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“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
A sigh escaped. I wasn’t winning this, not with Cali—especially when she was worried.
The automatic hospital doors slid open, and sunlight spilled across my face. My eyes protested immediately. For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, hospital walls disappeared behind me. Fresh air filled my lungs instead of antiseptic. Kissing the pavement crossed my mind. Instead, all my concentration went toward reaching the truck without collapsing and proving everyone right.
Janet, my antique Ford, sat exactly where Soren and his foreman, Travis, had parked it. Normally those keys would’ve been in my pocket. Today, they belonged to Cali, who’d confiscated them and had absolutely zero interest in negotiating.
Apparently surviving a head injury didn’t earn driving privileges.
“Need a hand?” Jace asked casually.
“Nope.”
I took two more steps. The asphalt moved beneath my feet. Jace caught my elbow before my pride crashed into the pavement.
“Gotcha.”
A groan slipped out.
He grinned. “Doc said not to let you face-plant in the parking lot.”
“Doc talks too much.”
“I thought you enjoyed my bedside manner,” Cali shot back.
The comeback died before it reached my mouth. The parking lot stopped me cold. Not the cars—people. Dozens of teenage boys.
My football team.
For one disorienting second, the concussion seemed like the only reasonable explanation. Then the signs came into focus.
COACH MASSEY—TOUGHER THAN A BASEBALL BAT
GET WELL, COACH
WE NEED YOU TO WIN!
NO DYING BEFORE SEASON’S DONE
Tyler. That one practically had his name written across it.
The entire group erupted when they spotted me.
“COACH!”
“Look, he’s alive!”
“I told you he was too stubborn to die!”
“Coach, you look terrible!”
“Thanks, Carson!”
Laughter rolled through the crowd.
My feet stayed rooted to the pavement.
