Matters to Me: A Football Romance (The Hart Series Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

Round off…

  Back handspring, back handspring…

  PUNCH!

  I pull my arms tight toward me as I spin in the air, relaxing slightly as my body feels the motion and remembers exactly how to move. I begin to open my arms to land, readying myself to immediately punch into the front salto, but don’t get that far.

  Instead, my leg lands in a strange position and I feel a crack followed by an intense, stabbing pain that shoots up my leg. I try to stop but in a practical sense, my old science teacher was right—a body in motion stays in motion, and mine can’t stop with this much power behind it. So, I do the best I can to tuck myself into a ball and complete the front flip, content to land on both my other foot and my rear, my injured leg pointing out in front of me.

  With a grimace on my face, I immediately clasp my lower leg, willing the pain to stop. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and I have no doubt it’s broken. The question is where and how badly.

  Hopefully, I don’t have long to find out though, because this pain is horrific.

  Groaning, I squeeze my eyes tightly and roll back and forth, trying to find a position, any position, that lessens the intensity. Nothing works.

  My breathing comes out in short gasps as I try not to cry. Coach comes running onto the floor, and for the first time, I’m cursing the springs underneath as the vibrations make me bounce. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for my leg to feel it.

  Coach crouches down next to me, gently touching my shoulder. “Lauren? Where is the pain?”

  “My leg,” I groan. “It’s broken.”

  His attention turns to the lower portion of my body and I realize I’m beginning to shake from the adrenaline and pain. Once again, the movement doesn’t help.

  The next however long is a blur as more people come to our aid and I’m carried off the platform. It hurts so bad I cry out. I’m quickly loaded into an ambulance and driving to the hospital, still in my red, sparkly leotard. The drive may just be minutes, but it feels like hours and still, I’m feeling no relief. The pain is just as intense as it was when I landed.

  “Please help me,” I beg as soon as the doors to the ER open and some woman I assume is a nurse runs over to push the gurney. “It hurts so bad.”

  “I know, honey. We’re gonna help.”

  She’s a liar. They don’t help. Instead, they move me into an x-ray room first and maneuver my leg onto a table, which causes me to actually scream and practically jump off. Why are they not giving me something for the pain?

  “Please, can I have some drugs? Please?” I’m practically clawing at my own arms, praying to pass out if that’s what it takes.

  “As soon as we can, I promise.”

  That’s not the answer I was looking for and it makes me angry. Unfortunately, my frustration takes a back seat to the millions of knives hacking away at my leg.

  The process of x-rays and moving me into a tiny little room takes way too long for my liking and still, no drugs. Something about making sure I don’t need emergency surgery first. Again, not the answer I want. But at least the nurse, whose name I still haven’t learned, is finally starting an IV. My only complaint is that someone lied when they told me you can’t concentrate on more than one kind of pain at once. I can attest to the fact that it doesn’t matter how hard I concentrate on that needle, I can still feel my leg.

  Finally, finally my x-rays are back and confirm what I already knew—tibia fracture. I don’t care how bad. I don’t care how long it will take to recover. Right now, all I care about is drugs.

  “Okay, the doctor has given the go-ahead for pain meds,” Nurse Helpful says. “Do you have any drug allergies?”

  “No. Nothing.” I’m practically panting at this point. “Please hurry.”

  “Okay,” she says as she inserts a needle into a tiny vial. “I’m going to give you four milligrams of morphine to help control the pain.” That sounds a lot better than it turns out to be, because I swear my life must be in slow motion at this point. It’s taking forever for this little bit of medicine to get sucked into the syringe. What part of, “I am in horrendous pain and want to die” is she not understanding?

  After what seems like three lifetimes, the needle is in my IV and I feel the familiar rush of cold through my veins as the morphine is pushed through. It takes just a few seconds, but my head begins to feel heavy and my leg, while still hurting, is more of an ache than being ripped apart.

