5. Jackson

CHAPTER 5

JACKSON

N ot even five minutes go past before Freya comes into the room and starts bothering me again.

Okay, maybe it's more like an hour, but it feels like less. I swear she's only being so attentive because she thinks I'm going to sue the life out of her. And I guess I did threaten her career, but I didn't really mean it. I was mad. She's way too hot to get into legal trouble with.

Is that an inappropriate thought? Maybe, but I'm bored. And she is hot. And there was a weird moment earlier where she made my heart rate spike to an alarming level. I'm allowed to have fantasies. They don't have to mean anything.

She smiles at me, but before I can say anything snippy or flirty — I hadn't decided which — Doctor Brown follows her into the room. He's a short man with blond hair, which I think is quite ironic. But he's pretty nice, all things considered, and he seems to actually be competent, which is a change from a lot of doctors I've been to see before.

"Well, Mr. Kerr," says Doctor Brown, holding up a brown envelope. "The good news is it's not broken."

"And the bad news?" I'm sensing a heavy but in that sentence, and I don't think I'm going to like what I hear.

"Unfortunately, it looks like you have managed to sprain it pretty badly, so I'm going to recommend we sling that up for you and that you avoid putting too much unnecessary pressure on it at all for the next couple of weeks at least."

My mouth drops open as my stomach does a flip. "At least! Are you kidding?"

Doctor Brown shakes his head. "It's not the news you wanted, and I get that. I'm sorry to be the one to deliver it, but if you want it to get better, you've got to let it rest."

"I need my arm," I say bluntly. "You don't understand. This can't be happening to me. I need this arm to work."

"Most people do." Doctor Brown raises his eyebrows, the way people do when they're keeping their mouths shut because anything they can think to say would be inappropriate in a professional context.

And that's the last straw for my temper. I can't stand the idea that he and Freya are standing here judging me, thinking I'm just some brat who can't have what he wants.

Sure, I guess I am being a brat. But the angry words just slip out of my mouth like snakes. "Don't you know who I am ?"

They both shake their heads, and I scoff in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? You think I'm just some uptight asshole? Just some guy here to make your lives more difficult — and that because I'm rich, I'll get away with demanding whatever the hell I want? And sure, I am rich, but I'm not the ass you think I am. I don't want you to fix me because I'm being difficult and I want to pay for it — I want you to fix it because I need it to work! I'm not going to let some idiot nurse ruin my whole career — my whole life! — just because she was too dumb to watch where she was going."

Freya takes a step back like she's been slapped. A twinge of guilt hits me, but my rage isn't quite settled yet. "You know what? Screw you guys. You've broken me, and now you won't fix me. You've ruined everything, and you don't even give a single shit. Thanks so much for all your hard work." I slump back on the bed, exhausted as the power of my yelling suddenly leaves me, deflating me like a balloon. I'm going through the stages of grief faster than anyone ever has before, and this is depression.

Freya, regaining herself, raises her eyebrows higher than I could have imagined possible, and the depression fast-forwards into a sickening shame about my outburst. I know I have a reputation for being an asshole, and I know it doesn't take a lot for me to lose it and yell, but that was unfair for these guys. Yelling at coaches is one thing, but at overworked medical staff?

I am furious, but I guess saying they've ruined me is kind of dramatic. It's not really these guys' fault that I'm not going to be able to play anytime soon. Well, it actually is Freya's fault. She did knock me down. But she was right, too, when she said before that neither of us were exactly looking where we were going.

Doctor Brown steps forward, clasping both hands in front of him, drawing himself up in an attempt to regain control of the situation. He doesn't need to bother with the tight-lipped warning smile, though — I've calmed down now. "I have got some good news for you, though. You won't have to stay with us any longer as an inpatient. But I don't want you driving, or doing anything but going home to sit down today. Have you got anyone at home who can look after you?"

"Look," I say, gritting my teeth to try and keep my tone even, "I live maybe twenty minutes' walk from here. Just let me go, and I can walk home, and it'll be fine."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kerr, but it's against my medical judgement to let you go if you don't have anyone to look after you, even just for a couple of days. It would be irresponsible to let you go injure yourself even more by walking home in the dark and having an accident. And I know you don't want to come back here with a break — just as much as I don't want you to."

I say nothing, unable to think of any sort of reasonable or even unreasonable argument, and trying to decide if that was actually an insult or not. "Just tell me how long it will be before I can use the arm again to throw."

Doctor Brown's face falls. "I can't say for sure because I'm not a physical therapist, but I would suggest at least a week of rest before doing anything more than light activity with it — and certainly no throwing. And I wouldn't be surprised if they don't let you back to things like throwing and working out for at least a month."

"At least a month ? That's ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous it may be," says Doctor Brown as diplomatically as he can. "But I'm afraid that's the way it is. Now, unless we get an emergency and need this room, I'm happy to let you stay here until you can get someone to drive you home. A guy like you must have some friends or family who'd be willing to help you out for a couple of days at least. You don't need supervision, just a helping hand."

I think that's another backhanded kind of compliment but I'm not a hundred percent sure. He says it so reasonably, it's hard to tell. But it looks like he's not going to budge, so I just sigh, giving in. "Fine. I'll see if I can get someone."

Doctor Brown nods, satisfied. "Good. Now, you've got a buzzer — just call if you need anything, okay?"

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything else. I just want to be left alone now.

They both share a glance, then nod subtly and head for the door. As Doctor Brown steps through, Freya lingers and turns back to me. "I'll come back soon."

I have no idea why she's so obsessed with me, or why she hesitates as she goes. Surely she can't be crushing? I know I'm a great-looking guy, but she's the last person I would ever have expected to see that look on. It's not like I struggle for female attention — I know what attraction looks like.

Why does she care?

And worse, why does it feel so good that she does?

This can't all be in my head. But as the door closes behind her, leaving me with the memory of her smile, I start to doubt it. It's her job to be kind, isn't it? What this is really telling me is I need to get laid sometime soon.

The silence of the room and the murmuring of the rest of the hospital around me is crushing — everyone else with someone, with their people who love and care. People whose families are uncomplicated and lovely, who don't misunderstand them or act like they're unreasonable for wanting a life. It must be so easy for them all.

As for me, I don't know a single person on earth who I want to call and ask to pick me up tonight. And that means I'm trapped in here for the rest of time, or at least until I can persuade them that I don't need anyone except myself.