The Blueprint, page 20
The stupid hope that had fluttered in my chest finally stopped. It almost felt as though my actual heart stopped. I did a quick mental inventory to make sure it was still going and felt the reassuring thud. So yeah, just stupid hope had kicked the bucket. Good.
“Kelly?” I looked up to find him staring at me with his brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I finally said. I pushed out of my chair and stood. “I’m not.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, I needed to hear where you stand. I don’t want to miss out on something special in my life because I’m so caught up in something that will never happen.” My voice gained strength as I went on. “I should go.”
“What? You don’t have to—”
“I hope you feel better and that your knee heals properly.” I gave him a crooked smile. “Maybe if you do what the doctor says this time, it will.”
“Kelly—”
“If you need a ride home, I’ll come back. Just give me a call.”
“Sit down,” he thundered in a way that made me jerk. “You sit down, or I’ll get out of this bed and sit you down myself.”
My mouth flopped open. “I’m a grown-ass—”
He didn’t let me finish. “You need to stop running away from me. Jesus, we’ve been friends for longer than I can remember. I’m not letting the most important relationship in my life go because you don’t want things to be awkward for two seconds.”
My face flushed. “Is that what you call your tongue in my mouth? My mouth on your dick? An awkward two seconds?”
His face went red as a tomato, but he continued doggedly, “We can’t go back to the way things were. But maybe we can forge something else.”
“I don’t—”
“And you can run.” He talked over me. “As far and as long as you want to. But I’ll find you and bring you back.”
The door suddenly swung open, and a nurse wearing purple scrubs bustled in, dragging a vitals machine behind him. One of the wheels was warped and clacked obnoxiously in the near silence.
“How’s the patient doing?” he asked brightly. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “My name is Grant, and I’m going to be taking care of you tonight. I figured I’d come in and introduce myself. Maybe see if you were up for a jog.”
Neither of us laughed at his joke. We were still caught up in our own minidrama—Gays of Our Lives. Grant looked at us both, back and forth like a tennis match. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” I said as I got up to pace.
“No,” Blue said shortly.
The nurse raised both eyebrows. “Okaaay.”
He took Blue’s vitals—blood pressure, temp, and pulse—as he yammered on. His chatter was a welcome distraction and made me slightly less tense as I paced. Even though Blue participated in the conversation and laughed at the appropriate times, I didn’t think his eyes ever left my form. Christ, I think he was ready to tackle me if I even got near the door.
The nurse took the thermometer out of Blue’s mouth and checked it. “Right on target.” He threw away the disposable sleeve and wrapped up the blood pressure cuff. “The doctor will probably be in tomorrow to discuss your MRI. If things look good, you could possibly be discharged as soon as Tuesday, but don’t get your hopes up yet.” He smiled, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. “I’ll have plenty of discharge instructions for you, but we’ll worry about that then. I assume you have a suitable place to recuperate?”
“Yes,” Blue said, looking at me intently.
“No,” I said just as intently.
The nurse swung his head between the two of us again. “Umm. Okay? Do you guys need a minute?”
“Yes,” Blue said firmly.
“No,” I said simultaneously.
“Yes,” Blue repeated, his voice hard.
Even in a hospital bed and with a paper gown on, I guess a two-hundred-fifty-pound football player could be intimidating. The nurse hustled out of the room despite my objections, pushing his vitals machine so fast the wheels clattered. The door closed quietly behind him.
“If I’d known you were going to act like this, I wouldn’t have said anything,” Blue finally bit out.
“Don’t you think we needed to clear the air?”
“Not if you’re going to be all weird about it.”
“Fine.” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll be a grown-up about things, but I don’t like it.”
“You never do.” He sounded amused. I slapped him on the back of his head, and he growled. “Kelly, I’m in a freaking hospital already. No need to finish me off.”
“So to recap, we’re not fucking, even though you want to, because that would make things weird. We’re not going to be weird about things being weird. And if things get awkward, we’re not going to be weird about that either.”
“And you’re going to let me convalesce at your house. Because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do.”
“Blue,” I said rather helplessly. I could protest all I wanted, but we both knew what I’d say in the end.
“You’re going to need a bigger car,” he said helpfully. “Mine is too low, and yours is too low and small. I don’t think cramming into a sports coupe is going to do my knee any favors right now.”