  I sigh in relief and lean my head back. Better. So much better. I think I’ll just rest…

  SIXTEEN

  Heath

  Slamming my truck into park, I race through the parking lot and practically run over the woman who steps out in front of me just as I step onto the sidewalk.

  “Oof!” We try to avoid each other at the last second, which only causes us both to lose our balance, so I grab her by the arms, keeping us upright.

  “I’m so sorry, Heath. I didn’t see you.”

  “How is she? Is she okay?”

  I swear Annika’s brow furrows just slightly, but I don’t have time to ask about the expression. All I know is what Jaxon texted me.

  Lauren fell. She’s hurt bad. Heading to the ER.

  It was way too cryptic for my liking, and I haven’t been able to reach him since, despite my multiple calls.

  “She’s gonna be okay,” Annika responds, shoving her phone in her pocket. “I came out here to call her mom since we can’t get reception in there.” That explains the lack of response but doesn’t ease my immediate concerns. “We’re just waiting to see what Lauren wants to do, and if she wants her mom here or not. You never know with her.”

  All good information, but not what I need right now.

  “Okay, but what’s wrong?” I demand. “Concussion or surgical? She didn’t break her neck, did she?” I suck in a breath, my hands cradling my head as thoughts of paralysis and brain bleeds go racing through my mind.

  “What?” Annika looks confused now. “It’s nothing like that. I told Jaxon to text you. What exactly did he say?”

  Grabbing my phone, I open up the message and turn it around for her to see.

  Annika quickly reads it and rolls her eyes at his lack of information. “No wonder you’re freaking out. We probably need to have a sit-down conversation about how to appropriately text during a semi-emergency if we’re going to keep hanging out with athletes.” Taking a deep breath, she puts her hands up defensively. She almost looks like she’s trying to calm a caged animal, which, if I’m being honest, I kind of feel like right now. “First, calm down. There is no life-threatening or life-altering injury.”

  My body relaxes a bit. I’m still amped up from adrenaline and not knowing what’s happening, but at least I have reassurance that whatever it is can be fixed. And that I can punch Jax in the nuts later for not leading with the important parts like, “She’s going to be fine.”

  “We’re pretty sure she doesn’t need surgery. It’s kind of a wait and see for now.”

  “But what’s actually wrong?”

  “It happened so fast. You know that floor routine she’s been working on?”

  I nod because that damn routine seems to be at the center of almost every part of my life these days, or at least two of the most important things—Lauren’s stress and my dating life.

  “I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but she landed that tumbling pass wrong,” Annika continues. “Got all the way to the front flip thing and ended up on her butt, holding her leg.”

  “Oh shit. Ankle?”

  She shakes her head and guides me back through the sliding doors into the building. “Tibia. Early x-rays show it’s probably a spiral fracture.”

  My heart sinks. Having been through my fair share of injuries, a broken bone never means good things, especially at the beginning of a competition season. It basically kills your chances for meeting your goals or staying relevant in your sport. I can’t imagine how heartbroken she must be right now. “That’s not good. What is i
t, six, eight weeks for recovery?”

  “Try four to six months minimum.” I groan in response. That’s even worse than I thought. “Right now, they’re just patching her up but want her to follow up with her orthopedic for a second set of x-rays in a few days.”

  No one even looks twice as Annika leads me through another set of double doors into the back. Nor do they try to stop us when she pushes open a sliding glass door and moves a curtain to the side.

  “Knock, knock. How’re you feeling?”

  “I feel great!”

  Stepping all the way in, I find Lauren laying on the bed in a hospital gown, leg propped up and bandaged from her toes to mid-thigh. She’s got a huge smile on her face, and if we weren’t in a hospital room, I’d assume she’d been hitting the sauce. Especially when she finally notices me and shrieks. Loudly. Not at all the reaction I expect from an athlete who just lost most of her season to a major injury.

  “Heath! You’re here!” Lauren reaches her arms out to me and moves all her fingers in a very clumsy “come hither” movement. “Come give me a hug my huge, handsome, huge boyfriend who I like way too much, and he doesn’t even know it.”

