Page 125 of Forever Offsides

“Reynolds. I’m so sorry, man.” One of the players whose name I don’t remember has his hands on top of his head and is pacing. “You stopped, and I didn’t, and I didn’t realize, and fuck, dude.”

“Not your fault,” Reynolds tells him. “My knee gave out on me.” He meets my eyes. “It just gave out. I was running, and I felt, I don’t know, like a pop or something. Then I got hit, and I think I broke it.

The trainer throws me a side-eye. We’re at practice today, but it’s their hard practice. Normally, a player wouldn’t get hit like this.

The player is holding his hand over his shin, and I get him to move it.

Crap.

“Let’s get you to the hospital.” It’s surgical. I can tell without even requiring X-rays. The bones are displaced, likely because he tore a ligament or two in his knee, and then got hit just right, causing the fracture.

“It’s my fault,” the poor kid tells us. “I must have planted wrong or something. Maybe my cleat got stuck in the turf? I don’t know.”

“Not your fault,” I tell him. “You can’t blame yourself. Injuries happen. You’ll heal up and be stronger on the other side.”

The kid nods, but he’s already got tears streaming down his cheeks, and so does his teammate, who is also blaming himself.

Coach is standing over us with his hand on Reynolds’s shoulder, and now we have a ring of players around us. I do a quick exam to make sure the bone didn’t cut an artery or anything, but then I declare that we need the cart. The poor guy crumbles.

“I’m so sorry, Coach. I’m letting the team down.”

Rhett squats and gets up in his face. “You’re not letting us down. Injuries happen. We all know that. Now your job is to take care of yourself and get the help you need so you can be back and kicking ass. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to take you to my hospital, do some imaging, and if you need surgery, it’ll be done today. The sooner it’s done, the better the healing. We’ll assess your knee as well.”

He nods, but the big guy is crying, and it breaks me when the big guys cry. They’re always the softies.

I stand, and the trainers and EMTs get him onto the gurney. My fingers are brushed from behind me, and my heart skips an extra beat. Rhett steps into me, his back close to my chest.

“How bad?”

I twist to him. “The fibula is broken. Possibly a tibia crack, but I can’t tell that for sure. I don’t know the extent of the injury yet. He likely has ligament damage or a tear since it was a non-contact injury before the hit. If he does, he’s out for the season. I’m hoping it’s only the fibula, but I won’t know until we get an MRI and X-ray.”

He’s visibly not happy but nods all the same.

“Dr. Reyes, will you keep me informed of the situation?”

“Absolutely, Coach Jones.”

I get a raised eyebrow, and his mouth meets my ear. “You dare to speak to me that way when we have players and staff all around us?”

My brows scrunch. “Like what? I didn’t speak to you any way in particular.”

His voice drops. “You have the sexiest voice on the planet. Anything you say is dirty and instantly makes me hard.”

I hold in my smile. “Am I supposed to apologize for speaking?”

“You better.”

“Or what, Daddy?”

He grunts. “My player is hurt. Don’t make me spank my orthopedic surgeon on the field. And if you call me Daddy again…”

“Yes?”

“I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat it’ll tickle your stomach. Careful.”