“Fuck!” I yell. I clutch at my ribs as I hear Asher start yelling at Dex, but it’s just loud voices to me as that old friend called pain shows up with a blindingly white-hot greeting.
I try to get up, but I hiss at the pain as it takes over.
Coach Lincoln Nash shows up a second later. “Ribs?” he asks.
I nod and wheeze as I try to take a breath, but I can’t take a deep enough one. It’s too goddamn painful.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Trainers surround me as I curse Dex and his entire family. Fuck that dude.
“Can you breathe?” someone asks, and I nod.
It hurts, but I can do it.
They pull my jersey up, which hurts like all fuck, and they assess the damage. Someone brings an ice pack over, and they take my vitals.
They help me to my feet, and I’m hunched over as I try to walk toward the medical exam room. They offer me a wheelchair, and I decline.
I don’t know a single one of their names.
It hurts to walk. It hurts to breathe, so I take shallow breaths as I grit my teeth together. But where there’s pain, there’s life.
They take me back to the exam room, where they run X-rays.
Fifteen minutes later, the team doctor walks into the room with Coach Nash.
“Non-displaced fracture, left side,” the doctor says. “I want you to do a CT scan just to rule out any other possible damage, but we’re looking at no contact for four to six weeks before I can clear you. I can get you started on pain management right away.”
“Four to six weeks?” I wheeze, the most words I’ve put together since it happened.
I can play through the pain.
“We’ll start you on Toradol,” he says. “If you need something stronger, let me know.”
“I’ll be fine,” I hiss.
“Do you have someone who can stay with you?” Coach asks.
My mother is the only person in the world who comes to mind, but that’s not an option. I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“The hell you are,” he fires back. “Adrian will be traveling with us to New York,” he says, naming our team trainer as if to say he’s out since he won’t be around.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I grit out.
I move to get off this goddamn table, but I realize…I can’t move without an exorbitant amount of pain.
Maybe Idoneed a babysitter.
I’d just never fucking ask for one.
I never ask anyone for anything.
So I lie back, staring at the ceiling as I try to come to terms with my fate.
“Look, Mav,” Coach says. “You’re our number one. This is a minor setback. You’ll be back in a few weeks—”
“Four to six,” the doctor interrupts.
