SIDELINED
Lucas
THIS WAS SERIOUS shit.
During the previous offseason, the NFL had added a measure that would punish teams who failed to properly enforce the concussion protocols. Any violation could cost a team fines or even the forfeiture of future draft picks.
For years nothing had worried me. I lived recklessly, fearlessly, taking each day as it came. Right now, though, I wasn’t sure I felt that invincible.
The future, which hadn’t looked so bright since the day of the draft, suddenly didn’t seem so dim in comparison to what could happen in the next few minutes. If I were to be diagnosed with a concussion, it would be signing my camp death warrant. I’d be replaced as first-string quarterback faster than I could blink.
What a humbling way to be knocked down a few pegs.
The training room was empty, and I was glad for that.
As soon as the tech moved the portable x-ray machine out of the room, Dallas closed the door. The report would go to the doctor, but Dallas had looked at the x-ray taken of my neck, and he was certain there wasn’t anything to worry about, at least when it came to any possible neck injury.
“I don’t have a concussion,” I told him with insistence. “Like I said, I was just caught off guard. I should have been more on my toes.”
He pointed to the table. “Shirt off and hop up. How about you let me determine the extent of your mishap?”
Grimacing because it was apparently obvious I had been on the hunt, I did as he instructed.
The muscles around my shoulder blades and just above them were starting to tighten, and that slightly worried me. I made light of it and told Dallas the pain was an ache from the way I landed, which more than likely it was.
He raised a brow and told me to look up, to the right, to the left, and then down. This I did with a mild amount of discomfort, but I knew my range was slightly limited.
During his exam, Dallas found a bump that was forming at the base of my skull just above my neck. “This is to be expected since a hard, blunt metal object practically bludgeoned you,” he said with complete seriousness.
There was no way to describe the anger I was beginning to feel. For the past four years, on weekend afternoons, I ran around a field pursued by eleven men who wanted to hammer me, and what could end it all for me was a fucking water cart.
A light knock sounded at the door before it slowly swung open. Strawberry Fields walked in, apprehension written all over her features. “Is everything okay?” she asked softly.
Dallas looked back at her, a little more than concerned. “I’m not sure. I think I’m going to try a little electric stimulation to see if I can’t break up the spasms he seems to be having.”
Suddenly she looked more than nervous, she looked terrified, and for some reason this pissed me off even more.
Anger flashed in my eyes when her gaze met mine. It was misplaced. I knew this wasn’t her fault—it was mine.
After all, I’d been the one unfocused.
She moved gingerly around the edge of the table. Nervousness and uncertainty were evident in her body language, at least until Dallas put her to work. Then she moved in a manner that told me she knew what she was doing, which helped put me a little at ease.
Together, they manipulated the tight area around my neck. When that didn’t work, they moved on to traction, which provided enough relief that Dallas was no longer furrowing his brow.
I did the best I could to ignore Strawberry Fields, or perhaps I should refer to her as the Coach’s off-limits daughter, but it was hard. The way she smelled. The way her skin felt on mine. The way her breathing picked up infinitesimally as she stared at my chest when she thought I wasn’t looking.
There were moments I had to close my eyes and block all the white noise out, which had the added benefit of helping me relax.
Although Dallas couldn’t determine with certainty any definitive diagnosis of a concussion, something didn’t sit right with him. “I think we should call the team physician in,” he said.
A pang of fear raced through me. “Please, Dallas, don’t do that. If you do that Coach will put me on watch. Today is only day one of training, and contract or not, you know not being at practice will keep me off the field come game time. And that will end my career before it starts.”
Strawberry Fields handed me ibuprofen for the inflammation and ice for the swelling, and then cleared her throat to speak. “Lucas,” she said, and I swore my name on her lips made me shudder. “That isn’t necessarily the case.”
After downing the pills, I stared at her.
She was staring right back.
That was when I drew my brows together in consternation and leaned toward her a bit. I was dying to hear what she had to say. Sure, I was being an ass, but come on, look what I had at stake. “Go on,” I said.
She took a step back and went on. “He could give you a steroid injection. Dexamethasone is a fast acting, anti-inflammatory and will stop the spasms.”
“I know what a steroid shot is,” I bit out. “And contrary to what you might think, I prefer to avoid putting chemicals in my body whenever possible.”
“That is not at all what I was inferring,” she said in a husky voice that sent shivers down my spine. Her voice alone would have seduced me under any other circumstances.
“I agree we should wait on any injections,” Dallas said, trying to ease the building tension in the room. “For now. Just remember it is an option and will get you on the field if need be. Let’s give it enough time to see if the ibuprofen and ice work, first. That could be all you need.”
It’s not like I’d never practiced or played with pain, because I had. “Then you’ll give me until tomorrow before calling the team physician?” I asked him, or better put, pleaded with him. I would have got down on my knees and begged if I thought it would have worked.
Thankfully, he nodded. “Come in here before you hit the field tomorrow. I’ll have one of the medical staff put you on the stationary bike or treadmill and monitor your cardiovascular activity to determine if there are any signs or symptoms we need to be concerned with.”
Strawberry Fields moved closer again, but kept her gaze on Dallas. “I can meet him in here before breakfast, so it doesn’t interfere with his meeting with my father or his training schedule.”
Surprise gripped me at the earnestness—and urgency—in her tone.
Dallas arched a brow. “That’s pretty early, Gillian.”
She smiled indulgently at him. “I know. It’s not a problem, and it’s the least I can do.”
She had that right . . . didn’t she?
There was another thought in the forefront of my mind, and it wasn’t very gentleman-like at all.
But then she looked my way. “If that is okay with you?”
Fighting the darkness that threatened to erupt within me, I was just about to tell her to go to hell when I caught her wide-eyed gaze. I took a moment to take her in. Her strawberry blond hair and that beautiful face with those striking eyes, and I couldn’t believe it, but that darkness was gone, and so was the only noise in my head.
This was my fault.
Not hers.
Classic Lucas.
Shit like what happened was my normal. Like always, I had been on the hunt. Looking for a challenge. Being reckless. Unsatisfied with what I had. Wanting more. Interested in what I shouldn’t be interested in.
If hitting on a girl at NFL training camp bled all kinds of wrong, then going after the coach’s daughter screamed insanity. And yet I wasn’t exactly ruling it out when I looked at her and said, “That would be great. I really appreciate it. I’ll meet you down here in the morning.”
So yeah, she had it all wrong. She didn’t owe me anything. In fact, she’d be smart to stay the hell away from me. I was the devil wearing a Bears jersey. She just didn’t know it. Not yet, anyway.
No worries . . . she would.