She forced a weak-ass smile as an answer.
“Question of the day. What was the score?” I asked Doc Overton.
He laughed. “Twenty-seven to twenty-one. You held on to the ball, Padilla, and Malone caught a nice one off the next play.”
“Thank God.” I let my head fall back against my bed, which had been raised to accommodate my sitting position.
A tear slipped down Teagan’s cheek.
“Hey, no crying. We’re headed to the playoffs.” I squeezed her hand and stroked my thumb over her engagement ring.
“You are headed for some rest,” the Duke doctor challenged.
“At least until you clear concussion protocol,” Doc Overton amended.
“I figured.” Two weeks. I’d miss next week’s game but could make it back for the first round if I healed up quickly. I didn’t give a shit about my ribs. I’d played hurt before—the adrenaline usually masked the pain. But I knew enough about CTE to even argue about getting back out there before my brain healed up.
“We’d like to keep you overnight,” the Duke Doc announced.
I sighed.
“It’s already pretty late, and we just want to get a good look at your scans,” Doc Overton added in. “We’re not taking any chances with you.”
“Or my millions-of-dollars-legs?” I quipped sarcastically.
“It’s your brain we’re mostly worried about, smart ass,” he retorted with a grin. “At least your sense of humor didn’t get knocked out of you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Overnight stay. Look at my scans. You want me to hydrate, answer questions about current events, and prove I didn’t get a screw loosened on that field. Been here, done this.” I gave a thumbs-up, cringing as pain shot down my side.
“You got it. We’ll give you guys a few minutes,” Doc Overton said softly, his gaze darting to Teagan. “After that, you’re up for a full course of poking and prodding.”
“Noted.”
The docs and nurses cleared out, leaving me alone with Teagan. Luckily, they’d lowered the lights a little on the way out, easing the throbbing in my head.
“I’m so sorry!” Teagan sobbed, her shoulders hunching inward.
“What?” I let loose a laugh. She’d had the same exact reaction when I’d taken a hit our freshman year in high school, swearing she’d distracted me by calling my name too loudly, and claiming it was her fault. “T, baby. Come here.”
I gritted my teeth and forced my body over, using the power in my legs and narrowly avoiding the bedrail against my left side. Then I pulled on her hand, tugging her into my arms.
She reluctantly climbed into bed, curling against my good side, and nestling her head on my shoulder. “He hit you so hard,” she said so quietly I barely heard her.
“It happens.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead and breathed in her scent. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”
She sucked in a shaky breath.
“Teagan. This is hardly the worst hit I’ve taken, and having you here, tucked up against me in my jersey, wearing my ring—trust me, you’re the best painkiller there is.” I stroked her hair back from her forehead.
“I love you.” It sounded more like a plea than a declaration.
“And I love you.” I kissed her head again. “Baby, I’m okay. I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t the last time you’re going to see me like this,” I chuckled softly, hoping it would break a little of the tension locking her muscles up.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she whispered as two short knocks sounded at the door.
Coach Goodman didn’t wait for the okay, he simply barged in, worry lining his eyes. “They said you were awake, but I wanted to see for myself.”
“I’m fine, Coach.” I locked my arm around Teagan’s side when she tried to move. She wasn’t going anywhere, not as shaken as she was.
“Good, because the boys are here, demanding to see you.” He stepped aside, allowing Nixon and Hendrix to storm in.
“Damn, are you okay?” Nixon asked, his forehead puckered as he folded his arms across his chest. The guy didn’t mess around with concussions. His little brother had never woken up from one.
“I’m fine, I swear,” I promised him.
His jaw ticked in response.
Teagan eased out of my arms. Damn it, I wasn’t about to manhandle her into staying. She’d had enough of that.
Hendrix’s gaze darted between Nixon and me, well aware of Nixon’s past. “You should see the playback. Guy came at you like a fucking wrecking ball. How awesome is the bruising on your ribs?”
Leave it to Hendrix to change the subject. He reached for my gown, and Nixon slapped his hand. “Hey, don’t you know it’s not polite to undress a man without his permission?”
“It’s nothing we haven’t seen. It’s not like he’s shy around the locker room or needs his own shower for…privacy.” Hendrix lifted his eyebrows.
I laughed, and fuck me it hurt.
Teagan slipped off the bed. “I’m going to round up some Jello…or something.” She forced a smile and pretty much ran.
“She freaked, man,” Hendrix said softly. “At the stadium, when they carried you off, she freaked.”
“She’s always worried when shit like this has happened before.” I shrugged it off and reached for the water on the side table. “We’ve just never been together when it happened.”
“She sure as fuck didn’t scream at the docs to let her in the ambulance when Baker got hit against Dallas,” Nixon argued. “You should have seen Overton’s face. When she told him you were hers.”
“Well, she loves me more than she loved Baker, I guess.” That brought a tiny grin of possession to my face. Did I want Teagan to worry? Of course not. Did I like that she fought to get to my side? Hell yes.
Hendrix scoffed, and Nixon shook his head.
“Seriously though, you gotta see this hit.” Hendrix whipped out his phone and brought up the clip.
We all simultaneously hissed as we watched the replay.
“Oh, and I should tell you that your Mom is on her way,” Nixon warned.
“Fuck me,” I groaned.
If the docs thought Teagan was possessive, I couldn’t wait for them to get a load of my mother.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, and there’s zero chance I’m going to be anywhere but here,” Teagan argued, settling in at my side the next night.
She’d brought me home from the hospital since I wasn’t allowed to drive.
I also wasn’t supposed to use my phone, read, or do anything that generally used my brain. The doc had suggested crafts. I’d laughed him out of the room.
“Thank you for taking care of Walt for me.” The big baby was currently curled up on his dog bed across the room.
“You never have to thank me.” She rested her head on the stretch of bare skin between my collarbone and where the wrapping for my ribs began. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
“T, you know this is the shit that just happens. I have seven years left in the NFL—if I’m lucky—and I bet we’ll be here a couple more times. That doesn’t mean that I won’t be careful, but I don’t want you to worry too much.”