“I just bought that car.”
“I’ll buy you another. Something bigger. Like a crossover.”
“I’m not letting you get me a car,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You were going on about your sister’s Scion, weren’t you?”
“I’m not a pizza delivery boy.”
“A Hummer?”
“I have a good-sized penis, but thanks.”
He threw up his hands. “I’ll let you deal with the logistics. I just want to get out of here.”
“Not tonight you’re not.” His glare made me feel a lot better and I smiled sweetly. “On that note, I’m going to go home. You know, that place with a soft bed with a nice TV and good cable and no one taking my vitals every hour?”
He huffed a breath. “You could stay and keep me company.”
“I’d stay and keep my boyfriend company,” I said with a cheeky look. “You? I’ll just see you later.”
“Kelly—”
“You need to get your rest,” I reminded him. I ran a hand over his hair, and he caught it before I could pull away. “I’ll come by tomorrow after work.”
He gripped my hand tightly but finally let me go. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
I could feel his eyes on my back the entire way to the door. He was probably looking a little lower than my back, so I gave my ass a healthy smack as I walked. “If you’re not gonna tap it, stop looking at it.”
He chuckled ruefully. We both knew he was so very busted. “Fuck you, Kel.”
Chapter 20
Blue
THEY SAY doctors make the worst patients.
I was pretty sure whoever came up with that old adage didn’t take athletes into account. We were used to a certain amount of activity, and when we didn’t get it, we felt out of sorts and cranky—like a caffeine addict without any coffee.
And every moment I wasn’t on the field was a moment McAdams was, so I was a pretty sour camper. Watching an instant replay of my injury on ESPN didn’t help. Neither did listening to a couple sportscasters dissect every injury I’d ever had. I was also kind of tired of signing autographs and paraphernalia for anyone who could think of an excuse to dip into my room.
By the time Kelly finally strolled in around noon, I didn’t think I’d ever been so glad to see someone. He was dressed like he came from straight from work—in a pair of sand-colored chinos and a button-down blue shirt pressed within an inch of its life. He was wearing frameless glasses, and his dark hair was artfully messy.
I hid a grin. His wardrobe always got neater and preppier during the week, probably to counterbalance all the tattoos and piercings. He could probably stroll right onto the set of Glee. And he was the same person who wore one shirt pretty much his entire spring break—without washing it.
Just seeing him walk in the door released something in me I hadn’t even realized was tense. And when I saw the takeout bags in his hands, my mood took a definite upswing.
I clicked off the TV as the nasal sportscaster argued with his equally nasal coanchor that I was the most overrated player in the league. “You’re early.” And thank God for that.
“I let my TA take over my last few classes today.” He gave me a smirking once-over. “Why are you dressed?”
I had changed into some short jogging pants and an Outlaws T-shirt my father had dropped off earlier. He’d demanded I call him when I finally got discharged, as though I’d been in the hospital for six months instead of a night. I understood why he was antsy about an injury. So was I. But the doctors would have the final say, and there was no amount of mind games that could change that. And if I needed a stark reminder, all I had to do was look at all the monitoring cords attached to me and my still-bandaged knee.
“I’m hoping that I’ll be discharged today,” I finally said.
“Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re a horrible patient, and you look ready to climb out of your own skin. Just like I expected.”
I couldn’t deny it. I was restless and irritable from just about head to toe. A little rest and relaxation was all well and good, but sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bed and flicking between sixteen channels—two of which were in Spanish—was not my idea of a good time.
I watched him separate the food from the bags, and I couldn’t tell which smelled better—him or the food. “That smells fantastic. What is it?”
“Gyros and fries for me. A nice healthy salad for you.”
My face fell in dismay. I usually ate pretty healthy, but there was a time and a place for salads… and that wasn’t it. “Please say you’re kidding.”
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He loaded up the hospital tray, adjusted it to the right height, and pushed it over to me. “Eat up.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We ate while Kelly told me about his morning, and I made understanding noises in the appropriate places while I stuffed my face full of delicious Greek food. He also brought some hummus and pita that was still warm and some baklava for dessert. When we finished eating, we occupied ourselves playing some Scrabble game on his iPad.
