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“Good news!”
I sat next to Andre’s hospital bed with my hand in his, trying to lend him my strength. One of our hands was sweaty and clammy, and it broke my heart to know it wasn’t mine.
Andre was nervous. And with good reason.
We both faced his orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Jenkins, as he delivered the news about Andre’s broken hip. My quarterback and team captain suffered a nasty break during the last game of the regular season against the San Antonio Armadillos in a concerted effort to knock the Yellowhammers out of the playoffs.
Assholes. All of them. I forced my hand not to clench Andre’s.
Wouldn’t do to break the bones there too.
“Good news?” I echoed the doctor’s words. Hopeful. I was hopeful. He wouldn’t say there was good news unless there was good news, right?
I glanced over at Andre, willing him to smile or at least look interested in what Dr. Jenkins had to say. Instead, he just looked downright pissed. Rightfully so. He’d been told yesterday that he was likely never to play football again.
Maybe the good news was that he could play for the Yellowhammers next season.
Hope fluttered in my chest. Traitorous, beautiful hope.
Dr. Jenkins looked at his clipboard and tapped it with his pen. “The good news is, it looks like there is little risk of hip osteocronosis—or the lack of blood supply to your bones. Which means that we won’t have to do a partial hip replacement.”
Goddamn, the prognosis for Andre’s hip sounded awful. I’d learned more about bones and surgeries in the last twenty-four hours than I ever thought possible.
“That’s good?” Andre intoned, turning his gaze toward the doctor. “That my hip bones won’t die?”
“Yes.” Dr. Jenkins nodded. “We’ll have to do a hip pinning and put in seven screws for the hip to align and heal properly. With physical therapy, you should be able to walk in three months.”
“Wait.” Andre frowned. “What?”
“Three months?” I asked. “But—”
“The good news is that you will be able to lead a normal life after this surgery,” Dr. Jenkins continued, oblivious to Andre’s mood. “You are young, athletic, and we’ll hopefully be able to avoid a hip replacement in your future.”
I swallowed thickly. This felt surreal, like it wasn’t truly happening to me or to Andre. Stuff like this happened in dramas. Not in real life. And not to the man I loved.
One of them.
Shit.
“Does that mean that he’ll be able to play next year?” I asked. “He’ll be able to play football again, right?”
Because that had to be a part of the good news. It just had to be.
I saw it on Dr. Jenkins’s face, though. The hesitation.
“We can’t promise anything.” He set the clipboard down and gave Andre and empathetic smile. “Let’s take it one step at a time, all right?”
Well, that was fucking cruel. Considering that Andre couldn’t actually take any steps right now. And I could see that he was unimpressed as he glared at the doctor. Really, Dr. Jenkins could have used any other expression when considering Andre’s prospects for walking.
I waited until the doctor left before turning to Andre and pressing a kiss to his temple. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” Andre muttered. I must have winced, because he glanced at me and sighed. “Sorry, Madison.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m just...” His voice trailed off as he closed his eyes. “I’m just in pain and this fucking sucks. Right before the playoffs, too.” He let out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve waited my whole life for this chance, and some fucking numbnuts decides he wants to break my leg.”
That player was suspended, and Coach Mack, the former coach of the Yellowhammers that I fired for being a sexist pig, was being investigated by the league for malicious intent. I hoped he would get what was coming to him, but the damage was done.
Andre may never play football again. And it broke my heart to see him in such physical and emotional pain.
“You don’t need to feel sorry.” I brought his hand up to my cheek and nuzzled it. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel like right now. Because this does fucking suck.”
I kissed his palm, and he watched me with half-lidded eyes. He suddenly hissed and reached for the remote that gave him a dose of morphine for his hip. Morphine. Because the broken hip hurt that damn much.
“Fuck,” he groaned, leaning his head back on the pillow. Tears glistened in his eyes. “It hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“Dr. Jenkins will fix it,” I promised him. “He’s the best orthopedic surgeon in Birmingham.” Except, he wasn’t promising anything, so why was I?
Because seeing someone I loved in so much pain was enough to make me promise him the world.
“Can you...” His jaw worked as he considered his words. “Can you let me sleep, please? I just need to sleep right now. Alone.”
“Oh.” I gulped back the lump in my throat. “Sure. Of course.”
He nodded once as I shakily got to my feet. I kissed his temple, and he stayed stock-still, not showing me a hint of affection. Andre was the first person I met in Birmingham, and even then, he’d been flirtatious and affectionate.
Not now.
Now, he was rigid and unrelenting. Even so, it didn’t really feel directed at me. It felt like self-loathing or hate.
He’s grieving and in pain, Madison. Give him his space.
I thought about those stages of grief that they always spoke about: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It seemed Andre was at the anger stage, and I didn’t know what I could do to help.
Except give him time.
I squeezed his hand. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”
I hoped he believed me. He’d been in the hospital for thirty-six hours now, and I hadn’t left, no matter what anyone told me.
He didn’t look up at me as I walked to the door and slipped outside. I managed to hold my own grief in until I was out of Andre’s sight, and I burst into tears, just as the door clicked shut behind me and I slid down the wood until I was crouched on the floor. Huge, wracking sobs shook me and I couldn’t stop.
Andre’s dreams were shattered. And I couldn’t do a damn thing.
Before I inherited the Yellowhammers, I couldn’t care less about football. I had never watched a game, never paid attention to the teams—hell, I didn’t even know that San Francisco had its own team—so if you had told me that I would be crying over a football player’s injury, I would have wondered what the hell you were talking about.
“Madison?”
Big hands came under my elbows and helped me to my feet. Still sniffling, I looked up to see Clancy Drew—linebacker and heartthrob, as well as my other boyfriend—as he looked down at me with a concerned frown.
Seeing him like that sent me even further over the edge, and I started sobbing even louder as I threw my arms around him, giving him an awkward hug that also served to act as my support.
He hugged me back and didn’t press me to talk or for anything else. He only whispered in my ear, not giving me platitudes, but helping me through this dark moment.
“We’ll get through this,” he murmured. “We will get through this.”
I opened my eyes to see my best friend and roommate Ashley standing in the hallway, with my basset hound Winston, watching me mournfully. I didn’t know if dogs were technically allowed in the hospital, but no one had said anything to us.
Which I appreciated so damn much.
Next to her was Noel Pennington, my friend from college and professional programmer, who had come to Birmingham to help me with a VR program to teach my players how to work together. He was also in love with Ashley, despite the fact that she seemed to forget that he was a man.
He looked so concerned, even though he was as clueless about football as me.
On the other side of Ashley was Carrie Drew, the new head coach of the Hammers, whom I had hired away from the university. She had a cigarette tucked behind her ear, and her hands kept tapping against her thighs, like she was jonesing to go smoke it.
But she was here for Andre.
And then there was Rodney Nguyen. The running back for the Yellowhammers, and one of the guys I had feelings for. He and Andre also didn’t get along, so I wondered what he thought of this whole thing.
Granted, he looked pale and uncomfortable. Like he was unsure of his own feelings around this whole debacle. Like he didn’t know what to do around me and what to do around Andre.
But, despite everything, he was here. He and Clancy were the only players from the team who had been at the hospital as long as I had.
Even though he put on a tough exterior, he had shown up for Andre, too. He was here, and I was grateful for his presence.
My motley crew of friends, players, lovers, and people I cared for. Here with me.
If only I could promise them some good news.
I met Rodney’s dark eyes, and there was an unspoken question in them. I knew he was worried about Andre. And I didn’t have an answer for him.
So I buried my face in Clancy’s neck and just cried.