Patel seems to accept that. “You’ve got that legendary list of contacts.”
I force a smile. “Exactly.” I look to Mel, who frowns at me, but I can’t hide my reaction from her.
“Do you need to go and make some phone calls?” she asks carefully.
I nod to the guys. “Excuse me.”
Marshall finishes his drink. “Go. Do your thing. I think that’s all we need this afternoon.” He looks to Patel. “Unless you’ve got anything else you need to say?”
Patel shakes his head. “Good for now.”
I shake their hands quickly and take off. I’m acting rude. I’m acting like a damn maniac, actually. But my heart is pounding, and the only thing I can think about is Orlando, and if he’s hurt, and what a damn tragedy it would be if his career ended like mine.
An hour later, I board a flight to him.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
ORLANDO
“Four to six weeks. Wait. What?”
My head feels numb. It’s hard to think. There’s this throbbing, burning pain at my shoulder and my chest, but it’s muted and far away.
My skull hurts.
After a quick phone call with my family to tell them I’m okay, I thought I was prepared to hear the news about my condition, but now it’s impossible to process.
“There are essentially two injuries you need to recover from,” the doctor explains slowly. A nurse is by his side, and another doctor from the team is standing in the corner, her arms crossed.
“Your broken clavicle is non-surgical and relatively minor,” the doctor continues. “We expect a full recovery within a few weeks, and no more than two to four weeks of physical therapy following that. Your concussion might be a bit more serious, but we’ll keep an eye on you. With any luck, you’ll be cleared for light movement well before you’re supposed to start physical therapy.”
My headache throbs. “Damn it,” I groan under my breath and press the side of my scalp.
Everything is reeling. I’m trying to make sense of what he’s saying, but it’s like my brain isn’t working. One minute I was on the field, and now this?
The doctor in the back of the room steps forward. “I think that’s enough information for now.” She waits until I look up and holds my eye. “You’re fine. You just need to take some time to heal. Okay?”
I nod, appreciating that.
“And you’re probably exhausted,” she says. “Make sure to get some sleep.”
I am. My entire body feels heavy. “Okay,” I agree.
She walks out of the room, and through the swinging door, I see her talking to someone in the hallway.
Troy.
I’m sure it’s Troy, and something inside of me comes alive, surging through the stupor. A second later, though, they’re gone, and the door swings shut.
I fall back against the pillow, not certain if I hallucinated him, and pass out.
When I wake again, I have no idea how much time has passed. It takes me a few painful seconds to even remember what happened and where I am. Once I finally open my eyes, though, I see a burly man with concerned eyes.
“You’re up,” Troy says, blinks once, and stands.
I rub my hand over my face. “I’m up,” I say, groggy but so damn glad to see him.
Troy gestures to the door. “The team doctor had to go. I said I’d stay here in case you woke. As your agent.”