I watched while he tried to think of a way to destroy me in the word game, and it wasn’t supposed to be sexy. But then there was Kelly. I liked that he approached a simple game like full-on warfare. I liked the way he worried the silver ball in his tongue as he thought hard. I liked the way his gray eyes danced behind his glasses when he finally thought of something that put a Q on a triple-letter square.
The way he used big words was making me hard.
God. I was losing it. Big-time.
“Fucker,” I muttered. When did I start losing my shit over nerdy guys who didn’t understand that when you got the Q tile without a U tile, you were supposed to be screwed. And that qigongs was not a word normal people were supposed to know. “What does that even mean?”
“It’s a Chinese system of physical exercises or movements performed in a meditative state.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “It also means you lose, sucka.”
Kelly had just mopped the floor with me for the second time when the door swung open and the doctor bustled in with a sack full of faux cheer. I’d met Dr. Greene the night before, and he seemed decent enough—though to be fair, he could be Ronald fucking McDonald as long as he gave me good news. He was followed closely by Coach Maxwell, clad in a tracksuit with a set of Oakleys around his neck. He gave me a thumbs-up that I returned.
“How’re you doing this afternoon, Mr. Montgomery?” Dr. Greene asked.
“I’m doing fine, thanks.”
“We’ve got quite a mob down in the lobby trying to see how you’re doing. Press. Fans. A few teammates.” He laughed as he scrolled through his tablet. “No offense, but we’re going to try and get you out of here as soon as possible.”
That was a plan I could get on board with. Finally someone was talking Blue-speak. “Certainly sounds good to me.”
Coach Maxwell got right down to business. “So how’s he looking? When can I have my tight end back, Doc?”
Kelly made an irritated noise. “It’s been one day.”
“One day that he’s been laid up and other teams have been practicing, son.”
Dr. Greene and I ignored them as he unwrapped my knee. It was still purple and swollen and puffy. He whistled as he set the unraveled gauze to the side. “You took a pretty nasty hit there.”
That was putting it lightly.
His touch as he probed my leg was cool and efficient. “Your MRI results are pretty much what we expected—no new tears, no lasting exacerbation to the old injury. Fortunately we don’t appear to have a more complex knee disruption here.”
I’d already had arthroscopic surgery to repair a torn anterior cruciate ligament. The surgery went well—the patellar tendon repair of the ACL and trimming of a torn medial meniscus they repaired on the fly because it hadn’t shown up in the MRI. I had nine months of frustrating rehabilitation and pain-management therapy, but the conclusion was simple—I was always going to have pain in that knee. Swelling. The occasional locking. The whole nine yards.
Dr. Greene led me gently through a few simple leg extensions to test my range of motion. “You’re going to have to take it easy for a little while.”
“What’s a little while?” I blurted.
“As long as I say it is.” He raised his eyebrow as he helped me put my leg back down on the bed. “I’ve spoken at length with your team doctor, and we’re both thinking two weeks is a good place to start. If you do what you’re supposed to do and avoid exacerbating the injury, you should be back on the field in no time.”
Dr. Greene was all business as he droned on and reviewed the finer details of my injury. I zoned out as he did, already planning in my head how hard I was going to work in my therapy to get back on the field as soon as possible—two, three games missed, max. The less time McAdams had to get used to my spot, the better.
My eyes drifted over to Kelly, and his gaze was trained on the doctor. Every now and again, he nodded in agreement. I rolled my eyes when he closed our Scrabble game and pulled up the notepad app. Good God, he was actually taking notes.
He was biting his bottom lip, just a little on one side. He had nice lips—not really all that wide, but full and a little pink. I knew from experience that his mouth was unbelievably soft and talented. It was hard to look at it without picturing something kind of… well, obscene. I shifted as images of him on his knees in front of me floated through my mind. He’d been blinking up at me with those pretty gray eyes as my cock slid through those lush lips, moaning like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Mr. Montgomery?”
I blinked, only to find everyone in the room looking at me. Fuck. I had no idea what the question even was. “Can you repeat that?”
Dr. Greene chuckled. “It’s a good thing you play better than you listen.” His prodding fingers hit a sore spot, and I jerked instinctively. He nodded, seemingly satisfied. Sadistic bastard. “I asked if you have chronic pain in this knee.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s worse than others.”
