“What do we do? Do we call an ambulance?”
“I can get one of the trainers. They’re?—”
“I’m alive,” Reid grits out, and my eyes sting with tears. My vision turns watery when he pushes onto his elbows and winces, a nasty mark forming on his face. “This is why I don’t play fucking sports.”
“Thankfuck.” Maverick drops to his knees and holds Reid’s hand. “Are you ok? What the hell happened?”
“Bad depth perception and a breeze. Should’ve put me at catcher.” He sits all the way up and groans when he finds his glasses broken. “Shit.”
“We need to make sure you’re not concussed,” Dallas says. “You went straight to the ground.”
“I’m fine.” Reid rubs his forehead and tips his head to the sky. “I know who I am and where I am.”
“Still. We’re going to have you evaluated. And you’re not playing the rest of the game,” Dallas argues.
“I should’ve gotten hit in the face sooner. Would’ve saved me from this fucking misery,” he answers, and I bark out a laugh. Reid cranes his neck and looks at me with wide eyes. “Hey, Sinclair.”
“Hey.” I slip my hands in the back pockets of my jean shorts, our gazes holding. After three beats of staring at each other, I sniff and dip my chin, not wanting anyone to see me emotional. Not wantinghimto see me emotional. “What a way to lose an out.”
“Figured it was time for me to be dramatic about something in my life.” He reaches out an arm, and Dallas helps him to his feet. “I’m fine. Really. I’ll pop in with the doctor and watch the rest of the game from the sidelines.”
“You’re going to have to get cleaned up before that, man,” Maverick tells him. “Your nose is bleeding, and we can’t scare the kids.”
“I can help,” I offer. “If you need a hand.”
Reid’s throat bobs. There’s blood all down his chin that’s already started to dry. The left side of his face is swelling, and he’s definitely going to have a black eye in a few days.
I want to hug him.
I want to put my hand on his chest and make sure he’s breathing.
I know he is—he’s six feet away from me and holding full conversations—but I want to check for myself. Just to know everything is okay.
“That would be nice,” he says, brushing clumps of grass off his pants. “I can, uh, show you our medical room.”
The crowd around us starts to disperse and the fans cheer. He gives a feeble wave to the spectators, and Dallas slings an arm over his shoulder.
“Want one of us to come with you?” Dallas asks under his breath.
Reid shakes his head. His eyes meet mine again, and his smile is soft around the edges. “I’ll be in good hands.”
“Do you have another pair of glasses at home?” I ask Reid as we talk through the tunnel to the Titans’ training room, and he nods.
“Yeah. They’re big on my face and look stupid as fuck, but they’ll have to do.” He stops short of opening the door in front of us and touches my wrist. The brush of his finger against my pulse point is searing, electrifying, and I suck in a sharp breath. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yup.” I wipe under my eyes and smile. There’s a smudge of mascara on my thumb, and I hope I don’t look like a raccoon. “Can’t believe you missed that pop fly.”
“The blood doesn’t help my case, but I’m fine. Really.”
“I know.” I bob my head and look over his shoulder. I’m afraid to look at him straight on, because I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I shouldn’t be worried about his health or if he has internal bleeding. I shouldn’t be making a list of the things he might need if he has a concussion, or wondering if he’d be okay with me helping to take care of him. “I’m not worried.”
Reid steps closer to me. His cleats knock against my sandals, and I tip my chin back so I can look up at him.
I can’t explain what happens next or why, but one minute, I’m giving him a fake smile, and the next, a sob is escaping from the trenches of my chest.
“Come here,” he says gently, pulling me to his body. He smells like sweat and grass and the metallic scent of blood, but I don’t care. I melt into his embrace as he hugs me, fingers brushing through the ends of my hair and arms steady around me. “I’m okay, pretty girl. I’m all right.”
“I was worried about you,” I admit around a hiccup, and it’s muffled by the pinstripe jersey that has no business looking so good on him. “One second you were lobbing sarcasm at me, the next you were flat on your back. I didn’t like seeing you like that.”
