I clenched my eyes, but the second my shoulder popped back into the socket, they shot open again, my lungs finally releasing a solid breath. A throbbing pain replaced the sharpness of the initial injury, and as soon as the doctor wrapped my arm in a sling, I could think clearly.
I didn’t know what to do with the barrage of emotions that bubbled up inside me.
Defeat.
Blinding anger.
Disappointment.
I struggled to contain any sense of composure, so I kept my eyes averted from everyone, including Sophie. If she had just stayed in her goddamn seat like I asked her to, I’d be celebrating a win instead of nursing my re-injured shoulder.
Did all the blame lie with her, though? Shouldn’t I be accountable for being distracted in the first place?
Instead of dissecting my rampant thoughts, I remained silent. I wanted to be alone but didn’t express the need out loud. Luckily for me, my team knew me well.
“Why don’t we give Jackson a minute?” Elton said, pointing toward the door. The doctor was the first to leave but only after giving me a script for pain medication as well as instructions on care. I didn’t bother to tell him I’d been through this more times than I wanted to admit. Trevor and Abby left next, followed by Elton. Sophie didn’t budge from the doorway.
“Leave,” I said.
“Jackson, I’m so sor—”
I angled my gaze onto her. “Leave,” I shouted, ignoring the rippling agony in my shoulder.
“Come on,” Lance said, touching her arm. “Give him some time.”
She stared at me, her eyes shrouded with unshed tears, but I didn’t have the emotional strength to comfort her before she started crying.
When she finally disappeared with Lance, I was left alone to contemplate my future.
With this sport.
With my team.
With Sophie.
46
The more vodka I consumed, the easier the alcohol slid down my throat, wrapping me in its numbing embrace. My pride wasn’t as bruised. My shoulder hurt less. My heart stopped splitting apart at the thought of losing Sophie. Did I believe she’d walk away from me? No. Did I plan on walking away from her? I didn’t even want to answer my own question because I didn’t know what I was going to do where she was concerned.
My only focus for the foreseeable future was draining the bottle sitting in front of me, then repeating until I either stopped thinking about what happened or passed out. My bet was on the latter.
An incessant pounding on my front door interrupted my blissful detachment. “Go away,” I slurred, failing to raise my voice above a whisper. Another hard knock. Then another. “Go away,” I said once more, this time shouting my demand.
“Open the fucking door, Jax,” Lance yelled, banging once more.
“Leave me alone.” I attempted to stand but lost my balance and toppled over on the couch, coming down hard on my leftside. “Fuck!” I screamed, the pain in my shoulder briefly lifting the veil of the drunken haze I’d lost myself to.
“If you don’t open this door right now, I swear I’ll break it down.” He hammered my door repeatedly. “Jackson!”
My second endeavor to stand was successful, although I swayed the entire walk to the door. I flipped the lock and turned the handle but never opened the door fully. Lance stepped inside, shaking his head when he saw the state I was in.
“Welcome,” I said in the most sarcastic greeting I could fathom. “What brin… what brings you by?” I barely understood what I’d said, so I doubted Lance did. My entire body was now numb, my legs like stone as I stumbled back to the couch. I plopped back down, careful of my shoulder this time.
“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours.”
“You found me.” After swallowing a mouthful of my new favorite drink, I rested my head against the back of the sofa and closed my eyes. They’d suddenly become too heavy to keep open. “Here I am,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, here you are,” Lance said, “in the sorriest state I’ve ever seen you in.”
