“This is Sawyer,” I said, aiming for casual. It wasn’t casual. My voice cracked halfway through like I was thirteen again.
“Hi, Sawyer. It’s…um…it’s Ellie.”
Bronx and West both froze, watching me like I was about to pull a bunny out of a fucking hat. My pulse hammered so hard, I could barely think straight.
“Hey, Ellie.” I swallowed. “How’s it going?”
“I’m good, but I think the more important question is…how are you? You took one hell of a hit tonight.”
There it was—that familiar tug in her voice. The same one that got me every time I heard her voice, except now, it was aimed at me.
I ran a hand over my face. “Eh, I’m good. Concussion. Have to take a couple of weeks off, but I’ll live.”
“Well, you sure didn’t go unnoticed.” An adorable little laugh slipped through.
My stomach flipped again. Fuck.
“I’m guessing you saw the body cam footage too, then.”
“Oh, I saw it,” she said, definitely laughing now.
Double fuck.
“Yeah…about that.” I scrubbed a hand over the back of my neck, heat crawling up my ears. “That wasn’t exactly planned. It just…happened. I had no idea they were going to release it to the public. Then I panicked and blew you a kiss tonight to top it all off.”
“Panicked, huh?”
I knew she didn’t buy it for a second.
I had no clue what to do with the way she said that. So, I laughed, all stupidly rough and awkward like a dumbass. “Guess I owe you an apology.”
“Mmm, I think you get a pass this time. But actually…that’s not why I called.”
“Oh?”
“I wanted to ask if you’d maybe want to grab coffee sometime.”
A full-body flush hit me almost as hard as the damn hit did. My heart straight-up stalled.
She asked me out. Ellie Miles just asked me out. I had no words. None.
I’d been in this league for more than ten years. I’d handled press, playoff pressure, and stadiums packed with screaming fans. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for this.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I said, somehow sounding halfway normal. “I have to lay low for a few days, but…next week?”
“Next week works,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’ll text you some times that work. We’ll figure it out once you’re feeling better.”
“Sounds good.” My mouth was weirdly dry.
“Okay. I’ll text you then.” She paused. “Feel better, Sawyer.”
“Thanks.”
The call ended, and I lowered the phone, staring at the screen as if it might crack right there in my hand.
Holy. Shit.
Is this the concussion talking? Am I dreaming?
How the hell was I supposed to have a normal conversation with a woman I’d been lowkey obsessed with for years? What was I supposed to say?
Hey Ellie, did you know I can recite every lyric to ‘Pretty When You Lied,’ and I listen to ‘The Window Stays Open’ on repeat when I can’t sleep?
Yeah. I’m fucked.
West waved a hand in front of my face. “Dude. You still breathing?”
I snapped back into reality. “Huh?”
“What the hell just happened?” Bronx asked.
I shook my head, trying to make sense of everything. “Ellie Miles…just asked me out?”
“Dude,” West said. “You said yes, right?”
“Bro, he literally said yes while you were standing there,” Bronx said.
“Oh, right. Damn, I need to sit down.” West dropped into a chair like he was the one who got a concussion.
“I—yeah,” I muttered. “I said yes.”
“Shit, man.”
Yeah. I was in trouble.
Big, big trouble.