“It’s okay, dude. We have extra jerseys. Don’t worry,” his teammate offers.
“No. It’s my good luck charm.” He starts to sit up but winces. “The shirt underneath.”
“Lay down,” I growl, and he stops to look me in the eyes, slowly lowering himself back to the ground. I run my hands through his sweaty hair. “It’s okay. I’ll give you another one, Jay. I’ll give you all of them—just please, let them cut it off.”
He hesitates, his chin wobbling, and he swallows. He closes his eyes and whispers, “Okay. Go ahead. But Iwantthe shirt back.”
“Okay,” The trainer says and begins cutting front the center of the collar down halfway—just enough to pull it away to see his chest.
Jay shifts his stare from the trainer’s hand straight to me. We lock in on each other and everything around him blurs. The ground, people, and sound all dissipate. My brain, my body, and my heart can’t pull away from him—can’t focus on anything else. I can feel my heartbeat pound in my head… and a tingling sensation takes over my lower body as my cock thickens.
What the fuck?
“Whoa. Okay, no one move,” the trainer says, pulling me out of my laser focus on his face. My hand is still in his hair as I look down at this bare chest at his collarbone poking through his skin, blood seeping out.
“Fix it!” I demand, unable to look anywhere else.
“Call the ambulance,” our teammate hollers to someone. “And bring some water!”
The next thing I know, I’m given a water bottle and I squirt it into his mouth. Jay gulps it down, his chest painfully rising and falling. He calms his crying and wipes at his eyes with the hand he can raise, erasing the evidence of his tears.
“Okay, Jay,” the trainer says. “We’re going to move you to the sideline until the EMT arrives. I’m going to create a makeshift sling with your jersey to immobilize your arm in the meantime.”
He nods, and I somehow manage to peel my hands off him, letting the medical trainer bend his arm, pull up the bottom of his jersey, and encase his right arm with the material. I help him sit up and put my shoulder under his good arm, letting him use me as a crutch. Adjusting my stiff cock, I try to discreetly put it under my waistband as we make our way off the field and the players softly applaud.
I take my time walking him off the field, careful not to disturb him, and absorbing any unnecessary impact. By the time we reach the sideline, the ambulance is already pulling up. There are a lot of games at the park, so EMTs are usually here every weekend for injuries like this.
The medical team meets us and they open the back door as we approach. They take one look at his chest and guide him into the vehicle. When I step into the ambulance, one of the EMTs stops me. “Sir, are you family?”
“No, I’m… his friend,” I say, uncertainty whirling around.
“Family only, I’m sorry. You can follow us. We’re going to University Hospital on Convention Avenue.”
“Drive my car, Marco. Keys are in my bag. It’s okay. I’ll meet you there,” Jay says, as the doors slam in my face and I feel my blood boil.
No!
“Is he okay?” A woman’s voice appears and I turn my head to her. Her thick brunette curls are piled high in a bun, but I can’t seem to focus on much else. “I was nearby and I heard someone yell for an ambulance. I walked by one earlier, so I ran back and let them know.”
The vehicle pulls away, and I start running to pick up our bags and holler back to the pretty woman, “Thank you! I’m sorry I have to go.”
Sprinting, I pick up our bags and head to his car. Nothing else around me exists other than my need to be where he is. To make sure he’s okay and safe.
I’m so fucking stupid. I should have told the EMT I was his husband. Not being next to him is eating me alive, and my hands white-knuckle the steering wheel.
As I pull out of the park and head for the hospital, Jay’s radio connects to the Bluetooth on his phone, pulling up his playlist automatically. I peer at the screen on the dash when I hear a familiar song… one of my favorites. I take another glance and read the name of the playlist:He’s Killing Me Softly With His Songs.
I click next and jump through a killer playlist. The Goo Goo Dolls, Greta Van Fleet, The Avett Brothers. Jay has great taste in music. I pack that thought away as I pull into the parking lot of the hospital and rush into the emergency room.
Thankfully, my boner has died down. What the fuck was that about? I know I have this crying kink, but it’s only presented itself around women. Right? I can’t remember having one around a dude. But then again, how many crying men have I been around?
My thoughts are erased once I reach the front desk. After mildly berating the receptionist, I make my way to the floor Jay is on and check in with the nurses’ station.
“Jamison Bishop,” I huff. “Where is he? He came in with a broken collarbone.”
The nurse looks up from her computer. “Are you family?”
“I’m his husband,” I bite out, deciding to not waste any time.
