Carter is outside one of the stalls, down on one knee.
“Don’t,” he’s saying. “Let Melina check you over.”
They are in the white-tiled space, which is thick with humidity from the showers. Lucien stands next to me as Carter talks to Melina.
“He’ll be okay,” he says. “This happens a lot.”
I glance at him, my gaze locking onto the defined muscles of his chest, which has a light coating of dark hair. Kyle always had his chest waxed; I like that Lucien’s has hair.
“Thirsty?” he asks, smirking.
I roll my eyes, ignoring the question. “Did he lose consciousness?”
“Probably, but just for a little bit. That’s why he falls off the throne. Wasn’t wearing his helmet either.”
I gape at him. “His helmet?”
Lucien nods. “We got him a helmet to wear when he shits. The crap cap. He blows it off, though.”
“Keep his head and neck as still as you can,” Melina says.
Carter pulls Isaac from the stall, his hands hooked under Isaac’s armpits.
“I’m fine,” Isaac is griping. “Show’s over, fuckers. Ouch! Fuck.”
“Shut your piehole, Isaac!” Melina snaps. “How many times have I tried to get you to use a fiber supplement?”
Isaac’s pants are around his ankles and even though I didn’t mean to, I got a one-second glance at his midsection, and his penis is absurdly large—like the size of my forearm.
“I’m fine! Get your goddamn hands off me, Stanton!”
Carter ignores him, dragging Isaac across the floor and setting him down. Melina is trying to hold his head in a stable position. Bash brings a towel for Melina to put beneath his head and the floor.
“Does anything hurt?” she asks, kneeling beside him.
“I’m f—ah!” He cringes. “My neck.”
Lucien blows out a breath next to me. Quiet settles over the room. The team has turned their losing streak around, everything going so well that they’ve all stopped shaving their faces out of superstition. As their starting goalie, Isaac is a huge part of that.
“Call Caroline,” Melina tells Carter. “And get Coach Turner.”
“No!” Isaac barks. “Just give me a fucking minute, I’m fine.”
“It’s his neck,” someone murmurs behind me.
Lucien is tense beside me. There’s a palpable sense of dread in the whole bathroom about Isaac’s condition.
“I’ll get a C-collar,” I say.
News of Isaac’s fall has already spread around the locker room. The team had just finished practice, and many of us were planning to go out for lunch. The mood was light.
Now it’s almost silent.
I find a cervical collar in the training supply closet. By the time I get back to the bathroom, my dad is kneeling beside Isaac, too.
“Be still and listen to her,” Dad tells Isaac, his tone stern. “Melina and Caroline will tell you when you can move. I better not see you even blink until they tell you to.”
“Without moving anything else, can you wiggle your toes for me?” Melina asks him.
