8. Sam

8

SAM

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." ~ Archie "Witty" Whitlock

The pain medication was just starting to kick in as I lay on a bed in the emergency room. It no longer felt like a hot knife was twisting in my knee. It was now just a bone-deep throbbing ache. I knew exactly what happened. I tore my ACL. I'd done it once in high school, playing ball. Thankfully, that time, it was a minor tear and didn't require surgery, just rest. This time, I was pretty sure I was going to have to go under the knife.

I'd just closed my eyes when I heard the distinct sound of Kenna's footsteps. I'm not sure when I'd memorized exactly what her steps sounded like, but I always knew when they were hers.

"Milo and the boys got called out to a house fire and had to leave," she said as she appeared at the end of my bed.

"What about you? Don't you have work?"

I didn't know what time it was or even how long I'd been at the hospital, but it had to have been a few hours. The game started at noon and lasted over an hour, which meant if she was going to make it by five, she would need to go.

She shook her head and lowered down into the seat. "Bryson's covering for me."

"Nice sweatshirt," I commented.

"Oh." Her face turned red, and she looked down at it and stammered, "Um, yeah, so, um..."

I was pretty sure she thought I didn't know that she'd stolen my U.S.M.C. hoodie the summer after she graduated from college, but I did. She never wore it around me, but I saw it in her hamper for the wash. I liked that she kept it. I loved that she wore it. If it were up to me, Kenna would dress exclusively in my clothing. Her entire wardrobe, including her undergarments, would be mine.

"I knew you had it this whole time," he confessed.

Her head flew up. "You did."

"Yep."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

I shrugged. "It looks better on you, pretty girl."

Her eyes twinkled, just like they always did when I called her pretty girl. At least that was still the same.

"Did I score?" I asked, trying to make conversation, not that it was an arbitrary question; I was really curious. I knew that I'd been close to the end zone before the searing pain ripped through my leg.

"Almost."

I sighed. Almost wasn't good enough. Ricky Bobby said it best; " If you're not first, you're last ." I'd wanted to wipe the floor with Jonah I-played-in-the-NFL Walsh. Especially after I'd seen him point into the crowd at Kenna. I'd seen red. I'd wanted blood. And I'd gotten it; it just turned out to be mine and not his.

"Who won?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"You need help. Your competitiveness is going to kill you one day."

"Who won?" I repeated.

"I refuse to respond on the grounds that I will not enable your obsession with winning."

"You don't have to respond. I know my boys in blue won."

Her mouth dropped open slightly. "How did you know that?"

"I have my ways." I grinned.

Her eyes narrowed at me, and she gave me a stare that might just take me out if the ACL injury didn't. That answer had always irritated her, which only made me want to give it more. Kenna Hale, irritated, was the cutest thing on the planet.

The truth was, I hadn't known we won. I guessed because I knew that if we had lost, she would have told me. She wouldn't have wanted me to find out from someone else. The only reason she'd keep the outcome from me was if it was a good one, and she was trying to teach me a lesson.

As I watched her sip coffee from her steaming Styrofoam cup, I couldn't help but grin. I didn't know what was going on with her or why she'd been avoiding me, but we were still us. I could still push her buttons. She was still my emergency contact. She still called into work because I'd gotten injured. She was still my person.

I wasn't sure what I'd done to make her act so weird, though, and I planned on getting to the bottom of it. The only times she had ever been distant in the past was when I was seeing someone who was more than just a casual hookup. I'd never actually committed to anyone, but over the years, there'd definitely been women I cared about who were more than just consecutive one-night stands.

But I hadn't even had a one-night stand in over a year. I'd gone out a few times with Molly Calhoun and a few random women, but we hadn't even kissed. So, I wasn't sure why I was getting the cold shoulder.

Kenna's phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her purse. When she saw the screen, a smile spread across her face. As she read it, she bit her lower lip, the way she did when she was nervous. As her thumbs moved over the screen to respond to the message, she inhaled slowly through her nose, as if she were trying to stay calm.

I knew that look. I knew that inhale. I knew that lip bite. She was giddy.

The truth hit me like a sack of potatoes landing on me. My chest actually felt like it had caved in as the realization dawned on me. She wasn't pulling away because I was seeing someone; she was pulling away because she was.

"Who's that?"

"Noneya."

Noneya was a shortened way to say none of your business. But this felt like my fucking business. She looked back down at her phone, and I knew the right thing to do would be to allow her to text flirt with Jonah I-played-in-the-NFL Walsh. That would be the mature thing to do. But I'd never been known for being particularly mature or for doing the right thing.

"You don't have to tell me. I know who it is."

She chuckled as her eyes dropped once again to her screen. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

She ignored me, which meant she thought I was full of shit. I was, but that wasn't the point. Plus, I had a pretty good idea of who her mystery texter was.

"It's Jonah Walsh."

Her eyes shot up to meet mine, and I knew I'd just hit the nail on the head.

"How did you know?"

That was as good as admitting that he was the person that she was blushing over. Her confirmation felt Mike Tyson was using my nut sack as a speedbag.

"I have my ways," I responded with my patented reply.

Before I could ask any follow-up questions like what the hell Jonah I-played-for-the-NFL Walsh wanted, the metal rings scraped against the bar as the curtain was pulled back, and Taylor, Kenna's cousin, and Kane's baby mama, appeared.

"It's your ACL," Taylor stated, confirming what I already knew.

"Surgery?" I asked.

"Yep. We can get you in tomorrow morning with Dr. Mathis, whom you met, Kenna."

I glanced over at Kenna. She tilted her head to the side like the RCA dog in the ad campaign, where he looks into a phonograph.

"Dr. Carson Mathis," Taylor said his name slowly.

A knowing smile curled on Kenna's lips.

Who the fuck was Dr. Carson Mathis? And why did he make a grin appear on Kenna's lips? First Jonah I-played-in-the-NFL Walsh, and now Dr. Carson I-make-Kenna-grin Mathis. These assholes were coming out of the woodwork.

"Dr. Mathis is an incredible surgeon," Taylor assured me. "He's the best in his field."

"But why surgery?" Kenna sat up straighter in the chair. "When you hurt your ACL in high school, you just had to rest and do physical therapy."

"That was a minor tear," I explained.

Taylor clicked on the lightbox that hung on the wall and placed the images from my MRI on it. She explained to Kenna exactly what the surgery was going to fix and why I needed it. I'm sure if it were another patient, she would have waited for the doctor who was going to do the surgery to explain everything, but there were benefits to having a family doctor.

She was going through the procedure and expected recovery in detail for Kenna's benefit. I knew exactly what was ahead of me. After I'd injured my ACL in high school, I'd researched how severe it could have been in an attempt to stop feeling sorry for myself. So, because of that, I knew I would be down for at least a couple of weeks after surgery. I'd have to have PT, and I would probably be on desk duty for a while.

These were the times I wished I still had parents or siblings who were alive. I didn't. The only family I had was Witty, who lived in a retirement home and had his own health issues. I hated relying on people for things, but I tried to change my perspective and turn my situation into a positive. I lived in Wishing Well, and this town took care of its own.

Plus, I had Kenna. She would always be there for me. Maybe not in the capacity I wished she was, but I knew she'd make sure I was okay. Just like I'd always make sure she was. She was my family… I just wished I could make it legal, put a ring on it, and call her my wife.