  Oh yeah. Those are some good meds.

  Leaning over, I draw her into a hug, careful not to move her body too much. She may be feeling just dandy right now, but she won’t be as soon as the pain killers wear off, and I don’t want to create unnecessary movement that agitates it.

  “What did they give you anyway?” I say with a chuckle as she holds me tighter than what many would deem appropriate, especially since I can tell that she’s naked under this gown. I can feel the skin of her back. It’s soft and smooth and not at all what I need to be thinking of right now.

  “Morphine. I like it.”

  Amused, I try to pull away, but she clings to me, so I settle in. If Lauren needs comfort, I’m okay with that. But… wait. This may be more about the drugs again.

  “Lauren, honey. Are you sniffing me?”

  “You smell so good,” she slurs.

  Annika snickers from the other side of the room. “And on that note, I’m gonna go find my boyfriend and let him know she’s feeling good enough to hit on you.”

  “I can’t hit on someone who’s already my boyfriend, Annika, duh,” Lauren says with a roll of her eyes, as she finally pulls out of my arms. “Wait. Are you still my boyfriend? You are, right?”

  “That’s the last I heard of it,” I joke, but she just looks at me with a confused expression.

  “Is this still a fake relationship?” Lauren’s eyes widen and she throws her hand over her mouth in horror. “I have to say that quiet! It’s a secret!” she whisper-yells, completely defeating the purpose.

  Pulling the chair next to her bed, I take her hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. The higher than normal placement of Annika’s eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by me, but there’s a more important woman I need to focus on. Lauren needs to feel comfortable and safe. That’s my focus. Everything else can wait.

  “It’s okay, baby. You can just say I’m your boyfriend.” Yes, I know this is the coward’s way out, and I should be waiting until Lauren is fully coherent before suggesting that I like her this much and want to date her exclusively, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

  “For reals?” Lauren says a little too loudly once again.

  “Sure.”

  “Did you hear that Annika?” Lauren’s eyes and smile are huge and very drunk. “I have a real boyfriend now!”

  “I heard. I’m just as surprised about it as you are.” Annika looks like the cat that ate the canary, and I know I’m going to get shit from my friends before we get home.

  “Weren’t you about to go rip your boyfriend a new one?” I suggest. Annika doesn’t take the bait, though.

  “I was, but now I have something much more interesting to talk with him about.”

  Before Annika can pop off again, the door slides open again and a woman in scrubs walks confidently in the room.

  “Nurse!” Lauren squeals. “I’m so glad you’re here! This is my boyfriend! My real one. He’s not fake at all. See?” She begins squeezing my arm in various places to prove how “real” I am. I really should be recording this right now. Drugged Lauren is a hoot.

  The nurse only giggles, probably used to hearing all kinds of crazy things from patients. “I hope your real boyfriend brought his real car because it looks like you’re about to be free of this place.”

  I have no idea how it’s possible that Lauren’s eyes can widen even more, but they do. “Did you hear that, Heath? I’m getting out of hospital jail!”

  “I sure did. I guess that means you have to get dressed, huh?”

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Annika cuts in. “I just realized she was wearing her leotard when she came in. I didn’t even think to go grab some clothes.”

  “That’s no problem,” the nurse interjects. “We have scrubs she can wear. I already brought them in for her.”

  Annika clears her throat and I notice her stiffen for just a second. I don’t understand what that’s about, but the moment is over quickly so it must not be that big of a deal. “Yeah. Great. Thanks. Heath? Do you mind stepping out so we can get her dressed?”

  “Yeah,” Lauren adds. “You don’t want to see my lady parts.” She pulls her gown out and peaks down at herself, mumbling. “No one ever does anyway. Stupid gymnast boobs.”

  I pat her arm and stand up, still entertained. And I thought she had no filter when she was sober. “I’ll go sit with Jaxon. Maybe bash him over the head for that message he sent me.”