“With your history and the continued hits you take in your profession, that’s going to be the norm. We’re going to have to set you up with our pain-management team.”
“I already met with them.”
“Meet with them again.” Dr. Greene’s forehead creased in concern, but his brown eyes were gentle. “The team doctors and I don’t exactly share the same set of concerns. I’ll let them worry about your status as a superstar athlete and how quickly they can get you back on the field.”
Coach Maxwell made a sound of protest, and Dr. Greene waved a hand to make him stop. “I’m here to worry about the rest of Britton Montgomery. And the most important question I have for you today is really a simple one.”
I swallowed. “What’s that?”
“How do you feel as a whole?”
“It’s going to take a lot more than a bruised knee to stop him,” Coach boomed.
“I believe he was talking to Britton,” Kelly said, his voice hard and brittle. “So maybe we should let Britton answer.”
I didn’t even need to look in his direction to know he was pissed off. He only called me by my first name when he was mad enough to hurt someone.
Coach didn’t look fazed in the least that my protective terrier was about to take him down at the knees. “Well? How is it, Blue?”
“I feel fine.” I ignored Kelly’s irritated look and the doctor’s cautious one. “I just need a little rest.”
I wasn’t exactly lying. My knee didn’t feel that great, but then again, it never really did. I’d never get it back to where it was, and I almost mourned the loss. But if they were waiting for it to heal, it never would. I was used to my knee acting up, and after a week of resting and babying it, I’d be fine. RICE was my siren song—rest, ice, compression, elevation. After many years of sports, I could do it in my sleep.
In a week I’d start exercising it again—slowly. After another week I’d be ready to get back on the field. Ready for… someone to take me out again. I sighed. The irony didn’t escape me.
“I think we should be cautious regardless,” Dr. Greene said. “I can’t recommend a return to the field until he works with a physical therapist. It might be wise to continue working with one, even after you’re cleared.”
“You take all the time you need,” Coach said. But he gave me a look that clarified his feelings on the matter. You take all the time you need, as long as you have your ass back by the next game.
I sent him a look right back that was half-understanding, half-warning. I’ll do my best. Now you and your douchebag sunglasses can go fuck off.
On his way out the door, Coach passed a vibrating Kelly, who looked damn near ready to combust. He sent Kelly a two-fingered salute. “Cannon.”
“Kelly?” I looked up to find him staring at me with his brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I finally said. I pushed out of my chair and stood. “I’m not.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, I needed to hear where you stand. I don’t want to miss out on something special in my life because I’m so caught up in something that will never happen.” My voice gained strength as I went on. “I should go.”
“What? You don’t have to—”
“I hope you feel better and that your knee heals properly.” I gave him a crooked smile. “Maybe if you do what the doctor says this time, it will.”
“Kelly—”
“If you need a ride home, I’ll come back. Just give me a call.”
“Sit down,” he thundered in a way that made me jerk. “You sit down, or I’ll get out of this bed and sit you down myself.”
My mouth flopped open. “I’m a grown-ass—”
He didn’t let me finish. “You need to stop running away from me. Jesus, we’ve been friends for longer than I can remember. I’m not letting the most important relationship in my life go because you don’t want things to be awkward for two seconds.”
My face flushed. “Is that what you call your tongue in my mouth? My mouth on your dick? An awkward two seconds?”
His face went red as a tomato, but he continued doggedly, “We can’t go back to the way things were. But maybe we can forge something else.”
“I don’t—”
“And you can run.” He talked over me. “As far and as long as you want to. But I’ll find you and bring you back.”
The door suddenly swung open, and a nurse wearing purple scrubs bustled in, dragging a vitals machine behind him. One of the wheels was warped and clacked obnoxiously in the near silence.
“How’s the patient doing?” he asked brightly. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “My name is Grant, and I’m going to be taking care of you tonight. I figured I’d come in and introduce myself. Maybe see if you were up for a jog.”
Neither of us laughed at his joke. We were still caught up in our own minidrama—Gays of Our Lives. Grant looked at us both, back and forth like a tennis match. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” I said as I got up to pace.
“No,” Blue said shortly.
The nurse raised both eyebrows. “Okaaay.”
