Or the way her lips thin for the briefest of seconds when she’s trying to hide her annoyance. Exactly like she did when she opened her door last night and found me on the other side.
I’ve even worked out that when she scratches her neck while staring you in the eye, she’s most definitelylying.
She can’t fool me.
And it’s breaking my fucking heart.
I make it outside the hospital without running into her, and breathe a sigh of relief. Not for me, because I’d do anything to see her again, but for her. She doesn’t need me hanging around her workplace, distracting her from her job. I have no doubt she’s struggling enough.
But no sooner do I relax than I hear my name again. Though thankfully this time it’s my present calling, not my past.
“Sal, hi.” I wave as our team owner, Salvatore D’Angelo, strides toward me, his ever-present confident facade replaced with a sympathetic grin.
Aimed my way.
“You’re back?” he questions, coming to a stop in front of me. “I tried to catch up with you last night, but Keeley said that you left.”
“Yeah, I needed some sleep, in a proper bed.” Not that I got any.Or even tried.
“Understandable.” He smiles. “How are you feeling?”
“Just like I did when I was out on the field on Sunday. I’m as good as new. Nothing a little pain meds won’t fix.”
“Good to hear.” Sal nods a few times before his expression turns sympathetic again. “Only I didn’t mean physically.”
Dammit.I was worried about that.
“Mentally, I’m good too. I’m ready to play again. I just need the doctors to clear me.”
“I’m sure they will. In a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” I gape in disbelief. “It’s a scratch.”
“I heard you lost a lot of blood.”
“I lost a lot of blood the last time I got a papercut too. But you still played me after that.”
“Zane—”
“Please. I have to play, I—”
His shoulders drop and I pause, switching gears. That was the wrong thing to say. God fucking dammit. “Never mind. I’ll take a few weeks. The rest will do me good, and—”
“You’ll need to see a psychiatrist before you’re cleared. You should see one anyway, Zane. You—”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to Bec.” Our team’s psychologist.
“No, Zane. You need someone who can specifically deal with the kind of trauma you’ve been through.”
“I’mfine.”
“I’m sure you think that but—”
“Can you force me?” I argue, almost rubbing my chest where it’s knotted from resistance. Just the thought of revisiting… Nope. I can’t go there.
Sal releases a slow breath before his mouth sets in a hard line. “No, we can’t.” He sighs in frustration and it’s a relief to my ears. “But—”
“I promise, I’m fine.” I refuse to take more time off than I have to. “And...to make me feel even better, I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back.”
