Page 187 of Broken Saint
I startle when the door opens and heavy footsteps approach.
Cracking my eyes open to see who it is, I sigh at the sight of my best friend. My captain.
“I knew you were faking being asleep,” he mutters the second he catches the slight movement of my eye.
He lowers his big body into the chair beside me and rests his elbows on his knees.
“Shouldn’t you be at practice?” I grunt, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of my tone.
“Where do you think I’ve been all day?” he shoots back, reading me well enough to know I don’t need the soft and gentle touch right now.
“Colt, man,” he starts, making me second-guess my previous thought.
“Don’t, okay? Just fucking don’t,” I snap. I don’t need to hear that everything will be okay. I don’t want to hear that I can come back from this. Right now, everything seems too fucking bleak to even consider tomorrow, let alone months and years from now.
A tense silence falls between us.
It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.
Luca has been my ride-or-die for years.
We’ve butted heads more times than I can count both on and off the field, but it’s never lasted. One of us eventually figures out that we’re being a stubborn asshole and concedes.
A knock on the door finally breaks the silence before the physical therapist I’ve been working with over the past few days appears with a wheelchair.
“Good evening, are you ready for a session?”
He looks at me before his eyes dart to Luca and then return to me.
“Can’t wait,” I deadpan, pushing myself up so I’m sitting and then swinging my legs over the edge.
It takes more effort than it should.
My limbs feel like dead weights. The thought of running around on a football field seems impossible right now. Hell, walking to the door seems fucking impossible.
With his help, I manage to get into the wheelchair.
Luca stands on the other side of the bed awkwardly.
“You can come,” I offer. Fuck knows if it will do any good, but a friendly face isn’t a bad thing. If Ella were here, she’d come with me. She has over the past couple of days, refusing to allow me to go through any of this alone.
I appreciate the fuck out of it, don’t get me wrong. But also…she shouldn’t have to do it.
She deserves to have a better life than helping me to function again.
She should be out there enjoying everything the world has to offer, not stuck inside these four walls as if she’s serving out a prison sentence.
Luca nods once before stepping behind my physical therapist and following us out of the room.
We’re almost at the end of the corridor when the elevator opens and Ella spills out, Angie hot on her heels.
Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she comes rushing over.
“Where are you going? What’s wrong?” she asks, her eyes checking over my body as if she’s going to find something missing.
“Nothing. Having a PT session.”
“You’re going to walk?”