Meanwhile, the ER doc was writing out prescriptions, Gia was taking notes on her phone, and Cassie was shaking like a leaf. I pulled her hand to my mouth and pressed a kiss to her cold fingers.
“I’m going to be fine,” I said, knowing the words were for me more than her.
She hugged me back. “I know.”
Then I turned to Gia, knowing she would understand the subtext. “Can you get me home? Quietly?” Meaning no press, no cameras, no social media, anything. At least not yet.
She took a deep breath, and I appreciated the distraction of her full cleavage. Until she answered, that is. “I don’t know. I’ll do my best.”
I frowned. “The papers couldn’t possibly have found out yet. It’s only been an hour.”
“Actually, it’s been two, but you’re right. It should be fine.”
It wasn’t.
By the time I was discharged, hobbling awkwardly on crutches, there was a whole gaggle of reporters outside the ER doors. Four security guards were holding them back while also trying to let legitimate patients through. Horrified, I stared at Gia, who flushed dark red. I wasn’t accusing, though. It was just that she was the person I looked to when dealing with all things media. But at her glower, I hastily backtracked.
“Um, I know it’s not your fault. But—”
“It’s definitely notmyfault.” There was an edge to her voice that I didn’t have the brainpower to understand. The painkillers were wearing off, and my knee was throbbing. It was enough to make me think longingly of amputation. Meanwhile, Gia helped me with my jacket and then held up the baseball cap. Somehow, I doubted a plain blue hat was going to keep my face out of the papers. So I waved it away.
“Tell me what to say.”
She looked at Coach, who had joined us in the lobby and was now conferring with Doc—a whole procession of people lined up to tell me that my knee was crap.
“Tell them it’s minor,” Coach finally said. “He’s DL for this week’s series, but will be back soon.”
“I’ll get them a press release,” Gia added.
“You tell them that,” I grumbled. “I’m going with, ‘it sucks but I’ll be back.’”
“Good choice,” she said. Then she looked around. “We could try going out the other side—”
“They’ll just sit outside my apartment building. Let’s get it over with now.” Then I looked at Cassie. “If you want to escape—”
She shook her head, her jaw determined. “If you’re going that way, I am, too. Besides, I’m cuter than you. Let them take pictures of me.”
“Hell yes, you are,” I said. Though, privately, I thought that if the reporters were looking for the most photogenic one here, they’d all focus on Gia.
So with a grim grip on my crutches, I tried to look athletic as I one-footed it out of the hospital. Even though I was ready for the camera flashes, I still winced at the onslaught. And then came all the questions, too many at once for my addled brain to process. I just wanted to get home.
“It’s not too bad,” I said, pitching my voice loud enough to be heard. “Hopefully—”
“Oh my God! Connor!”
Oh fuck. Sophia.
She came running to me, her arms outstretched. I barely had time to hold up a hand to keep her from bowling me over. She skittered to a stop on her stiletto heels, then she took my arm while she aimed her tear-streaked face toward the cameras.
“My God, what happened?”
“It’s just a sprain. A bad one, but—”
“Oh no! They told me it happened when you saved a child from certain death. You stopped him from running out into traffic, but at what cost? You risked the pennant, maybe even the World Series, to save a boy. Oh, Connor, that’s so you.”
I gaped at her, completely dumbfounded. “Where did you hear that?”
“Everyone’s talking about it. The boy’s family is mortified, of course, but so grateful.”