He took Blue’s vitals—blood pressure, temp, and pulse—as he yammered on. His chatter was a welcome distraction and made me slightly less tense as I paced. Even though Blue participated in the conversation and laughed at the appropriate times, I didn’t think his eyes ever left my form. Christ, I think he was ready to tackle me if I even got near the door.
The nurse took the thermometer out of Blue’s mouth and checked it. “Right on target.” He threw away the disposable sleeve and wrapped up the blood pressure cuff. “The doctor will probably be in tomorrow to discuss your MRI. If things look good, you could possibly be discharged as soon as Tuesday, but don’t get your hopes up yet.” He smiled, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. “I’ll have plenty of discharge instructions for you, but we’ll worry about that then. I assume you have a suitable place to recuperate?”
“Yes,” Blue said, looking at me intently.
“No,” I said just as intently.
The nurse swung his head between the two of us again. “Umm. Okay? Do you guys need a minute?”
“Yes,” Blue said firmly.
“No,” I said simultaneously.
“Yes,” Blue repeated, his voice hard.
Even in a hospital bed and with a paper gown on, I guess a two-hundred-fifty-pound football player could be intimidating. The nurse hustled out of the room despite my objections, pushing his vitals machine so fast the wheels clattered. The door closed quietly behind him.
“If I’d known you were going to act like this, I wouldn’t have said anything,” Blue finally bit out.
“Don’t you think we needed to clear the air?”
“Not if you’re going to be all weird about it.”
“Fine.” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll be a grown-up about things, but I don’t like it.”
“You never do.” He sounded amused. I slapped him on the back of his head, and he growled. “Kelly, I’m in a freaking hospital already. No need to finish me off.”
“So to recap, we’re not fucking, even though you want to, because that would make things weird. We’re not going to be weird about things being weird. And if things get awkward, we’re not going to be weird about that either.”
“And you’re going to let me convalesce at your house. Because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do.”
“Blue,” I said rather helplessly. I could protest all I wanted, but we both knew what I’d say in the end.
“You’re going to need a bigger car,” he said helpfully. “Mine is too low, and yours is too low and small. I don’t think cramming into a sports coupe is going to do my knee any favors right now.”
“I just bought that car.”
“I’ll buy you another. Something bigger. Like a crossover.”
“I’m not letting you get me a car,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You were going on about your sister’s Scion, weren’t you?”
“I’m not a pizza delivery boy.”
“A Hummer?”
“I have a good-sized penis, but thanks.”
He threw up his hands. “I’ll let you deal with the logistics. I just want to get out of here.”
“Not tonight you’re not.” His glare made me feel a lot better and I smiled sweetly. “On that note, I’m going to go home. You know, that place with a soft bed with a nice TV and good cable and no one taking my vitals every hour?”
He huffed a breath. “You could stay and keep me company.”
“I’d stay and keep my boyfriend company,” I said with a cheeky look. “You? I’ll just see you later.”
“Kelly—”
“You need to get your rest,” I reminded him. I ran a hand over his hair, and he caught it before I could pull away. “I’ll come by tomorrow after work.”
He gripped my hand tightly but finally let me go. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
I could feel his eyes on my back the entire way to the door. He was probably looking a little lower than my back, so I gave my ass a healthy smack as I walked. “If you’re not gonna tap it, stop looking at it.”
He chuckled ruefully. We both knew he was so very busted. “Fuck you, Kel.”
Chapter 20
Blue
THEY SAY doctors make the worst patients.
I was pretty sure whoever came up with that old adage didn’t take athletes into account. We were used to a certain amount of activity, and when we didn’t get it, we felt out of sorts and cranky—like a caffeine addict without any coffee.
And every moment I wasn’t on the field was a moment McAdams was, so I was a pretty sour camper. Watching an instant replay of my injury on ESPN didn’t help. Neither did listening to a couple sportscasters dissect every injury I’d ever had. I was also kind of tired of signing autographs and paraphernalia for anyone who could think of an excuse to dip into my room.
By the time Kelly finally strolled in around noon, I didn’t think I’d ever been so glad to see someone. He was dressed like he came from straight from work—in a pair of sand-colored chinos and a button-down blue shirt pressed within an inch of its life. He was wearing frameless glasses, and his dark hair was artfully messy.
I hid a grin. His wardrobe always got neater and preppier during the week, probably to counterbalance all the tattoos and piercings. He could probably stroll right onto the set of Glee. And he was the same person who wore one shirt pretty much his entire spring break—without washing it.
