“Mini? Oh, Jesus, fuck. You in there finally?”
What the hell did that mean?
“I di’n stay out all night, did I?” He tried to sit up, stopping short when all sorts of things starting screaming, mainly his fucking head.
“You got stomped, Jase.” Bax’s hands were good and familiar on him, easing him back down to the bed, couch, whatever. “Took a bad one to the head.”
“Huh?” Oh, that was better. Easier. “I feel like shit.” Thank God the fucking lights were down—he might hurl.
“Yeah. I swear, Mini. You’ve been out solid.” Bax was just petting his chest, fingers moving slow and easy.Soothing.
“This…this ain’t sports medicine…” Sports medicine wasn’t dark like this, not ever, not in any arena, and he couldn’t hear the crowd.
“No.” That hard edged voice went all hushed. “You’re in the hospital, Jase.”
“Whut?” He shook his head, blinking fast, his belly churning. “No. No, man. Turn the fucking lights on. This ain’t right.”
It wasn’t right at all. They were fucking with him. Somebody was fucking with him. There wasn’t a fucking hospital on earth like this.
“The lights? Mini, they’re turned down in here, but they’re on. I swear, I was wondering how you could sleep.” That hand flattened on his chest, pressing a little, holding him in place.
“Goddamn it, Andy Baxter! You quit fucking with me! You stop it right fucking now!” This wasn’t funny. Not even a little. He shoved as hard as he could, hands connecting with Bax’s arm, the slap loud and sharp.
“Jase! Quit it! You’ll hurt yourself. They said you got to stay still.” Bax sounded panicked, but he sure couldn’t see it for shit. It was too damned dark. “Listen, I’ll turn the overhead on, okay? Okay? Just hold on.”
He heard the click. Heard it.
No.
No fucking way.
No. Fucking. Way.
He ground his teeth together, hands going up to rub his eyes, touch them. They were there, dry and a little scratchy. He rubbed harder.
Come on. Come on now.
“Jase?” Bax was back, fingers wrapping around his wrists. “What? What is it? Do you need the Doc?”
“I. I. I gotta get up. I gotta wash my face.” He couldfucking feel Bax, right there, and he looked, looked as hard as he could and there wasn’t nothing.
Nothing.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“No. No, you need to stay down. Your brain got all shook around in your skull. I’ll get a cloth.” He could hear Bax get up, boots clicking on the linoleum floor, could hear the water run.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Okay. Okay. Okay.
He squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to figure what day it was, what had happened. He remembered driving from the Marriott over to the arena. Remembered the fucking sun being so hot there in Phoenix that it burned his hands on the steering wheel. “We’re in Phoenix.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Good.” The cloth felt wet and cool on his forehead, his cheeks. “That’s good, Mini.”
“Bax.” He took the rag, started scrubbing his eyes good and hard, wanting to get something. Anything.
“What? What is it? What hurts?” Again, Bax grabbed his wrists, stopping him. “You got to quit that, honey.”
“I can’t.” He could hear his heart, hear it pounding in his head as if someone was beating him with a stick—bang bang bang. “I cain’t! Let me go! I got to get out of here. Bax, you get me out of here, right fucking now!”