  “Good idea,” Annika says as we trade places. “And while you’re at it, maybe get him to have some blood work done since he’s here anyway.”

  “I’m on it. Let me know when you’re done so I can go get the truck and help you guys out.”

  “Bye, Heath!” Lauren raises her hand over her head and waves like I’m across town, not six feet away. “Come back soon!”

  Shaking my head, I leave and let my two best girl friends handle their business.

  It doesn’t take long to backtrack and find my way into the waiting room, where I drop down into the chair next to Jaxon’s.

  “Dude. The next time you send me a message that someone I care about is in the hospital, maybe lead with ‘she’s not dead.’ I fucking freaked out.”

  He chuckles but he doesn’t sound amused. “Yeah, well, I was keeping an eye on Annika so it didn’t occur to me that you would assume death when reading a text that said she was hurt.”

  Something about his demeanor tells me there’s more to what he’s saying than I’m catching. “What’s wrong with Annika?”

  Slowly, Jaxon looks over at me, a pained look on his face. “This is the hospital she was brought to last year.” He looks down at where he’s sitting. “This might actually be the same chair I sat in for like four hours while I waited for an update on her.”

  I sink further down into my seat, feeling like a dick for giving him a hard time. “Oh, shit man. I didn’t realize it was here. Is that why she got freaked out when the nurse brought Lauren scrubs to wear home?”

  “Probably. I bet they’re similar to the ones Annika came home in.”

  Rubbing my hands down my face, I briefly worry about my friend and what kinds of memories she’s being bombarded with right now. “I’m sorry, man. That sucks.”

  “Yep. An assault like hers never goes away,” he says, leaning his head back on the chair.

  “She’s doing okay, though, right? Do we need to do anything? I mean besides keep Lauren high as a fun diversion.”

  Jaxon smirks. “Nah. She’s okay. It just sneaks up on her sometimes when she’s not expecting it. You should have felt how tightly she was holding my hand in the car.” He absentmindedly begins rubbing his palm. “Once we got back there with Lauren, and Annika realized the place had been renovated, she relaxed a little. It doesn’t look the same at all.”

  I nod because I’m not sure how else to
respond. What do you say when your friend will likely be terrorized by memories of her brutal rape for the rest of her life? Nothing. You say nothing. But there’re no magic words for it. Just support. And maybe even distraction.

  An idea hits me out of nowhere, and it might be a low blow, but I think Annika will forgive me this time.

  “You know what would help her?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Getting a blood draw.”

  Jaxon furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

  I punch him lightly on his knee, so he knows how serious I am. “Your girlfriend is worried about you man.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Not this again…”

  “Hear me out,” I interrupt, despite the anger that is now radiating off him. “This has been going on for a long time, and it’s not going away. I don’t have to spout off the statistics of childhood cancer survivors growing up and getting it again. You already know all this, so I get it. I know you’re scared. But Jax, so is she.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “Annika needs you, man. And she’s scared something is wrong and that by the time you do something about it, it’ll be too late.”

  Jaxon leans on the armrest, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. The gears in his head are turning. I can practically see it. His fear and his understanding of the right thing to do are battling it out in his brain. It’s the same look he had when he was about to change his major. The struggle. The concern. The worry. But he ended up making the right choice. I only hope he makes the right one again.

  “I just… I don’t know if I can do it again, man,” he finally says quietly. I barely move and just listen. “My body doesn’t feel as strong anymore. And this time, I know what’s coming. I know what chemo entails and how bad it makes you feel.” He shakes his head and presses his lips together. “I can’t do that again. I can’t.”

  Sitting up, I put my hand on his shoulder. “You don’t even know what’s wrong yet. It could be something completely different. Hell, it could be mono.” We both know it’s not, or else he’d have some serious explaining to do to his girlfriend. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. But if it is that, which would be worse? Treating it at Stage One? Or treating at Stage Four?”