Just seeing him walk in the door released something in me I hadn’t even realized was tense. And when I saw the takeout bags in his hands, my mood took a definite upswing.
I clicked off the TV as the nasal sportscaster argued with his equally nasal coanchor that I was the most overrated player in the league. “You’re early.” And thank God for that.
“I let my TA take over my last few classes today.” He gave me a smirking once-over. “Why are you dressed?”
I had changed into some short jogging pants and an Outlaws T-shirt my father had dropped off earlier. He’d demanded I call him when I finally got discharged, as though I’d been in the hospital for six months instead of a night. I understood why he was antsy about an injury. So was I. But the doctors would have the final say, and there was no amount of mind games that could change that. And if I needed a stark reminder, all I had to do was look at all the monitoring cords attached to me and my still-bandaged knee.
“I’m hoping that I’ll be discharged today,” I finally said.
“Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re a horrible patient, and you look ready to climb out of your own skin. Just like I expected.”
I couldn’t deny it. I was restless and irritable from just about head to toe. A little rest and relaxation was all well and good, but sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bed and flicking between sixteen channels—two of which were in Spanish—was not my idea of a good time.
I watched him separate the food from the bags, and I couldn’t tell which smelled better—him or the food. “That smells fantastic. What is it?”
“Gyros and fries for me. A nice healthy salad for you.”
My face fell in dismay. I usually ate pretty healthy, but there was a time and a place for salads… and that wasn’t it. “Please say you’re kidding.”
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He loaded up the hospital tray, adjusted it to the right height, and pushed it over to me. “Eat up.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We ate while Kelly told me about his morning, and I made understanding noises in the appropriate places while I stuffed my face full of delicious Greek food. He also brought some hummus and pita that was still warm and some baklava for dessert. When we finished eating, we occupied ourselves playing some Scrabble game on his iPad.
I watched while he tried to think of a way to destroy me in the word game, and it wasn’t supposed to be sexy. But then there was Kelly. I liked that he approached a simple game like full-on warfare. I liked the way he worried the silver ball in his tongue as he thought hard. I liked the way his gray eyes danced behind his glasses when he finally thought of something that put a Q on a triple-letter square.
The way he used big words was making me hard.
God. I was losing it. Big-time.
“Fucker,” I muttered. When did I start losing my shit over nerdy guys who didn’t understand that when you got the Q tile without a U tile, you were supposed to be screwed. And that qigongs was not a word normal people were supposed to know. “What does that even mean?”
“It’s a Chinese system of physical exercises or movements performed in a meditative state.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “It also means you lose, sucka.”
Kelly had just mopped the floor with me for the second time when the door swung open and the doctor bustled in with a sack full of faux cheer. I’d met Dr. Greene the night before, and he seemed decent enough—though to be fair, he could be Ronald fucking McDonald as long as he gave me good news. He was followed closely by Coach Maxwell, clad in a tracksuit with a set of Oakleys around his neck. He gave me a thumbs-up that I returned.
“How’re you doing this afternoon, Mr. Montgomery?” Dr. Greene asked.
“I’m doing fine, thanks.”
“We’ve got quite a mob down in the lobby trying to see how you’re doing. Press. Fans. A few teammates.” He laughed as he scrolled through his tablet. “No offense, but we’re going to try and get you out of here as soon as possible.”
That was a plan I could get on board with. Finally someone was talking Blue-speak. “Certainly sounds good to me.”
Coach Maxwell got right down to business. “So how’s he looking? When can I have my tight end back, Doc?”
Kelly made an irritated noise. “It’s been one day.”
“One day that he’s been laid up and other teams have been practicing, son.”
Dr. Greene and I ignored them as he unwrapped my knee. It was still purple and swollen and puffy. He whistled as he set the unraveled gauze to the side. “You took a pretty nasty hit there.”
That was putting it lightly.
His touch as he probed my leg was cool and efficient. “Your MRI results are pretty much what we expected—no new tears, no lasting exacerbation to the old injury. Fortunately we don’t appear to have a more complex knee disruption here.”
