I shrug, which earns me a dirty look from Chad. “It’s fine. I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Please keep still,” Chad says as he exchanges a look with the medics.
“I can’t keep still; it makes me itchy,” I mutter, knowing Chad isn’t really listening. “You can go change. I’m not going to die,” I tell Archangel who’s hovering.
“Are we transporting?” the medics asks again.
“No! Give me whatever I need to sign. I’m fine.” I’m so fucking annoyed.
“Babe, you should get it checked out.” Concern is etched in the lines around Archangel’s eyes.
“Then I won’t be able to go home with the team, and I’ll be stuck here.” I almost wince because talking is starting to get to me.
Archangel glares. “You need to go in.”
I’m about to argue when the medic cuts in, “If you don’t get checked out and it is a c-spine injury, you’re risking your dick not working anymore.”
I gasp. “You’re lying.”
He holds up his hands. “I’m being serious, and I figured you’d want to know the risk.”
“You have to go in,” Archangel demands, like that’s not completely giving away his motivation and our relationship.
“We need you checked out to travel and to get an idea if you can play,” Hawke steps in to add. “There’s no way you can play in the regional final day after tomorrow with a possible neck injury and without clearance. There is nothing I can do about it.”
“Fine,” I say through my teeth to limit my talking. It doesn’t help.
Things move fast when I get to the hospital. I get an x-ray and then finally, they take the neck collar off and they allow me to move. They thankfully let Archangel come in the ambulance with me, but maybe he shouldn’t have. He’s an anxious wreck. He’s pulled off the rest of his gear and helped me with mine, thenput his jersey back on. It’s big without the padding, and he looks hot in it.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” He gets close for the first time.
“I promise I am.” I tug him closer.
A doctor interrupts us, but I don’t mind as long as it gets me out here faster.
“I’m Dr. Rose, and I’m going to be checking you out tonight. Can you tell me what happened?”
I give him a recap.
“Can I take a look at that?”
“Go for it.”
“Pretty good bruise you got going there already.” He touches it and then checks my head movement and runs me through an exam. “Does it hurt?”
“It’s not a big deal. I’ve had worse.”
Dr. Rose blinks and exchanges a look with the nurse, but I’m used to it. At least they aren’t commenting on all my scars, which gets embarrassing and is one of the reasons I hate going to the hospital.
“Do you want something for the pain?”
“No. The pain doesn’t bother me, and I don’t want to play with banned substances.”
“Surely you’d get an exemption?”
“I’m not going to risk it in the middle of the playoffs.”
