“Shh . . . I’m okay.” He drops his lips to my forehead. “The meds are starting to kick in. My headache is almost completely gone.”
“You scared the hell out of me. I thought—god that was so dirty. Your injuries could have been so much worse. The ball hit you so hard your helmet came off. It looked awful.” He cups my cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. My phone buzzes in the pocket of the hoodie I grabbed out of Cruz’s cubby before we left the locker room.
When he saw me shivering from the adrenaline, he refused to get in the ambulance until I put it on. Even in that state, he was more concerned about me being warm than he was about his own head injury.
“It’s Poppy checking in. I’m sure Hen is losing his mind,” I tell him, typing out a response to her.
“We can call them in a little while. The game should be almost over.”
“That doesn’t seem like a good idea. Your doctor said to rest and avoid stress. Maybe you should just try to get some sleep.”
“I’m feeling much better. We need to call my parents. I’m sure they’re freaking out. Can you grab my phone for me?”
“I’ll call them for you,” I protest, sitting up so he can see I’m serious about this.
“Hermosa, my parents are going to want to hear from me. I know you’re trying to help, but after Jarrett, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already on the way to the airport. I should have called them before I even left the stadium. If you won’t help me. I’ll get the phone myself.”
As soon as he says Jarrett’s name, my stomach twists with guilt. His mom and dad are probably beside themselves. I was so worried about him that I never even considered that they would have watched the game on TV and seen him go down.
“Don’t you dare. Keep your ass in bed.” I glare at him until he settles back against the pillow. Padding across the hospital room, I grab his backpack and find his phone. The screen is littered with texts and missed calls.
Sure enough, both his parents have been trying to reach him. I’m about to return to bed when another notification from earlier in the day catches my eye. Biting my thumb, I glance over my shoulder. Cruz has his head tipped back on the pillow with his eyes closed. Making a split-second decision, I swipe the notification clear and open the app to clear the red circle.
My stomach churns with guilt, but the doctor was very clear. His concussion is severe, and he needs to rest. That means avoiding physical activity, screens, and stress so his brain can heal. He has every right to know, but it can wait a few days before we deal with Rich and the unknown caller.
My heart races as I cross the room back to the bed. Cruz’s health has to take priority, but I’m unsure if that was the right decision. I swear to myself that I’ll tell him about the calls as soon as we get home and he’s had a few days to heal.
“Do you want me to call your mom or your dad’s phone?” I ask, sliding into the bed next to him.
“Mom. She’ll be sitting at the kitchen table waiting for a call.” I unlock his phone and find Analia’s number dialing on speakerphone.
“Cruz, mijo. Are you okay?” she answers before either of us can say hello, the slight tremble in her voice is unmistakable.
“Sí, Má. I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t call sooner. The doctors just left.”
“Where are you now? The hospital? Your dad and I will come out to St. Louis.”
“Calm down. I’m only here for observation but should be discharged in the morning. Delilah and I will fly home in a few days.”
“She’s there with you, can she hear me?”
“I’m here, Analia.”
“Menos mal!” She huffs out in relief. “How’s my boy doing? Don’t sugarcoat it like he would.”
“He’s okay. His concussion is severe so he’ll need to take it easy and it will be at least seven days on the injured reserve. The doctor thought it would be closer to two or three weeks before restrictions would be lifted.”
“Lilah, dear. You’ll be staying with him when he gets home, right?” I feel my cheeks flame. Cruz and I haven’t talked about what happens beyond flying home when he’s feeling well enough.
I glanced at Cruz to see his reaction. If I thought he would bail me out of this conversation with his mom I’m sorely mistaken. His eyebrow is cocked at me in amusement.
“Um, we haven’t really talked about that yet. I can—I mean . . .”
Cruz takes the phone from my hand. “Má, Delilah’s had a hard enough day without you instigating. It’s up to her, but I’d rather have her stay with me than hire a nurse to take care of me. I’m sure she’ll give me a much more thorough sponge bath.” The pain meds must be in full-effect because he drawls the words out in the thickest Texas accent I’ve ever heard from him. It’s not the time to get turned on but that silky smooth voice soaks right into my skin making me break out in goosebumps. His eyes shift to me, as if he senses the change and his mouth tilts up in a teasing smile.
Talk about stirring shit up. If he didn’t have a head injury, I would slap him upside the head. “You asshole,” I mouth to him while his mom howls with laughter on the other end of the line.
“I’ll come to stay with you, but just for that, I’m calling in Dom to assist with all your bathing needs.”
