Chapter Thirty-Two
Charlotte
“I can’t believe he did that! I’m going to kill Tucker. Kill him,” Charlotte raged. When Luke had wobbled, then fallen right past the finish line, Charlotte’s blood had boiled. Was still boiling. She’d be freaked out and worried later. Right now she wanted punch Tucker right in his pimply face. “Where are they taking Luke?”
“Med tent,” his mother said, her face pale and eyes wide. “God, I hate this sport.”
“He’s okay, Mom.” Parker put an arm around her shoulders. He looked more like Luke’s mom than Luke did, and the kid was tall, tall, tall. “You saw—he was able to get up.”
“Yeah, Mrs. Madison, he’ll be fine,” Zoey said, smiling with encouragement, even though her eyes flashed with anger.
Charlotte took a deep breath, remembering what Luke had said about his mom’s real reason for wanting him to stop competing. “Where’s the med tent? I want to check on him.”
“Oh, they’ll take good care of him,” Parker said.
“Have they been trainers for a Division I football program or majored in biology with a minor in sports medicine?” Charlotte asked. “I’ve handled a lot of ankle injuries like this.”
Everyone’s eyebrows went up. “It’s that way.” Zoey pointed, her expression approving.
Charlotte nodded and stomped toward a tent with a red cross on it. Evangeline fell into step beside her. “Kit’s up in a few, but if you need me, I’ll come with you.”
Charlotte waved a hand. “I’m good. Go cheer Kit on.”
Evangeline nodded and turned back. Charlotte continued on to the tent but was stopped by an official with a safety-orange bib. “Sorry, miss. Only authorized personnel.”
“My boyfriend’s in there,” she said, her mouth set in a hard line. “So either let me in, or be prepared for a meltdown.”
The man frowned, then poked his head inside. “There’s some crazy lady out here looking for Luke.”
Luke’s laugh floated outside—it was strained, which only pissed Charlotte off more. “Let her in or risk peril. I’m serious, man.”
The man waved her in. Luke was sitting on a cot with his head propped up and his left leg resting on a pile of pillows, while a paramedic looked him over.
Charlotte stepped in closer, checking out his leg. His ankle was already darkening to a blackish-purple, and his toes had swollen. The bruise snaked up his lower calf. “Can you move it?”
Luke gritted his teeth and managed a little wiggle. “Not really. That asshole took the finals from me.”
He shook his head, his fists clenched. She ached to reach out and kiss him until the disappointment faded, but that was giving in to defeat. He was pissed, and hurting, but she could fix this. She could get him into the finals. That would show Tucker, and it’s what Luke needed, more than anything.
“Let me think.” Charlotte tapped her finger against her mouth. Sympathy could totally wait. She waved at the paramedic. “I need ibuprofen, cold packs, prewrap, and athletic tape.”
The paramedic looked at Luke, then back at her. “Miss, he’s done for the day. There might be a fracture.”
She checked out his ankle again. It looked exactly like Zeke Abram’s had during halftime of ASU’s conference championship game her senior year. His ankle hadn’t been broken, and she’d fixed him up in time to catch not one, but two touchdowns, one of which had won their game and clinched a bowl appearance. She’d fix Luke, too, and relish the look of surprise on Tucker’s face.
“It’s not broken.” She fixed a glare on the paramedic. “You have the stuff, or should I text his family and ask them to go to Walgreens?”
“It’s not up to me.” The paramedic looked to Luke. “What do you want to do?”
Luke’s eyes found Charlotte’s. “What’s your plan?”
“My plan is to Mr. Miyagi this shit and get you into the final.” She started palpating his ankle, looking for the worst damage. “Then I plan to punch Tucker in the throat.”
Luke burst out laughing, but it quickly turned into a yelp. “Jesus, what was that?”
Charlotte gave his ankle another, gentler, prod. When he winced again, she nodded. “I also need two Ace bandages.”
The paramedic rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”
“Not right now,” she said sweetly, before dropping her expression into a commanding glare. “Now where’s my ibuprofen?”
The paramedic jumped. “I’ll…go check my kit.”
He scrambled out of the tent, leaving her alone with Luke. He’d been biting his lip, but as soon as the paramedic cleared the flap, he howled with laughter. “Oh my God. His face! You are going to make one hell of a doctor. I can just see you arguing with some arrogant surgeon, putting him in his place. I hope I’m there to see it.”
A smile tugged at her mouth, and Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh, too, despite the situation. “I’m mad at Tucker, and I took it out on that poor guy.”
“Maybe, but the medic was being a condescending prick, so well done.” Luke pushed himself up against the pillows. “How bad is it really?”
She stared down at the ankle, then dug through her purse. Her emergency Advil was at the bottom, and the paramedic still hadn’t come back. She shook out four tablets and grabbed a water bottle from the cooler on the floor of the tent. “Prescription dose. It’ll bring some of the swelling down.”
The paramedic returned with a plastic tub full of supplies. “Everything should be here. I’d be remiss if I didn’t strongly suggest he go to the hospital.”
“The final is in two hours. The ER wouldn’t even see him by then.” Charlotte shot the guy a dark look. “Thanks, but I’ve got this.”
The paramedic shrugged and went back outside. Shaking her head, Charlotte cracked a few cold packs and shook them to activate the cooling agent inside. After stealing a pillow from the other cot to prop Luke’s ankle up higher, she stuffed the cool packs around it.
“Char, I appreciate all this, but…you didn’t answer my question. You told me I was reckless for wanting to race after my concussion. Am I being reckless now?”
Luke’s gaze was steady, but she could see the frustration tucked away. It hurt to think about him missing his shot, and she was not going to give up without a fight. Maybe it was a little reckless, but he was strong, and she was good at wrapping ankles. If anyone could make this happen, it was the two of them, together.
Charlotte held his gaze. “It’s bad, but I’ve seen worse on football players who went back in. I’m going to tape and bandage it up tight. If you lace your bindings as far as they’ll go after that, maybe we can stabilize the ankle enough to handle the course.” She sighed. “Do you want to go to the ER? That would be the smartest thing, and all I’m going on is past experience.”
He reached for her hand. “I trust you.”
Charlotte felt warmth steal up through her middle. “Good, because I can do this. You’re going to be in the final, and that’s a promise.”