I’d already had arthroscopic surgery to repair a torn anterior cruciate ligament. The surgery went well—the patellar tendon repair of the ACL and trimming of a torn medial meniscus they repaired on the fly because it hadn’t shown up in the MRI. I had nine months of frustrating rehabilitation and pain-management therapy, but the conclusion was simple—I was always going to have pain in that knee. Swelling. The occasional locking. The whole nine yards.
Dr. Greene led me gently through a few simple leg extensions to test my range of motion. “You’re going to have to take it easy for a little while.”
“What’s a little while?” I blurted.
“As long as I say it is.” He raised his eyebrow as he helped me put my leg back down on the bed. “I’ve spoken at length with your team doctor, and we’re both thinking two weeks is a good place to start. If you do what you’re supposed to do and avoid exacerbating the injury, you should be back on the field in no time.”
Dr. Greene was all business as he droned on and reviewed the finer details of my injury. I zoned out as he did, already planning in my head how hard I was going to work in my therapy to get back on the field as soon as possible—two, three games missed, max. The less time McAdams had to get used to my spot, the better.
My eyes drifted over to Kelly, and his gaze was trained on the doctor. Every now and again, he nodded in agreement. I rolled my eyes when he closed our Scrabble game and pulled up the notepad app. Good God, he was actually taking notes.
He was biting his bottom lip, just a little on one side. He had nice lips—not really all that wide, but full and a little pink. I knew from experience that his mouth was unbelievably soft and talented. It was hard to look at it without picturing something kind of… well, obscene. I shifted as images of him on his knees in front of me floated through my mind. He’d been blinking up at me with those pretty gray eyes as my cock slid through those lush lips, moaning like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Mr. Montgomery?”
I blinked, only to find everyone in the room looking at me. Fuck. I had no idea what the question even was. “Can you repeat that?”
Dr. Greene chuckled. “It’s a good thing you play better than you listen.” His prodding fingers hit a sore spot, and I jerked instinctively. He nodded, seemingly satisfied. Sadistic bastard. “I asked if you have chronic pain in this knee.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s worse than others.”
“With your history and the continued hits you take in your profession, that’s going to be the norm. We’re going to have to set you up with our pain-management team.”
“I already met with them.”
“Meet with them again.” Dr. Greene’s forehead creased in concern, but his brown eyes were gentle. “The team doctors and I don’t exactly share the same set of concerns. I’ll let them worry about your status as a superstar athlete and how quickly they can get you back on the field.”
Coach Maxwell made a sound of protest, and Dr. Greene waved a hand to make him stop. “I’m here to worry about the rest of Britton Montgomery. And the most important question I have for you today is really a simple one.”
I swallowed. “What’s that?”
“How do you feel as a whole?”
“It’s going to take a lot more than a bruised knee to stop him,” Coach boomed.
“I believe he was talking to Britton,” Kelly said, his voice hard and brittle. “So maybe we should let Britton answer.”
I didn’t even need to look in his direction to know he was pissed off. He only called me by my first name when he was mad enough to hurt someone.
Coach didn’t look fazed in the least that my protective terrier was about to take him down at the knees. “Well? How is it, Blue?”
“I feel fine.” I ignored Kelly’s irritated look and the doctor’s cautious one. “I just need a little rest.”
I wasn’t exactly lying. My knee didn’t feel that great, but then again, it never really did. I’d never get it back to where it was, and I almost mourned the loss. But if they were waiting for it to heal, it never would. I was used to my knee acting up, and after a week of resting and babying it, I’d be fine. RICE was my siren song—rest, ice, compression, elevation. After many years of sports, I could do it in my sleep.
In a week I’d start exercising it again—slowly. After another week I’d be ready to get back on the field. Ready for… someone to take me out again. I sighed. The irony didn’t escape me.
“I think we should be cautious regardless,” Dr. Greene said. “I can’t recommend a return to the field until he works with a physical therapist. It might be wise to continue working with one, even after you’re cleared.”
“You take all the time you need,” Coach said. But he gave me a look that clarified his feelings on the matter. You take all the time you need, as long as you have your ass back by the next game.
I sent him a look right back that was half-understanding, half-warning. I’ll do my best. Now you and your douchebag sunglasses can go fuck off.
On his way out the door, Coach passed a vibrating Kelly, who looked damn near ready to combust. He sent Kelly a two-fingered salute. “Cannon.”
