“Logan? Are you in any pain?” I don’t recognize the voices around me.
My throat feels like sandpaper as I try to croak out ayes, but it doesn’t happen. I give whoever is talking to me a small nod.
“Can you give him something for the pain?”
That voice I recognize.
Mason. My big brother.
But why is he here? Wherever the hell here is.
The lights in my eyes start to dim, focusing on the room around me. Gramps and my brother are standing at my side, in what I can now see is a hospital room.
I try to move, but can’t. Looking down, I see one leg is covered while the other is in a metal cage. I groan, trying to fight the swell of nausea that roars up in me. What the hell happened?
“Logan. Do you remember what happened?”
“No,” I sputter out. “Water?”
It feels like I’m in quicksand, trying to find my footing. A straw is brought to my lips as I take a hearty gulp of the refreshing liquid.
“What happened?” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
They share a pained look before another voice enters the fray.
“You have a compound fracture in the fibula and tibia bones in your left leg.” I don’t recognize this person as I follow their voice. A doctor by the looks of it.
“What?” Everything is fuzzy. My brain isn’t catching on. The last thing I remember is halftime of the Super Bowl. Shit. What day is it?
“Are we in Denver?”
Gramps shakes his head, squeezing my hand. “You’re in Jackson.”
“Jackson?” Fuck. “For a broken leg?”
Mason scrubs a hand down his face, a concerned look etched across his features.
“The hospital in Denver discharged you. You were flying back to Dixon when you became septic—”
“Septic?”
The doctor nods. “You picked up an infection and you were brought here for immediate surgery.”
“Surgery?”
“We were lucky to save your leg.”
“But…” I lick my dry lips. “What does that mean for football?”
“Right now, the concern is getting you healthy again,” Gramps answers for him.
“Football isn’t our biggest worry right now,” the doctor clarifies. “You will need a few more surgeries to clear out the scar tissue and repair the leg before you can even think about football.”
“What about the Super Bowl?”
“Denver won, son. Thanks to a great touchdown by you.”
“But how did this happen?” I wave a hand over my leg. “I don’t understand how I got here. I don’t remember any of this.”
